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“And debauchery at night, is it?” Viscount Fredericks stared at him, unmistakably sharing the implication through his stern expression.

“I am afraid I do not understand,” Abram said. Though he had an inkling of the meaning.

“Walk with me, would you please?” the viscount asked, but he turned away from Abram before he could answer.

Abram followed along, only catching up to him after a short sprint. “I can imagine the rigors of Parliament sessions necessitates expediency, Viscount Fredericks.”

The viscount shifted to stare at Abram but did not break his stride. “Indeed. I shall not hold you long. I only meant to say I had encouraged my mother-in-law to secure a photographer. I should like to consider exposure to different sorts. I have seen quite a lot of scandal in my day. And even more recently, incidentally. Despite my concerns”—he glanced over once more—“she holds nostalgia in her heart for traditional paintings. If I may be direct, none of the ladies are available to you. Orris, in particular, can find herself swept away when it comes to matters of the heart. Impressionable, I would say.”

Abram could not stop the twitch of his brow. “Allow me to guess. You thought it best to sit in the photographs and remain in her home to ensure I do not make an effort to sully the good Gray name,” Abram said. There was no sense in pretending he was not offended, as much as the viscount had not missed the chance to suggest dishonorable behavior.

“I assume responsibility for my extended family, should I not? She appears taken with you. I should like to ensure there is no action on your part to encourage her.”

Abram had to give him credit for his direct manner. “I cannot say I blame you, of course. Miss Gray is quite comely. All the ladies are wealthy, attractive, and there is no man in the home other than servants. You are well within your right to ensure their safety. I must say, however, I am thankful painters still find themselves in employ and also assure you I have no desire to court any of the ladies who reside at Gray Manor. My interest is in art, Viscount Fredericks.”

At this, the viscount stopped, a bit of derision in his gestures, the jerk of his shoulder and the pressed thin lips perhaps trying to convey he did not want to be misunderstood. Regardless, Abram understood him perfectly, he was sure.

“Yes, I am sure art is your utmost concern,” said the other man. “Thank you for the clarification, and I pray you should not take issue. Despite my initial reservations, I am looking forward to what you’ve created.”

“None taken, my lord. Now, if you would excuse me. I must tend to securing supplies necessary to complete your family’s portrait. I bid you well,” he said, offering a nod of slim margin, barely respectable.

He did not wait for the standard farewell, instead working to tamp down his temper. Had he revealed his title, lands, and money, Viscount Fredericks might have been altogether different with him.

Honestly, there were fortune hunters in London. Everywhere, for that matter. Abram resolved to try to understand. They were wealthy. Eligible. Beautiful. An enterprising charlatan or swindler could easily target them.

Abram sulked a bit, despite knowledge of how criminals thought and operated. He had encountered many such men in his travels. They trusted him, as he supported himself on his travels.

Walking to the street on the narrow trails of Constitution Hill in St James’ Park, he thought back to his proclamation of his interest being purely on art, thereby his commission. He had omitted finding somewhat a muse in Miss Orris Gray. The truth would not have been received well.

As he rounded the bend, he saw a woman on horseback, which triggered an image of Miss Orris Gray. She was all elegance and grace, but with a fiery determination about her. The viscount had been right to warn him off. He did find her intriguing, and evidently, Abram had fooled no one.

For a moment, he had wanted to reveal his true identity. He was titled, after all. The only thing keeping him from revealing his secret had been affirming Lord Frederick’s accusation. He would have appeared a scoundrel, even if his intentions could not have been further from devilment.

Even if he were not carrying out a ruse with the Gray family, Abram still intended to leave for America. Miss Gray had only just made the journey to England. It would be an unfair proposition to her, and her family.

Why on earth was he even considering such a thing? Abram knew, if not in any other moment, he was allowing himself to drift into delusion. A single exchange, a hapless flirtation, did not present any such dilemma. Miss Gray was captivating. But, she was not for him.

Abram stopped by a tree and walked over to it, leaning as he stared out at a trickling stream. Near his feet was a smooth stone, perfect for tossing. Bending down, he picked it up and skipped it over the surface of the water, where it danced once, twice, then a third time before disappearing beneath the surface.

Yes, the viscount had been correct, Abram resolved.

The confrontation had helped knock sense into him. He was not in a position to attempt anything with her. It would serve him well to remember the fact. In the end, it was the right thing to do, even as the notion of letting her go caused an internal objection to rise from his gut.

Chapter Nine

“I do not understand why I have to go to the modiste. My measurements have not changed since we moved here. Do you think I have grown larger?” Orris complained as they piled into the carriages.

The air carried a chill, and the weather was not as pleasant as it had been the day prior, yet she had not wanted to break her routine of riding in the mornings. As these were secret missions, she had no legitimate excuse for Mama.

“Oh, Orris, please,” Violetta said. “You would only skulk around your room and think of horses and that sad commoner, Thomas.”

“Violetta, allow me to advise against such disparaging comments,” Mama said sternly. “After all, I was a commoner. By the opinion of some, there I remain. And, Orris, you have not been on an outing with your family in quite some time. There is no freedom from this obligation.” She turned her head to stare out of the carriage window, her hands clasped tightly around the straps of her reticule.

If there were any room for doubt regarding her stance on the matter, that had been firmly and consequently halted.

For the remainder of the ride, Orris stared out her own window. Even Gladys, normally the peacemaker in Myrtle’s stead, was quiet. Orris actually wished Myrtle had gone with them. That she was around more, for that matter. The dynamic between Orris and Violetta had been tense, and more than anything, Orris wanted them to return to some semblance of normalcy. At the moment, they were purely adversarial.

Silence stretched, their disquiet only interrupted by pedestrians and the churn of carriage wheels.