Page 73 of When He Was Wicked
His brow arched high. “I suppose so.”
And the earl was willing to spend such a sum. How noble and romantic. “You must love her very much,” Henrietta said softly.
Surprise chased his features before he vented a short laugh. “Love? Nothing so serious or silly.”
“Love is not silly,” she said before she could stop herself.
“I suppose it is not for those who unfailingly believe in it,” he said caustically.
Henrietta stared at him, unsure of what to make of Lord Hardwick. “What do you fancy for her, my lord? A picturesque scene, a pond surrounded by water lilies or—”
It was the amusement in his piercing eyes that made Henrietta stop speaking.
“My dear, Miss Sutton, I wish to offer the object of my pursuit a portrait.”
“A portrait?” she parroted.
“Yes.”
Oh, no. “Henry does not do portraits.”
“Hence the sum I offered,” he said with an arrogant lift of his brow. “I am willing to increase the amount.”
Dear heavens. “I see. Very well, I shall relay your words.”
His intake of satisfaction was soft. “I purchased a small manor close by. It once belonged to Squire Pettigrew. Are you familiar with it?”
“I…yes, my lord.” Its land bordered her grandmother’s, and the properties even shared a large lake that teemed with fish.
“Good. Please send word there for me once you’ve secured Mr. Atwood’s reply.”
“I will.”
The earl executed a short, courteous bow and walked away.
Henrietta stared after him, blinking when he started to whistle a jaunty tune as he disappeared along the dirt path in the woodlands. Her heart sank. The opportunity that had seemed so golden just now could not be acted upon. A glint in the grass had her peering closer. She picked up the decorative silver engraved telescope, which had not broken in the fall. The earl had certainly committed to his scheme of finding Henry Atwood to do his portrait.
Henrietta sighed, turned around and walked back toward her grandmother’s manor. It was not that she could not capture a liking. In truth, it had been her preferred choice of work growing up. But to agree to the artistic capturing of a person’s likeness would mean giving up her anonymity. She was certain some of Henry Atwood’s desirability as a painter had to do with his mystery about his identity. Cousin Jeremy had sent along private notes from her few clients, all paying her pretty compliments and stating their desire to make her acquaintance. All promised to keep her identity a secret. Of course, she had refused all as delicately as possible, and those clients had seemed titillated that Henry Atwood had replied.
To accept Lord Hardwick’s offer would be to reveal herself to him. There was simply no way around the entire matter. Henrietta’s breath caught in her throat. Oddly, the idea of painting the earl, a human subject right before her, and such a fine one being immortalized on canvas, excited her.
Yip. Yip. Yip.
The excited cry of her small pug as he raced toward her pulled Henrietta from her jumbled musings. Laughing, she sank to her knees and scooped him up into her arms. “I missed you, Zeus,” she murmured, closing her eyes for a heartbeat. “I neglected you for too long. Come, let us walk together.”
That evening at dinner,Henrietta was relieved her parents, the Viscount and Viscountess Marlow, had bid their farewell and returned to town. She felt no great sadness at their departure nor much guilt for being so unfilial, only a relief that she would no longer face her mother’s continued criticism about yet another failed season and her inability in securing a husband.
“You appear distracted, Henrietta,” Gran said, “Are you feeling well?”
Her cousins turned to her, and Lilli frowned. “You have been silent,” she said. “What is it?”
Sighing, she told them. “Mother left me a letter to say Viscount Courtland had made an offer to papa, and she is encouraging me to accept.”
Eva gasped and stuttered, “He…he, is…n…not a day under fifty!”
“I know. I would not marry him,” Henrietta said tightly. “I…there is an opportunity to earn an unmatched sum that wouldsecure my future where I do not need to depend on my parents’ largess or a husband to simply live,” she whispered to Lilli.
Lilli’s eyes rounded. “What is it?”
