Page 4 of Lyon of Scotland
“Then you might consider another fellow,” Maisie said.
Hannah sighed, knowing her sisters and her father were not as fond of Whitworth as she was. “Jonathan will grow on you, I promise. My heart—my heart is caught.”
“Your romantic imagination is caught more than your heart, I think.” Maisie took her arm. “For a while, I thought you held a candle for Lord Strathburn.”
Hannah shrugged, unwilling to admit that she had been infatuated with Lord Strathburn for years. But he had not returned her interest, and she told herself that he had not noticed her, or might even be in love with another. Then Whitworth had captured her affection with his wit and attentions to her. “Strathburn is so handsome, and quite interesting. But he is not very forthcoming. Whitworth is an enjoyable companion. He loves to talk and he makes me laugh.”
“A marriage needs more than that. Be careful, dear.”
“Of course,” Hannah said with a stiff little tilt of her head.
“True, Strathburn is not the soul of the party. He seems very reserved and scholarly, and now he has shown he has a chivalrous nature. Those are good qualities for Lord Lyon—and in a husband.” Maisie slid her a glance. “Perhaps he is simply shy.”
Hannah frowned, studying the tall man standing on the other side of the drawing room. He cut a striking figure in a black coat,tartan kilt of dark green crossed with burgundy, with a swath of tartan tossed over his shoulder and knee stockings that revealed lean, muscled limbs. He was taller than most around him and wore his wavy brown hair in a longer style. His posture and profile, his very manner, had strength and elegance.
She wanted to capture his hard beauty and his reserve in a sketch; she wanted to capture the subtle vulnerability in him too, the thoughtful expression, the hint of the very appealing smile he sometimes showed. Previously she had noticed some scars on his hands, which heightened her interest and her compassion, though he had such an unapproachable air at times that she would never dare ask.
Yet whenever she spoke to him, his warm brown eyes and direct gaze focused on her, and she felt drawn. He had even entered her dreams, where she had more than his attention—she had his affection. His love. But those were private dreams, never reality.
When he had stepped in to reprimand Jonathan—who sometimes needed a little reminder—she had felt a quick, deep thrill that came back now as she watched him.
Strathburn turned his head then and looked at her. His gaze caught hers, lingered, piercing and deliberate. He did not look shy in the least.
The thrill bloomed again. Blushing, she ducked her head.
“Papa seems impressed with the new Lord Lyon,” Maisie was saying. “They employ artists in the heraldry office, did you know? They do a great deal of artwork there. Papa mentioned it to me a little while ago. It is work you could do so easily.”
“Heraldry art is so interesting,” Hannah said. “When I was young, I loved looking through Papa’s books on coats of arms. I used to copy the pretty designs. It is lovely that some artists are able to do that work. So many must rely on commissions for portraits, landscapes, murals, and such.”
“We are fortunate that Papa has some family wealth and has done so very well as a practicing artist,” Maisie agreed.
Nodding, Hannah could hardly separate her gaze from Strathburn, Lord Lyon. Her infatuation—to be honest, the attraction she felt—was deeper and stronger than she could ever admit. He had an indefinable power, an intense presence that drew her. His polite, quiet, beautiful exterior held depth and intensity.
“Do not let Mr. Whitworth see you studying the Highlander. He will be jealous.”
“He is a cheerful soul and will not be bothered.”
“Sometimes you are too forgiving, dear. Naïve. But adorable.” Maisie smiled.
Hannah did not smile. She knew her family was not impressed with Whitworth, though he stood to inherit a title and property in England. They seemed to distrust him even as she favored him.
She knew Whitworth could be glib and impulsive, but that was part of his good nature, she told herself. He complimented her often, encouraged her talent and her desire for independence. Too often, she felt like a wren beside her beautiful, gifted sisters and her famous father.
She had met Whitworth at a supper in Edinburgh, and had come to know him better when he sat for a portrait done by her father. She had accepted his invitation to walk around the botanical gardens, and over the several weeks that he was in Edinburgh managing matters for his father, she had fallen for his charm, his wit, his good looks and easy manner. When he had asked to court her, and later asked her to marry him, she was swept away. Whitworth could offer her an exciting and comfortable life as an English peer’s wife, where she would have artistic independence as well.
Though Papa was unhappy with the engagement, he genuinely wanted her happiness and had reluctantly agreed, asking them to take the time to get to know one another. Though she knew Papa thought her impulsive and headstrong, she felt desperate to prove she was capable rather than rebellious. When Whitworth told her that he planned to go to London for a few months, she had asked permission to travel south and stay with their cousins in the city.
Papa trusted that Hannah would be safe in the company of trusted kin, and again reluctantly agreed. He then told her she would learn quickly there that Whitworth was not the husband she deserved, though she believed that spending more time in his company would bring them closer. And, she told Papa, she could study art while she was there.
Hannah felt a growing urge in her heart, in her art, and in life, too, for some independence from her successful, wonderful family. She needed to find out what sort of artist she was, what sort of woman she could be. But she kept that dream to herself.
She worried that if she stayed in Scotland, her father would pressure her and insist that she travel north with him on his annual autumn painting tour. If so, she would not see Whitworth for a long time. No doubt Papa would realize that.
So she had arranged an extended visit with her cousins—Georgina Gordon-Huntly, a natural daughter of the Duke of Gordon and Georgie’s stepbrother Oliver, as well as Georgina’s mother and stepfather. The plan was in place, and Hannah was looking forward to traveling to London soon.
In that moment, Lord Strathburn looked at her again, his gaze keen and distracting. Startlingly handsome, the simmering Highlander in Edinburgh made Whitworth seem like a pale English choirboy by comparison.
Though she had often daydreamed about Strathburn, she had tried to give that up, for he had been only polite and a bit distant.
