Page 43 of Rescued from Betrayal
John stood. “I must be going, but may I return the day after tomorrow to draw again?”
“That depends.” Nathaniel removed his hand from Melior’s shoulder.
“On what?”
“On whether your spectacles will be repaired so you can see the paper you are sketching on.”
John grinned. “Actually, I lied. They were never broken, I simply forgot them.”
Nathaniel cast him a faux glare and Melior laughed.
“We shall see you the day after tomorrow then,” she said in such a sweet happy tone that Nathaniel found he did not mind John’s lie. The face that had been drawn and sad these last two weeks was bright and happy. It warmed him to see her smile again.
“Yes,” he said, “until Thursday.”
Dinner that evening was blessedly different. Melior’s usual quiet had given way to excited chatter about the painting. Nathaniel never thought he’d be so happy to have someone talk so much.
“I hope Lord Newhurst will paint my gown blue. Mother always said it was my best color, but something lighter than my eyes. Perhaps if he mixed cobalt blue with white he could get a sky blue. But the background will have to be a light color in order to see the texture of my dark hair. A soft yellow would be pretty.”
While everything she’d detailed did sound nice, her focus on her own appearance began to wear on him. He opened his mouth, a caustic remark on the tip of his tongue when she shocked him.
“And the yellow will also make it easier to see how nicely your hair curls. The contrast of your black coat and white cravat will stand out as well.”
She stopped, staring at his eyes for a long moment. She leaned in, then back, then a little in again. While she was not close to him, the intensity of his focus made him feel like she had moved closer. “I hope Lord Newhurst is able to capture your lovely green eyes correctly.”
He was speechless as she continued to stare into his eyes. His mouth went dry and his pulse picked up.
“Did you know your eyelashes are darker than your hair? They are quite long as well. Umber with charcoal highlights should accomplish the color, but Lord Newhurst will have to use a bit of yellow and white for your hair.”
Nathaniel’s hand flew to the side of his head. “Am I beginning to grey?”
Her tinkling laugh filled the room and tickled his heart. “No, not at all. I simply meant he would need to layer the colors to show the different shades.”
“That is a relief. As fashionable as white hair was in my mother’s generation, I am not keen on sporting it at so early an age. Especially when I have a beautiful young wife to be compared to.”
Her surprised expression made him shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked. He’d not meant to pamper her vanity.
Melior’s eyes dropped to her food and she carefully took a small bite of roast partridge. She chewed slowly, but Nathaniel had not missed the way her cheeks pinked. Was she genuinely pleased with his offhanded comment or was she simply reveling in her victory?
Finally she spoke. “I am not that much younger, you know, but it is kind of you to say so.”
Her focus on age confused him. There was no arrogant tilt of her head, no show of victory at his admission. Had they been in the ballrooms of London she would have reveled in her own beauty, drawing men to her like bees to honey.
“Is there anything you would like to be in the painting?” She speared another bite of food. “Perhaps a pair of cufflinks or stickpin that might have some significance to you? Something you wish generations to know or remember.”
He almost spit his food in surprise. Generations? Their generations? Would there be generations? The casual way she spoke led him to wonder if she was far more amenable to an actual marriage than he’d believed, but she continued on before he found the courage to question her statement.
“I know in one of the portraits my uncle had done, he made sure my aunt included the sapphire and diamond jewelry he’d gifted her from his mother. He claimed it was important because it was a symbol that love could survive beyond differences.”
“How so?”
“My grandmother was a fine duchess, but she came from more humble beginnings, her father having made his money in trade.”
Nathaniel could not help his melodramatic intake of breath. “You mean your line is not… pure.”
She smiled, and with the same dramatics said, “Do not tell anyone.”
He chuckled. “It shall be our secret.”
