Page 41 of Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart 5)

The older lady held her gaze for a long moment. “Very well. Perhaps you’re even right.” She started to turn away. “I’ll get the name elsewhere.”

“What if I tell Papa?” asked Miss Ada.

“Do so and welcome. In fact, let us go now. I should like to see his face.”

Miss Ada declined the opportunity.

“What are you doing here?” asked her aunt then. She looked around the dilapidated space. “It is hardly a pleasant spot to sit, even on a warm day.”

“We’re interested in the workings of the theater,” replied Miss Ada.

“Indeed?” Miss Julia Grandison’s keen gaze swept over them all once again. Arthur felt evaluated and dismissed. Then the lady shrugged and bid them farewell. Everyone let out a relieved breath when she was gone.

“Should I tell Papa she is asking these questions about him?” Miss Ada wondered. “How would I bring up such a subject?” She turned to Arthur. “Would you do it, sir?”

Arthur tried not to shudder as he shook his head. “We are not well acquainted. Your father would be offended.” This was quite true. Mr. Grandison would certainly resent the interference, once he got over being aghast at Arthur’s effrontery.

“Oh.” Miss Ada considered the matter. “I’ll get Peter to do it.”

There were some dubious looks at this, but no objections. Arthur didn’t envy the young duke, but at least Compton was, or was about to become, a family member. He might have some bare excuse to broach the matter.

The young ladies took their leave soon after this. Tom and the señora moved back toward their workplaces, and Arthur followed. “Why is Miss Grandison so angry at her brother?” the señora asked.

Arthur told her the story of the punch-bowl humiliation in their youth.

“And he has never said he was sorry?”

“I don’t believe so.” Miss Grandison would have mentioned that, Arthur thought.

“The churlish, dog-hearted clotpole,” said Tom, more in the spirit of experiment than in anger, it seemed.

“So he deserves to pay,” said the señora. “But perhaps not so dearly as the large lady seems to intend.”

Arthur nodded. They paused inside the workshop door. “May I watch you paint for a while?” he asked her.

She looked surprised. “Why would you wish to?”

“I appreciate mastery in all its forms.”

Her cheek reddened a bit. “Mastery is…”

“The proper word for your ability.”

Tom grinned and gave them a nod before walking off. The señora looked uncertain. “I suppose,” she said finally.

“I promise not to disturb you.” Inside, Arthur took a seat well out of her way. The señora put on her long apron and picked up a brush. She began adding a herd of tiny cows to the distant hills of the scene before her.

“My wife liked to paint, particularly outdoors,” Arthur said.

The señora’s brush went still and then resumed.

“Flowers were her favorite,” he added. “She used to say that if one could properly depict a rose, one could paint anything.”

She seemed attentive, but perhaps that was for her work and not for him.

“This was long ago of course. Nearly twenty years.”

She said nothing.

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