Page 8 of Seductive Reprise
“Miss Rose Verdier. I’ve been told you’re quite a talent, sketching portraits at The Bit and Bridle for a penny,” the earl continued.
The door opened, and Rose glanced over to see a servant carrying an easel enter the room, followed by another bearing a drawing tablet and a handsome wooden box with a brass handle and two matching brass hasps. She looked back to the earl, recalling the portrait of his forebear, Edward Driffield. They shared the same kindly expression, though there was something else about the current earl’s eyes—a warmth in his regard of her. It confused her, and she did her best to quickly put it from her mind.
“Yes, my lord,” she finally responded.
“And how did you acquire such a skill?” The earl looked back over his shoulder, grinning to those assembled.
“Practice, my lord.” The servants set up the easel with nary a change in their blank expressions. Suddenly Rose’s collar began itching again.
“Ah, there you have it. Dedication to one’s craft and applying oneself to improvement.” The earl seemed pleased as punch as he raised his eyebrows, his forehead creasing. Some of the gentlemen chuckled, and a few of the ladies nodded in her direction with polite smiles upon their closed lips. “Miss Verdier, these are most admirable traits. Would you be so generous as to demonstrate for us?”
Rose nodded, suddenly feeling too daunted to speak. Her heart was hammering, her head swimming, her mouth dry. She now heartily wished she’d refused that glass of champagne. Still, she walked to the easel and ran a hand over the tablet as she stared at the open box of supplies on the table. The assembled materials were much finer than her usual charcoal pencil and the scraps of paper she hoarded from her mother’s precious few parcels. The now open wooden box boasted several colors of crayons just on the top tray.
“And how do you usually select your subjects at the inn, Miss Verdier?” one of the girls next to Joseph asked—the shorter one, whose thick, sandy brown hair twisted into several braids that wound about her head in an intricate design. She gave Rose an encouraging look, as if she were not several years younger than her.
Rose blinked. “Why, like anyone would, I suppose. Whatever face is pleasing, or at least interesting.”
At that the group of twenty or so people burst into laughter. Rose felt her cheeks flame. She searched for Joseph again, finding his brows furrowed and arms crossed. She dropped her gaze to the box of supplies, reaching for a sepia-toned crayon and rolling it between her fingers as the laughter died away.
She felt someone step close to her, and glanced up to find the earl looking at her sadly.
“Now then, love, don’t take it to heart.” He kept his voice low so no one else might hear. “Show them what you can do, and they won’t laugh again.”
Her gaze fell down once more. “Yes, my lord.”
“Chin up,” he said, then hesitated before patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. Then he stepped away and spoke once more to the party. “What now, who among us doesn’t have an interesting face?” His jest was met with a few interspersed chuckles. “Or are there a few who possess a truly beautiful visage?”
Rose couldn’t help it; she looked at Joseph again.Hewas beautiful. How she’d love to sketch him, to commit his face to paper so she’d never forget the brief moments they’d spent together, when she had pretended to be something more than a simple, plain-faced girl. This time, something about her must have struck him, for the ice melted and his frown slipped away. His eyes were open, his mouth gentle. What did he wish to impart to her? It felt extremely important, but she couldn’t discern any specific thought beyond that she wanted to run away with him.
Unfortunately, the earl must have followed her gaze.
“Palgrave?” he said, a bit surprised, then chuckled. “Marbury,” he called out, and a short, finely dressed gentleman in spectacles turned from where he’d been in conversation with another man, not quite following the proceedings.
Rose wanted to disappear. She couldn’t even bear to look at Joseph again, for she knew exactly what was about to transpire, even if she did not know all the players and could not mark the significance of their names. And it was all her fault, gaping at him like that.
“Marbury, what say you—shall we have a sketch of your boy?”
The bespectacled gentleman looked at her as if he were surprised to find a tall, red-headed girl standing in the midstof the gathering, hovering before an easel. He lifted his glasses, settling them back on his nose before squinting at Rose. “Of course, if the young lady is willing.”
She had no more time to stew in her own humiliation. Heart thudding in her chest, she grasped the crayon, feeling its weight in her hand. Joseph was brought forward and positioned in a chair before her.
She peered around the easel. Even as he looked at her with a nonchalant expression, she could see that he’d clenched his jaw.
“Um, perhaps look that way?” She gestured hastily in the direction of the door they’d escaped through only a short time ago. Had that even happened? She’d been so happy then, and she was so miserable now. Then she flushed and impulsively added, “My lord.”
That set the pair of similarly haired young girls tittering. The taller one now spoke. “He’sonly Joseph. I’m surprised you couldn’t—”
“Shut it, Florence,” Joseph said through gritted teeth, barely moving from his assumed position.
Rose glanced about, confused and scared, but no one moved to further correct the girl named Florence. She took a deep breath and studied Joseph. After a few moments he seemed to relax, and she drew her first bold stroke, and then another. Suddenly anxiety fell away, and her awareness contracted. They were now the only two present in this moment that she would commit to paper. The crayon glided pleasingly, producing crisp lines from its point and rich shadows when turned on its side. Nothing could trouble her as she worked, assuredly laying down her first impressions and then filling in the details with a bit more deliberation. She knew not how much time had passed, only that Joseph was here with her, waiting as she sketched.
Finally Rose stood back from the easel, examining her work as she debated whether to continue. It was a bad habit of hers,overworking something that stood well enough on its own. Even knowing that, though, she began to worry again. Was this decent enough for the current company?
She ended up not needing to arrive at a decision, as both the earl and his friend in spectacles took her pause as confirmation that she had indeed finished. So startled was she by their indifferent approach to her side that she didn’t notice the change in their expressions until the bespectacled man gave voice to his opinion.
“By Jove!” exhaled Marbury, his hands grasping the lapels of his jacket. He leaned forward, squinting through his tidy little eyeglasses. “It’s quite a likeness. I confess I am most impressed!” He directed his praise to the earl, as if the sketch had been done by his hand and not Rose’s.
A satisfied grin lit upon the Earl of Ipsley’s face until he reluctantly tore his eyes from the drawing to look upon Rose with wonderment.
