do that. Your children and grandchildren may want to name theirs in your honor.”
The thought made a strange flutter in his stomach. He had fantasized about having a family of his own for so long, it had never occurred to him that future generations might fantasize about knowing him.
“I should’ve given my new nags better names than ‘Elderberry’ and ‘Mango,’” he muttered.
She giggled. “If you need assistance with future livestock, my brother Jacob adores animals.”
An odd sensation tickled his chest. How wonderful it must be to have siblings—to be able to offer one up as if he were an extension of oneself, as if Lawrence could call her brother a friend by proxy! Good day. You don’t know me, because I am a complete stranger, but I have a horse with no name. Have you any suggestions?
If only it were that easy. Walk up to someone as though you were related and be immediately welcomed into the family. He suddenly wished more than anything that it were possible, that a large, loving family would one day open their arms and choose him.
“Your ancestors are as handsome as you are.” Chloe turned to glance about the library. “What other treasures lurk around the corner?”
He hesitated. His family portraits were important but fairly pedestrian.
What would happen if he showed Chloe the handful of more experimental paintings that fascinated him? Would she like them, too? Or would she find his taste questionable and his art laughable, and perhaps rethink her opinion of him as well?
He was appalled to discover he feared Chloe’s rejection as much as society’s.
Lawrence did not seek her approbation but to forge a connection. To be understood by her in a way no other acquaintances sought to know him.
“Over here,” he found himself saying. “My secret collection.”
When they reached the corner, she regarded the panoply of styles with interest.
“I am no artist,” she admitted, “but I am intrigued both by it and by you. Tell me what I am looking at.”
He took a deep breath and did just that.
She asked insightful questions and listened intently to his replies, even when the answer was “I don’t know. It felt like part of me when I saw it.”
“Art fascinates me,” he explained, “because it captures a moment in time that may or may not have existed. No matter how rich the detail, it can never tell the full story.”
This was much the same way he felt every time he looked at Chloe. She was beauty, she was mystery, she was more than she revealed at first glance. He suspected he could gaze upon her for the rest of his life and never uncover all of her hidden depths.
He hesitated before confessing, “One of the best aspects of the theatre is the sets behind the actors.”
“Is it?” She gave a startled laugh. “You would get on well with my sister Marjorie. She says the same thing.”
“Does she?” He searched her eyes in wonder.
He had expected her to mock such a ridiculous fancy, not accept it without question and immediately offer yet another sibling whose taste apparently mirrored his own. It was intoxicating to realize Chloe didn’t find his eccentricities strange but, rather, normal.
This time he could not deny the wave of envy running through him. He didn’t want to belong to just any big, loving family.
He wanted one like the Wynchesters.
“Marjorie paints,” she explained with obvious pride. “If I tell her you find the act of creating as valuable as the art itself, you will be her favorite person in the world.”
He could not help but wish she would repeat it to her sister. His belly fluttered. Lawrence had never been anyone’s favorite person before. Even as a jest.
“Do you have a favorite person?” he asked.
“I have many of them,” she answered without hesitation. “Bean and my siblings. More, if you count Tiglet.”
“I would never fail to count Tiglet,” he replied solemnly.
Was it foolish of him to wish his own name on that list?
Once he pledged himself to Miss York, there would be no more passionate embraces with Chloe, but it did not mean they were obliged to return to being strangers.
What if he and Chloe could remain…friends? Openly, this time? The thought made him dizzy. What if he could meet Jacob and Marjorie and whoever else was in her family? Not portraits on a wall, but real people whose legends were still unfolding. The Wild Wynchesters…and the Goslings.
A throat cleared in the doorway. “Your Grace?”
He turned to see his butler bearing a