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“It isn’t.”

There was a history there, a story. But Sebastian gave the impression of not wishing to talk about it. She would leave that for another day and instead spend this one enjoying the beauty of her surroundings and the kindness of the man who’d thought to bring her here.

He helped her set up her easel and placed a stool for her beside it. Then he spread out a wool blanket on the ground near her. Shadow wandered the meadow as Cordelia painted. Sebastian lay on the blanket, his hands crossed beneath his head, alternately watching the sky, his pet lamb, and Cordelia.

It was a moment of utterly peaceful contentment that could not have existed in London. How had she ever believed that happiness existed only within the streets and parks and buildings of the metropolis?

“Why are you using yellow for the clouds instead of white?” he asked, his tone curious and not the least bit critical.

“The actual clouds are not, themselves, white,” she said. “They contain a great many colors.”

His gaze shifted to the sky overhead. “I’d not ever noticed that before.”

“Have you noticed that Shadow’s fleece is also not truly white? It contains various shades of gray and very pale pinks and yellows alongside the white.”

He smiled, his eyes still studying the clouds. “Next you’re going to tell me my hair is not actually black.”

“It’s not.”

Sebastian laughed. He had been so cross when they’d first met but had shown himself to be a very tranquil person. Being with him calmed her usual worries. She felt less lost, less unsure of herself.

“How long have you lived in Teviotbrae?” she asked as she added shadows to her clouds.

“Five years,” he said, “though my family visited a few times when I was younger.”

“You said your mother was English. It was your father, then, who hailed from this area?”

“Aye. And he loved Teviotbrae. I thought, in coming back after he died, I’d feel more at home, a little less lost.” His chest rose and fell with a heavy breath. “But mostly, I found myself missing him even more.”

“Where do you go to feel closer to your mother?” It was a remarkably personal topic of conversation, one she wouldn’t have dared broach with any of the gentlemen she’d known in London. But Sebastian was different. He was open and candid, and she never worried that he would be unkind.

“I don’t truly have a place to go that reminds me of her,” he said. “I’ve never thought to find one.”

“What were some of the things that brought her joy? Other than you, of course.”

He offered a grateful smile. “I do hope I was a joy to her. I’d like to believe I was. But I know that she loved flowers. She could not resist smelling any and every flower she passed.”

“There are a great many flowers in Teviotbrae, Sebastian. Every meadow, almost every field, growing wild along the roads, poking out of every hedgerow. And this meadow is lush with them. You feel your father here, but I think you ought to feel your mother here as well.”

He sat up on the blanket, his eyes scanning the area all around them. “I hadn’t really thought of seeing her in the flowers and the aroma of blossoms. I do like the idea of both my parents being here with me in some way. This hasn’t always been an easy place to live.”

“I can imagine,” she said.

“It has been easier of late.” His mouth twitched.

“Has it?” She assumed a prim and proper bearing.

“The company has improved vastly.” He winked at her.

All pretense of being quite calm about his flirting disappeared. Undeniable heat snuck up her neck and blotched her cheeks.

Sebastian grinned, clearly quite pleased. “I didn’t even have to say your name to see you blush this time.”

“Go back to watching the clouds, Sebastian of the Home Farm. I’ve a meadow to paint.”

Hours passed. Sebastian drifted off to sleep. He was strikingly handsome, she had to admit. That dark hair of his, and the way his mouth tipped up at the corners even while he was sleeping. Her fingers itched to sketch him, to create for herself a likeness of this man who had surprised her so much and had claimed a place in her heart.

The time came to return home. She was reluctant to go, and not on account of her canvas still being a bit wet or the view still being stunning. Sebastian wasn’t at Burnwick House. She missed him when they weren’t together.