Page 37 of The Hired Hero
Caroline laid a hand on his arm. “I understand if you would rather not discuss it. I—I seem to be upsetting everyone around me today.”
“On the contrary!” Jeremy hesitated and then shyly added, “Y-You have very kind eyes. Conversing with people doesn’t come easily to me, but I feel comfortable doing so with you.”
She gave him an encouraging smile.
Drawing in a deep breath, Jeremy continued. “Like Julian, I’m a second son, though of a mere baronet, not an earl. Through family connections, my father arranged for me to enter the navy as a career—but I simply couldn’t imagine myself in that sort of life! However, my father is not one who will listen to reason. He could never understand why I didn’t love to hunt and shoot and carouse.”
As Caroline watched his sensitive face harden at the memory, she felt a surge of empathy, as she understood what it was like to be trapped by conventional thinking.
“My father grudgingly allowed me to enter university,” recounted Jeremy. “But when I began to paint, he was appalled. Only Julian encouraged me to continue.”
He let out a harsh sigh, and when he resumed his narrative, his voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. “Then, after the accident…well, my family simply disowned me. I imagine that a lily-livered painter—and a crippled one at that—was simply too much for them to bear.”
Caroline’s eyes brimmed with sympathy. “How terrible for you,” she said.
“I’m telling you this not to evoke your pity. It is so you understand what sort of a man Julian is.”
“I didn’t mean to sound…” stammered Caroline.
“It is only through his generosity that I am able to survive on my own and continue my work, though I know he can ill afford it,” said Jeremy in a rush. “I suppose he feels in some way responsible for what happened.” Another sigh. “He has always tried to make amends for Charles.”
“His brother was the cause of your accident?”
Jeremy’s mouth quirked. “Charles never gave a thought as to whether his pranks caused harm to anyone. In fact, he never gave a thought to anyone save himself. The world is well rid of him. Perhaps Julian will now be able to find some peace…”
The sound of the door opening caused him to stop abruptly.
* * *
Davenport stepped backinto the room. He had washed the worst of the dust from his person and had brushed his garments so that they looked passably neat. His face was rigidly composed, and when he spoke, his voice was under taut control once again.
“I suggest you change,” he said curtly to Caroline, gesturing to the bedchamber.
She rose, took up the bundle of clothes that Jeremy had let fall to the floor and went into the other room without a word.
“And you—I would appreciate it if you would leave me out of your fanciful conversations,” he added to his friend, once the door had shut.
“I’m sorry, Julian, but I didn’t wish her to have the wrong impression—you’ve been acting like a bear with a thorn in his arse. It isn’t like you.”
“I don’t give a damn what she thinks of me,” he growled. “I am doing this for the money.”
Jeremy didn’t answer but regarded Davenport with a penetrating stare.
The earl turned from the scrutiny and made a show of cutting a hunk of cheese from the package he had brought in with him. “A mail coach passes through in an hour. With luck, I shall return in a few days and you won’t have to worry about buying pigments or canvas for some time.”
“I cannot bear to be such a burden…”
Davenport clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s merely a loan—you shall repay me when you have exhibited at the Academy and have to turn away commissions.”
“The Academy!” Jeremy shook his head and let out a wistful sigh. “Would that my work would ever hang there! But as I have no connections and no influence, there’s not a chance.”
“We’ll see.”
Caroline reemerged dressed in a looser set of breeches that hid her shape better than the old ones, as well as a clean shirt, a few minutes later. Her hair had been regathered and tucked up under a thick wool cap.
“Was there not another jacket?” demanded the earl, seeing she was wearing the old one.
Caroline fingered the buttons. “I prefer this one.”
