Page 18 of An Unwilling Earl
His frown cleared, and a beautiful smile erupted. “Yes! I remember. That was you? Good God. If I’d only known. All this time looking for you and you were literally right under me at one point.” He laughed, a rich, deep sound that was as warm as the fire. “I’ll be damned. Excuse the language.” He tilted his head and studied her. “It took more than a quick glance to see it was you, and…” His voice trailed off, and her attention sharpened on him.
“And?”
“I’ve been looking for you.”
He reached into his pocket and produced a folded piece of paper.
She opened it to find herself—her old self—looking back at her. It was a charcoal drawing, a quick sketch that she remembered sitting for so long ago, right before her papa died. He’d wanted to have her painted but had died before he’d had a chance.
“Where did you get this?” she asked from a tight throat.
“Lady Morris.”
Charlotte handed it back to him and wiped her hand on her trousers. Jacob watched the motion as he took the paper from her.
“Tell me about the picture,” he said. “When was it drawn?”
“A lifetime ago.”
“You don’t look that young in it.”
“Trust me. That’s another person in that drawing. That’s not me. Not anymore.”
He tucked the picture back in his pocket. “It’s the same eyes, the same lips. The hair is a bit different.”
Self-consciously she smoothed her shorn hair, trying to tuck it behind her ear, but the curl sprang back. “Why are you looking for me?”
He hesitated. “That’s a complicated answer.”
“I have a feeling I can grasp the answer if you use simple words.”
His lips twitched, but he did not smile, although his eyes were smiling.
Mrs. Smith entered with a tray of teacups and sandwiches. She placed the tray on the table between Charlotte and Jacob.
“I’ll pour, Mrs. Smith. Thank you. It looks delicious.”
Mrs. Smith shot Charlotte a curious look before leaving.
“See?” Jacob said. “She’s already warming to you.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and pretended to ignore the delicious-looking finger sandwiches. There were so many of them. A tower of them.
Jacob poured some tea, then put a few sandwiches on a plate and handed it to her.
Charlotte hesitated. She could feed her and Suzette for two whole nights with these sandwiches. She should put them in her pockets, but she also wanted to devour every one of them.
“Go ahead,” Jacob said. “Take it.”
Because she didn’t want to seem rude she took the plate and stared at the sandwiches. The crusts had been cut off. What had Mrs. Smith done with the crusts? Did she throw them away? Feed them to a cat warming itself by the kitchen fire?
“Don’t be shy. Eat.”
She took a sandwich and tried to remember her manners, but her stomach got in the way, and before she knew it the sandwich was gone, barely chewed, and another was heading toward her mouth.
Embarrassed, she tried to put the plate back on the table.
“You can finish it, Charlotte. And if you want more you can have more.”
