Page 35 of The Grand Mistletoe Assembly
“Instead of staring at each other, why don’t you sit down and have tea?” Emily sounded amused.
Lily gathered her wits and complied. She’d forgotten how tall he was, and how devastatingly handsome. His eyes were still that special blue of mature violets, and his straight, aristocratic nose had a thin scar on the bridge. Threads of gray scattered through his tawny hair like sun streaks, reminding her of summer days when they would shed their hats and race to the lake near Langston Grange.
He was no longer the awkward, chivalrous, nineteen-year-old boy she’d last seen, a boy full of swagger, eager to go off to war, while reluctant to leave his first love. He was a man of dignity now, one who held himself like the soldier he’d been for years, even though his smile still set butterflies to wing in her stomach.
Emily handed her a cup of tea fixed exactly as Lily liked it, with two sugars and no milk. Sipping it gave her time to compose herself and to wonder what on earth Major Alastair Kinkade was doing here.
“Your niece has told me you’ve become quite an accomplished artist.” His deep, dulcet tones washed over her, spreading warmth through her body. Lily adored compliments, and one from Alastair was special.
“I dabble. But thank you for your kind words.” She searched Emily’s face, then Alastair’s. “How did you know I was here?”
He averted his eyes and a blush appeared on his cheeks, an endearing habit he’d had since boyhood and apparently hadn’t outgrown. When he raised his head, his gaze was on Emily. “You didn’t tell her, Lady Cardmore?”
“Tell me what?” A trickle of fear slid down Lily’s spine.
Emily’s eyes sparkled with glee. “Remember our discussion about the Grand Mistletoe Assembly? I mentioned there was to be an auction of items to support the foundling home.”
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath and placed her hand on her stomach. “I submitted one of your paintings for the auction, and it was accepted. Isn’t that wonderful? Everyone will know what a fine artist you’ve become.”
Lily swallowed as her shoulders tightened. Setting her teacup down carefully, she wanted to jump up and shout, “No.” That would be churlish, and she’d embarrass her niece as well as herself.
Alastair added, “I was on the screening committee to judge the items under consideration, and I must tell you, I haven’t seen a more detailed, evocative piece than your painting of the two swans on the lake at sunset. When I realized Iknewthat lake and those swans, I sent a note to your niece asking if I might call here, to discover the name of the artist. It is unusual for a piece to be unsigned.”
Lily swallowed. “Surely there are more accomplished pieces. As much as I care about young children, I don’t think my picture would receive the kind of bids you need.” She stood, nearly upsetting her cup. “I must withdraw it.”
She’d gone too far,created a scene. Emily’s lip trembled as if she’d burst into tears any moment, and Alastair sat frozen in his chair, most likely not knowing what to say. How could she do such a thing to her poor niece? And now, she appeared foolish and dramatic to Alastair, who probably had an aristocratic wife with perfect manners.
The watercolor was not signed. No one need know who had painted it. Without a signature, it was unlikely anyone would purchase it. She’d overreacted once again. Trying hard to calm her racing heart, she swallowed and turned to her old friend. “I apologize. I tend to disparage my work because I know what real art looks like. If you want the painting in the auction, keep it. I hope you won’t be disappointed if there are no bidders.”
Emily rose, the quiver in her voice making Lily feel even more guilty. “I must excuse myself for a moment. Can you preside at the tea table, Aunt?”
“Of course.” Lily reseated herself and offered their guest a plate of biscuits. “She is near her time and tends to be very emotional. I am totally at fault if she’s upset, but she’ll be fine.”
He accepted a biscuit and chewed slowly. Lily forced herself not to sigh. They had once been totally, passionately, sinfully in love, and here they were, both nine and thirty, calmly eating lemon biscuits and drinking tea from dainty Sevres cups.
“Are you still in the army?”
“No, I sold out right after the defeat of Napoleon. I’d been gone so long I was sure my daughter wouldn’t recognize me.”
“Do you also have sons?” There, she was capable of polite conversation.
“Just one daughter. Constance is my delight, the one who begged me to accept the task of selecting the paintings for the silent auction when I was asked. She thinks I have a discerning eye.”
“I had forgotten your interest in art. Are you living in London now?” Damn. She was chatting like a fool, but she fearedhemight begin asking questions she didn’t want to answer, and she needed time to devise satisfactory responses.
“I’m staying in the family townhouse while in London. I’ll be retiring to my country estate when Parliament ends its session. I am the Earl of Selwick now. Did you not know? My brother died in a carriage accident three years ago.”
Lily gasped. “I’m so sorry. I never get to London and am totally ignorant of what happens in society. I hadn’t heard.”
“I idolized my brother. I always believed I’d be the one to die first, having spent half my life in the service of the king.” He smiled ruefully. “What about you? I know you married. I admit I was surprised. I always thought …”
Yes, she knew what he was about to say because she had thought the same. They would wed as soon as they were of age.
Alastair took out his timepiece and shook his head. “I fear I must depart. Please tell Lady Cardmore it was a pleasure taking tea with her and with you.”
“I shall. I’ll call a footman to retrieve your coat, hat, and gloves.”
