Page 16 of The Gentleman Was Right
Less unhappy.What an objective.
“We should go down to dinner.”
“You’ll think about it?”
She would think about nothing else, so she nodded and followed her sister out of the room. They traversed the narrow stairway and joined Edward in the small dining room. Violet expected the evening meal to be an extension of the tea they had shared. She assumed that he would ask her more questions, or now that he’d had a bit of time to think, try to offer alternate solutions to her situation.
He did neither.
He didn’t even mention her predicament. Instead, he regaled them with stories of his family. Over a hearty stew and fresh bread, he told them of his sisters; Jane and Louisa, who were only a year apart and nearly inseparable; and Belinda, who was fiercely competitive and only two years older than Violet. He also told them of Sebastian, who he seemed to have a hesitant affection for, and of Emmeline, who he clearly adored.
“Emmeline had never been on a horse when she arrived at Greydon Hall,” he told them. “She tried to convince me that she was too old, but we’re the same age, so I tossed her on the back of Nemesis before she could refuse. She was flustered at first, but it didn’t take her long to adjust. She’s a natural with animals—and people—and since that day, when we’re in the country, we ride in the mornings.”
“Do your sisters ride too?” Isabelle asked.
“They do. I made sure they knew how when they were young. Although none of them enjoy it for the simple pleasure of riding. Belinda insists on making every outing a race. Jane prefers sidesaddle and likes to plod along, while Louisa complains endlessly about one thing or another. It can be exhausting to ride with them, so I tended to ride alone until Sebastian married Emmeline.”
“Your brother doesn’t ride?” Violet asked.
“Oh, he does.” Edward hesitated, and then said, “Sebastian has many obligations. He spent the last decade in London while I remained in the country, so it’s only since his marriage that he has had the opportunity to ride with me, and even then he is often busy.”
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when he talked about his brother, and it seemed clear that there was more to the story, but she wasn’t in a position to probe further. Giving him a reason to begin questioning her again did not seem wise.
“Do you ride?” he asked after a short lull in the conversation.
“Passably,” Violet responded. “There hasn’t been much opportunity as of late.”
“I suppose not.” The cottage had no need for a stable or horses. He gently placed his spoon on the table and patted his stomach. “Does Mrs. Eggington always provide such delicious fare?”
“Always,” Isabelle said. “She is quite accomplished.”
“No wonder you chose to stay,” he said, as he rose to his feet. “Would you care to join me for a glass of sherry before you retire for the night?”
“We shouldn’t,” Violet said, standing up. “It’s gotten late.”
“Of course.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he stepped forward and brought her hand to his lips. “Thank you for the company, and for remaining through tomorrow evening.”
With a swift inhale, she nodded. “Thank you for…understanding.” It wasn’t the right word. He had been more than understanding, but she couldn’t think of a better word while her gloved fingers rested in his, the whisper of his kiss lingering against the back of her hand.
He released her and then bid Isabelle good night.
The two women ascended the stairs together, but in interest of avoiding discussing the future, Violet herded Isabelle into her bedchamber, pulled the door closed before her sister could launch an interrogation, and went to her own room.
ChapterSix
Edward had his easel out and his paints ready when daylight finally crept through the window of his bedchamber. It was cloudy and therefore almost gloomy, but the lack of brightness didn’t dim his enthusiasm. Dismal weather was not enough to deter him from picking up his paintbrush and, for the first time in weeks, dragging it across the blank canvas.
He’d already completed half a dozen sketches by candlelight, and the image he sought to create was clear and vivid in his mind—almost as if it were a memory instead of a figment of his imagination. His brush danced across the canvas in bold strokes as he captured the foamy waves of the sea cresting in the distance. When he started to add Violet, his focus intensified. He was forced to guess how her fiery hair would look untamed. Would it be thick and long and unruly as it was tossed about by the wind? He didn’t paint her face, partly because she was facing away, but, more importantly, because he didn’t think he could properly capture her expression.
She had only given him glimpses of her true self, and it would be difficult to portray her without getting to know her better. At this point, considering how little he knew, it was probably dramatic of him to make her the focus of such a vibrant painting, but that didn’t stop him. He was aware he might be projecting his own chaotic feelings onto her, and maybe he should have felt guilty, but as he had no plan to show her the painting, it seemed like a victimless crime.
His stamina for creating was sorely depleted after weeks of nothingness, so he painted until his hand was cramping and his back was stiff. When he started to lag, he tossed his brush aside and stared at his work with a critical eye. The flaws were immediately visible, and they called for him to pick up his brush once again, but he knew he needed a break and it hardly mattered that his efforts weren’t perfect because he was actually painting again.
After another long minute of staring, he covered it—he hated prying eyes on an unfinished piece—and cleaned himself up. When his appearance was impeccable, he went in search of the woman who had inspired his most recent work. He found Violet in the entry murmuring softly to Isabelle as they secured their pelisses around their necks.
“Good day,” he said with a bright smile. “Where are you off to this morning?”
Violet did not look up, but Isabelle returned his smile with one of her own. “We thought we’d take a walk before the rain begins again.”
