Page 29 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

Where had that thought come from?

Lydia pouted, no doubt hoping to persuade him with either attraction or pity.

Ha!

His mother gave an unnatural sneeze and then held a handkerchief to her nose. “When was the last time your maid of all work dusted? It’s a disgrace! Allow me to go speak with her at once.”

Icy fingers trailed down Victor’s spine as his mother moved toward the door. She planned to leave him alone with Lydia!

“Oh, no you don’t.” Victor followed her out and closed the door behind him. “What is your game, Mother? If you plan to compromise me with Lydia becausesheis your choice for my wife, think again. And I would hope you learned your lesson with Cilla. Do you wish to go back to Lincolnshire and the sheep? Because one word to Father from me and?—”

“Cease, Victor!” She huffed another sigh. “I only wish to give you a little nudge in the right direction.”

“If, in your opinion, that direction is toward Lydia Whyte, I urge you to reconsider.”

An idea, at first no more than a ball of shapeless clay, but punched, pulled, and sculpted by the events of the last few days, took shape. The simplicity of it addressed several concerns at once. With an impetuosity he hadn’t felt since meeting Adalyn, Victor said, “In fact, I plan to court Miss Merrick.”

“No.” The strangled whisper would have been comical had it not been for his mother’s alarming appearance as she uttered it. Her skin paled, and she held her handkerchief to her bosom. Fora moment, Victor worried he would have to send Tierney to fetch a physician.

He grabbed her arm. “Mother? Do you need to sit?” Opening the door, he led her back into the room. His gaze swung to Lydia standing by his desk and staring out the window. Odd. The view from that particular window was of the neighboring building’s brick wall. When she turned toward them, her sickeningly sweet smile set his nerves on edge. He darted a glance to his sketchpad, the tension coiled in his chest easing to find the drawings still resting beneath.

After depositing his mother on the small settee, he poured a splash of brandy into a crystal glass, then handed it to his mother. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any sherry.”

She pushed it aside. “YouknowI don’t drink strong spirits.” Her gaze drifted to Lydia, and her brow furrowed.

Victor followed his mother’s line of sight, searching Lydia’s oddly satisfied expression for what had caused his mother’s additional distress.

“Lady Cartwright.” Lydia moved from her position at the window to his mother’s side. “We’ve obviously come at an inopportune time. Let’s not bother Victor any longer. Why don’t we go to Gunter’s without him and enjoy a nice cup of tea instead of ices?”

Mother’s brow furrowed more deeply, but she nodded and rose. “Very well. Victor, you and I shall discuss your decision later.”

Eager to be rid of them, Victor bussed his mother on the cheek. Opening the door wide, he motioned them out. “Enjoy your tea, ladies.”

When he closed the door behind them, he pressed his back against it, not entirely relieved. Lydia was up to something; he was sure of it.

His gaze darted back to his desk, and in six long strides, he stood before it. He stared down at the sketchpad completely covering the drawings, unease niggling in his chest. Hadn’t a corner of the paper peeked out before? He lifted the sketchpad, trying to remember if it had obscured the sketches completely when he’d repositioned it.

A quick check ensured all the drawings remained, with Adalyn’s still on top of those of Juliana.

His body dropped to his chair, and his impetuous announcement to his mother forced concern over the sketches from his mind.

What had he done?

In truth, he hadn’tdoneanything.

Yet.

He’d simply said heplannedto court Miss Merrick.

But the idea was neither without merit nor unappealing. She needed a respectable suitor. At least one better than that cad Lord Felix Davies. And Victor admitted he liked her very much. Spending time in her company would be no hardship whatsoever, and it would fall naturally in place while he painted her portrait.

However, one con niggled at his mind. Would it be fair to Juliana? He had no desire to hurt her.

The clock on the mantle chimed quarter to one. No time to ponder it further, he scooped up the finished sketches—sans the ones of Adalyn—and placed them in his satchel.

He would present them to Burwood, along with his request to court the duke’s sister.

And prayed he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

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