Page 141 of Ironvine

“How would you like to be tutored by him?”

Her heart leapt up her throat.

“Well?”

Dream. Dare.“It would be a tremendous honour. I would love it.”

She let out a soft laugh. “I shall arrange everything, Countess, and then I shall be your first commission. From now on, whenever I am here in the country, I shall send word, and I shall come to you and you shall work. And when you come to town, you shall send me word, and I will sit for you.”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Good. We are agreed.”

“I am astounded at this opportunity, Your Grace. Your faith in me.” This woman believed in her, in her talent. The sun shone warm and bright over her flesh. “I am humbled by your trust and grateful for your friendship.”

“As am I. From now on, you shall call me Zandra.”

“I shall.”

“Will your husband agree to this or will he be a problem?”

“My husband loves my work, and he is most supportive of my endeavours.”

Bursting through the doorway of the house, Charles strode outside, his chemise wet with perspiration, his face streaked with red, he pulled his mussed hair from his tie. He ripped off his shirt and balled it in his fist as he stormed down the green. His sculpted chest and torso heaved for air. Georgina’s mouth dried at the sight of her husband.

“Hmm…” murmured the Duchess. “The Earl continues his sword training with Mr. Swindon?”

“The exercise has strengthened his wounded arm considerably, and he greatly enjoys the sport.”

“You must be enjoying it, as well, my darling.” The Duchess let out a soft rolling laugh. “I say that from experience. Where the devil is he off to?”

“Most probably the pond for a swim.” Georgina swept the hair from her face. Just the sight of the curved and firm plains of his muscle and sinew enflamed that ember in her chest, setting off that particular ache between her legs.

A grin flashed over the Duchess’s lips. “I shall take my leave.” She touched Georgina’s hand and squeezed. “I must say, there’s nothing like a swim on such a hot, hot day, don’t you agree?”

ChapterSixty-One

Charles

The Dukeand Duchess revived the Oakley tradition of a summer picnic. They’d decided to open it to all the landed gentry in the area as a charity event to raise money for the poor of the upper village who had their belongings and homes damaged in the recent storms and subsequent floodwaters.

Before they quit the country, the Oakleys would offer a final dash of goodwill to the deserving locals who had fallen on hard times and would remember them fondly for it.

It was a perfect day, not too warm and only a few clouds marred the sky which made for a lessening of the sun’s urgent glare just an hour earlier. Couples strolled arm in arm through their formal gardens. Two harpists played their angelic music.

The long tables were laden with a joint of cold roast beef, veal and ham pies, pigeon pies, thin buttered sandwiches, sugar biscuits, fruit tarts, plum cakes, sponge cakes, and cheeses. Ices were most impressively presented in their great platters, as well as colourful fruits. Big silver urns dispensed tea, coffee, along with sherry, and a claret cup punch.

The guests spoke excitedly as they swept up and down the great front lawn, laughed and boasted. The general cheer was quite high. Such an occasion required it.

Charles spotted Georgina where he’d left her, catching up with Justine, and two other ladies had joined them. He had extricated himself from a dull conversation with an elderly neighbour, Mr. Marchmain, about hunting and his recent methods for increasing his stock of wildlife on his estate. He’d excused himself to get more wine which he promptly did at a table at the far end of the lawn, away from the milling crowd of guests.

“I must speak with you,” came a familiar voice.

He turned. “Amanda? What in God’s name are you doing here? Surely you were not invited after your recent performance at my house?”

“I had to see you.”

“Whatever for?”

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