She didn’t want to argue with him, though this was not quite true. “You should return to your room now. I’ll take you.” She held up the candle to light more of the hallway.
Geoffrey whirled and scampered away. In moments, his small figure was lost in the darkness. There was no sense chasing him, Jean thought. He was faster. He knew the house far better than she did. And he would fit into a hundred little hiding places. With a sigh, she turned and went into her bedchamber.
Fifteen
“Come and see,” said the master of Furness Hall the following afternoon as he entered the parlor where Jean was sitting with Mrs. Thorpe.
“See what?” Jean asked. A tremor went through her. She hadn’t seen him since she left his bed.
“Just come.”
He looked amused, almost mischievous. When he beckoned, they both rose and followed him upstairs.
Benjamin—Jean couldn’t think of him asLord Furnessany longer—opened the door of the nursery like a showman pulling back a curtain. Inside, Tom stood before a tall easel, pencil poised over a canvas. Geoffrey posed before him, feet apart, one hand raised.
The boy turned when they entered. He gave Jean a sidelong glance, and she wondered if he was going to mention their nighttime encounter. He said nothing, however.
“The subject of a portrait must stand very still,” Benjamin told his son.
“I did! For ages.”
“It makes no matter,” said Tom. “I’ll draw him as he is.”
“A blur of motion?” asked Benjamin.
Tom smiled amid general laughter. Geoffrey glowered. “No, but catch as catch can,” said Tom. “May as well. I’m not a real artist.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Jean. He seemed to be capturing Geoffrey’s lively spirit in his sketch, which was not an easy task. “You’re doing very well.”
“I like showing what I see with some lines on a page.” Tom gestured with his pencil. “It’s magical, like.”
“When you’re good at it, which you certainly are,” said Mrs. Thorpe.
Beginning to look embarrassed, Tom shook his head. “I never had one of these canvas things before. Only bits of paper. And I’m not sure how I’ll do with the paints, milord. I’ve only tried them twice in my life.”
“You’ll do your best. It seems you always do.”
Tom flushed.
“He’s going to put Fergus in it,” said Geoffrey, as if this was the far more important point and justified the entire effort. Resuming his pose, the boy wiggled his raised hand. “Tom’ll paint the reins in just as if I was holding them. And then Fergus next to me. He’ll be part of my picture forever.”
They all agreed this was a splendid idea. “We’ll leave you to it,” Benjamin said then. “I know I hate being overlooked when I’m trying to concentrate on a task.”
Jean thought Tom looked grateful as they filed out. And then she forgot all else when Benjamin met her eyes. His gaze was intimate as a caress.
“That lad is a treasure,” said Mrs. Thorpe as they descended the stairs.
Benjamin agreed with a nod. “I don’t know where we’d be without him.”
“I wonder if Tom would like to study painting,” Jean said, having caught her breath. “It seems a shame not to develop his talents.”
“I could find him a place to do that in London,” said Mrs. Thorpe. “I know several painters.”
“He seems determined to wander,” Benjamin replied. “We’ve asked him what he would like. Offered him a place here or more schooling. But he intends to move on. More than that, he will not say.”
“We?” Jean asked.
“My uncle is full of admiration for the lad and wants to help him.”