Page 5 of The Wayward Duke
Caroline added another ruined sketch to the pile by her feet. Failure after failure after failure mocked her from the grass. At the rate she burned through paper, she’d soon be reduced to sketching in the dirt.
“Oh dear, not another for the bonfire,” said a voice, soft with sympathy. Caroline glanced over at her oldest friend, Grace Harcourt, where she lounged on their picnic blanket. “What a pity. I was rather fond of that one.”
Despite herself, Caroline let out a laugh. “You must be joking. I made you look like Medusa. Perseus should be swooping in to lop off your head as a trophy.”
“Medusa was a great beauty before she was cursed.” Grace straightened the brim of her hat, preening. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“Yesterday, I gave you three hands. Like some infernal chimera.”
“Ah, but what exquisitely shaped additional hands they were,” came the ironic drawl as Julian stepped from the forest path.
Caroline’s pulse quickened at the sight of him stripping off his riding gloves. The afternoon sun gilded his black hair, setting it in stark contrast to his pale skin. There was an innate sensuality to his beauty, a leonine grace with which he moved and spoke and observed.
“I see I’ve arrived just in time to save Linnie from her artistic wallowing,” Julian said, settling beside them on the blanket. “Please tell me there’s wine left.”
“Plenty of wine and an abundance of despair,” Caroline said. She wrinkled her nose at the artistic proof of ineptitude scattered around her. “I’m getting worse with each effort.”
Julian picked up one of the discarded pages, studying it critically. “The shading here is nicely done. You ought to revisit this technique.” His gaze softened almost imperceptibly as it shifted to Grace. “And you’ve captured the fire in Gracie’s eyes quite beautifully.”
Caroline snorted. “I know you’re lying. That horror resembles Grace as much as I resemble the Queen.”
Grace nudged Caroline’s shoulder. “The Queen should be so lucky. Why don’t you try your hand at the lovely willows by the pond for a bit? Give yourself a rest from portraiture.”
Caroline sighed, flipping back through her artistic endeavours. “Trees and flowers I can render passably. But people… I’m hopeless. Especially the hands. More claws than human appendages.” She scowled down at her latest effort and fought the urge to ball it up. Such a waste of expensive paper. “At this rate, I’ll be restricted to pets and flower arrangements. And that’s assuming I can keep the pets from resembling some unholy mating of nature and nightmare.”
She had to master her craft. It was the only way to save herself and her mother from destitution now that marriage seemed an unlikely prospect. As the sole daughter of the late Baron Winslow, their family name had once commanded respect, but scandal had forced them from London while Caroline was still a girl. Her father had then drunk and gambled away the remains of their modest fortune.
Now her dowry consisted of little more than her mother’s genteel manners and Caroline’s passable charms. Hardly enough to catch the eye of a peer with deep enough pockets to rescue them from penury. Which left her with only one choice: establish herself as a sought-after portrait artist. Painting was the sole talent she possessed in abundance.
“I’m certain you’ll improve with time and practice,” Julian said. “What do you think, petal? Think our Linnie might progress beyond shrubbery?”
Grace made a face at the dreadful nickname. “Must you call me that? Mother is now convinced we’re all but betrothed after overhearing you last week.”
“A dreadful prospect, I’m sure,” he said dryly.
Grace laughed. “Hastings, I value you far too much to subject you to a lifetime of my company.”
Something unreadable flickered in Julian’s eyes before his polite mask slid into place. He plucked a lone daisy from the grass and held it out to her. “Let’s try an experiment, shall we? Gracie, come here.” He tucked the flower behind her ear, his fingertips skimming down the curve of her jaw. An intimacy that fractured something deep inside Caroline’s chest. “There. Flawless as ever. Now, turn your profile to Linnie, petal. I suspect she’ll fare better from this angle.”
They were a study of contrasts – Julian carved from shadows and Grace spun from gold and porcelain. Little wonder the gossips predicted their betrothal with each passing day. Watching them together was like pressing on a wound, a sharp stab of pain that never quite faded.
Grace sighed. “As delightful as it would be to remain your subject, Mother is waiting for me at home. Another gown fitting.” She pressed swift kisses on Caroline’s and Julian’s cheeks. “I’ll see you at cards on Tuesday. Do try not to get into too much trouble without me.”
Then she was hurrying off, disappearing down the path in a flutter of skirts.
Julian stared after Grace with an unreadable look. “Do you think she’ll accept if I offer for her this Season?”
Caroline forced air into her lungs before trusting herself to answer. As gently as one might pull shards of glass from a wound, she said, “I suspect she’ll refuse you. She’s made her feelings quite clear.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded once. “That’s rather my expectation as well. But if no one suitable proposes to her by summer’s end, I intend to ask anyway.”
Caroline worried her lower lip between her teeth before saying what was required of a friend. “If Grace asks my opinion, I’ll give you both my blessing.”
Julian’s expression gentled at that. “And what about you? Any potential matches capture your fancy?”
“Respectable offers will be thin on the ground for the daughter of a baron who quit London under a cloud of scandal and treason,” she said with a brittle smile.
Over a decade ago, her father’s close associate had betrayed military secrets to the Russians during the Crimean War. Whispers speculating on her father’s possible involvement had ravaged her family’s reputation long before his gambling debts finished it off.
