Page 55 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

As if waiting for a pause in the revelry, Frampton finally announced Victor’s arrival.

Juliana paused from wiping the tears of laughter from her face and bounded from her seat. “Victor! You just missed the funniest story.”

Victor couldn’t restrain his own smile as he followed Juliana to the settee. The joy of the happy family before him was contagious. “So I see.”

Mr. Beckham grinned. “I can tell it again.”

Lady Charlotte groaned. “No. Please don’t. Now, sit down, you buffoon. Mr. Pratt has come to call on Juliana. We don’t want to run him off.”

Juliana patted his arm. “I’ll tell you later, but I doubt it will be as humorous as when Simon tells it.”

“May I offer belated felicitations on your marriage, Mr. Beckham? Lady Charlotte.”

“Call me Simon. We’ll be practically family once you marry Juliana. Why, she’s like one of my sisters.”

Lady Charlotte rolled her eyes. “As if you need more sisters.”

Despite the banter between Simon and Lady Charlotte, Victor recognized the love between them. He’d witnessed it between Cilla and Timothy, and Burwood and his duchess. A different kind of love, true, but love, nonetheless.

Love out of what was probably the oddest match in Victor’s memory.

His attention returned to Juliana. Would it be possible for love to grow between them should Juliana not cry off? If their kiss was any indication, it certainly appeared promising.

“Should I come back another day to work on your portrait?”

Burwood rose. “Not at all. Simon and I have some business to attend to, and I’m sure Honoria is eager for some time with Lady Charlotte. Ask Frampton for the portrait and set up wherever you wish.”

Simon gave his wife a wink. “Are my ears going to burn when you speak to Honoria?”

“Like Rome,” Lady Charlotte said, her expression one of dead seriousness.

Simon roared with laughter as he followed the duke from the room.

Once Honoria and Charlotte had left, Victor turned to Juliana and her mother. “Would the orangery suit you both today?”

“I’ll leave the location for the two of you to decide. Under the circumstances, you may forgo a chaperone.” Mrs. Merrick kissed her daughter on the cheek, then left them alone.

The possibility of more kisses resurrected, but Victor reminded himself of his promise to tread carefully.

After agreeing upon the orangery, Victor set up his easel and prepared his paints while Juliana waited nearby.

Seated on a chair a footman procured, Juliana smoothed the skirts of her sprigged muslin gown. “Should I change into my riding habit?”

Victor glanced up from mixing his paint. “Perhaps later. I can concentrate on the details of your face first. If the weather holds tomorrow, we can ride out to our spot, and I can concentrate on Sunshine’s details.”

With the paints ready, he adjusted Juliana’s pose. As he tilted her head to the correct angle, her gaze anchored on his. His heart lurched at the softness—the trust—within her eyes. Was he worthy of such faith?

Motionless, he stood before her, an unknown force like an invisible hand holding him in place yet tugging him forward, dangerously close to falling within their blue depths.

He jerked his gaze away and returned to the safety of his palette and brushes. Dabbing paint onto one of the brushes, he opted to appear nonchalant. “Her Grace wrote to me about organizing a ball in our honor. I meant to thank her. If I don’t see her before I leave, will you convey my gratitude?”

“Of course.” Soft as the gaze he’d torn himself from, her voice sounded forlorn in the expanse of the room. “In truth, although Honoria is practically bubbling with excitement, I’m less enthusiastic.”

His attention snapped back to her. “Are you having misgivings about our betrothal? Ready to cry off already?” Why did the idea not please him? He adopted a playfully affronted expression. “Am I such a distasteful suitor?”

“Oh, no. That’s not what I meant at all.” Delicate pink tinged her cheeks, and he wished she could maintain the effect withoutthe inciting embarrassment. “Simply that my last ball was less than successful.”

“Ah, but that was my fault, not yours.” Or should he say Lydia’s? Which, if Lydia attended, he promised himself he would protect Juliana from any further machinations. “On my honor, I promise not to spill anything on you.”

---