Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,43

as she purveyed her portrayal of the bowl of fruit. Stopping time. Ha! More likely her picture would transport the observer back to his or her childhood, when they’d first learned to paint.

Lord Westerley would take one look at it and decide that even his honor would not be worth courting her.

“A most original depiction of still life.” He’d stepped up behind her and she shivered when his breath brushed past her ear.

That sharp awareness she’d felt a few moments ago doubled when he reached around her with his right hand and covered hers, still holding the brush.

“May I?”

She turned to see if he would mock her as the Frenchman had but lost her train of thought when she found his face much closer to hers than she’d expected.

“I’ve never aspired to paint.” Her voice came out sounding a little breathless. “It’s a lost cause, I’m afraid.”

But instead of taking the paintbrush from her hands, he wrapped his fingers around hers and lifted both their hands to the canvas. Charley forced her wrist to go limp as he dabbed at the canvas and then made a few shadowy-looking strokes.

“It is hopeless.” Charley moaned a little and then squirmed as she realized that Bethany watched from where she stood, looking a little curious but also a little suspicious.

“Where there is life,” he spoke softly from just behind her, “there is hope.” He released her hand and stepped backward to reassess the painting.

Charley tilted her head to one side but honestly didn’t think he’d done anything to improve it. In fact, it might possibly look even worse. She felt him laughing behind her before she heard his actual chuckling.

Only, his laughter didn’t make her feel inferior, as had the painting master’s comments.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that even you are not capable of infusing either life or hope into my effort. I am only sorry that I’ve wasted the paint and the canvas.”

She couldn’t keep from smiling at him. How could any young lady resist such a handsome man when he gazed at her with twinkles of delight dancing in his eyes that just happened to be her favorite color of blue? In the bright and sunny room, they reminded her of the delphinium that grew in front of her father’s house in early spring.

“Your grandmother must arrange for some primary formal instruction.” Charley had not been aware of the countess’s approach. “It’s important that a refined young lady be able to show even the most basic ability where the finer arts are concerned.” She cleared her throat meaningfully. “Did you see Lady Felicity’s painting, Jules?”

“Not yet,” he said, moving away from Charley and examined the painting on her neighbor’s easel. “Lady Felicity never ceases to impress me with her talents,” he responded smoothly and then went on to compliment a few of the other ladies around them as well.

The other lords ambled along from painting to painting, and Lord Chaswick had stepped inside the circle to snack on one of the apples. Showing no reverence at all, he began tossing grapes in the direction of the viscount and Mr. Spencer, who didn’t allow a single one to fall to the floor. Mr. Peter Spencer kept a short distance away from their antics, not disapproving, but not participating either. Perhaps as a musician, he empathized with the painting master.

Charley, however, felt no sympathy for the distraught-looking Frenchman who’d lost all control of his ‘class’ for the afternoon.

In the melee, Lord Westerley had returned and touched his hand to the small of her back. “Meet me in the gallery in ten minutes. I have something I think you will appreciate.”

“My Lord, what do you think of mine?” asked a young lady whose name Charley couldn’t remember from a few easels over. He squeezed Charley’s arm and moved away.

What could he possibly have to show her? Should she be nervous?

She didn’t have time to contemplate any of that, however, when Lady Westerley stepped up to her painting again.

“Miss Jackson, I wondered if you’d like to invite your companion to join in the house party festivities. You did bring along a companion, unless I am mistaken?”

“Daisy?” The ‘offer’ rendered Charley momentarily speechless. Good heavens, if Charley—as an invited guest—felt out of place while negotiating the party, how much more so would her maid?

“It isn’t proper for a young woman your age to be on her own. When your father informed me he’d be leaving the party, I merely assumed that your companion would join you. It