A Lady's Dream Come True - Grace Burrowes Page 0,18
was entirely devoid of my brother Sycamore’s charm and guile. The role of brat was ever available to me, and I regret to report that on occasion I fulfilled it.”
But upon reflection, Oak hadn’t fulfilled that role so very often, a testament to his parents’ and tutors’ fundamental decency toward a lot of rowdy fellows.
“Perhaps I should call the boy brat.”
“You might try calling him Master Alexander.”
Across the parlor, the ladies laughed, and Oak once again wished he’d secured Mrs. Channing’s agreement to sit to him for a portrait. Her humor was subtle, but never far from the surface, and her affection for her step-daughter was probably plain to all save the girl herself.
Families were messy and complicated. Thank heavens painting was a straightforward undertaking.
Forester settled onto the end of the piano bench, his hip subtly pushing Oak off-center. The last time another male had tried to arse-shove Oak from his seat, he’d barely been breeched.
“So, Dorning, what do you make of our Young Miss? I haven’t seen her with her hair up before. Makes quite a difference.”
“I think she is sweet, smart, and lucky to have Mrs. Channing for a step-mother. Somebody has seen to her education and ensured she has some confidence, which is always a lovely quality in a young lady.”
“You don’t mention that she’s pretty. Not gorgeous like her step-mama, of course, but she’ll turn heads. Her mother was apparently a beauty too.”
A note of speculation had crept into Forester’s gaze as he regarded the three females sipping tea and comparing fashion plates.
“Drink your port, Forester, and find yourself some practice pieces to work on when Alexander and I are off sketching tomorrow.”
Jeremy finished his drink and set his glass on the music rack, then picked up a pile of sheet music sitting on a stand beside the piano.
“I’ll look for duets,” he said. “Music is much more fun when it’s a social occasion too. I prefer to play the top parts. What about you?”
The question was vaguely challenging and slightly sexual, also stupid in the manner of much male banter.
“Either part suits me well enough, provided I have a chance to look over the music before I’m called upon to perform it.” Oak brought his minuet to a quiet cadence and rose. “I will leave you to your practice.”
“Fetch a fellow another drop of the grape, would you?” Jeremy said, passing Oak his empty glass. “I will endeavor not to wreck anybody’s hearing.”
Another small ploy, putting Oak in the role of servant. His brothers had mercifully outgrown all but the most endearing of boyish traits. A cuff on the back of the head from a sibling meant I love you. An elbow on the ribs was a gesture of affection.
Nothing sly or mean about any of it.
Oak brought Jeremy half a glass of port, then made a polite good-night to the ladies. Traveling had, as it turned out, sapped some of his energy, and he wanted the peace and quiet of his rooms to consider the day’s developments.
And to write a letter to Casriel, not that Oak missed Dorning Hall or his oldest brother.
“I’ll light you up,” Mrs. Channing said. “I want to ensure your rooms are properly kitted out and that we’ve remembered to fill your coal bucket.” She gave Catherine a quick squeeze about the shoulders, which seemed to surprise the girl, then lit a lantern and followed Oak to the corridor.
“I must thank you, Mr. Dorning,” she said as soon as the parlor door was closed behind them. “Catherine was nervous of her reception this evening. She’s never put up her hair before, and you were a perfect gentleman to her.”
“I was merely polite. She’s an accomplished conversationalist.”
“She gets that from Dirk. That man could charm anybody.” Mrs. Channing started up the steps, her lantern cutting through the gloom of an old house after sunset. “If you’re to take on art instruction for the children, we ought to adjust your wages accordingly.”
“I like teaching young people to sketch and paint. I’m happy to add it to my duties.”
Mrs. Channing paused at the top of the steps. “Do not give away your talent, Mr. Dorning. Unless you also have independent means and can afford to regard art as a charitable undertaking, you deserve to be paid for the exercise of your abilities. You’ve worked for years to develop the skill you have. Don’t squander it on every widow who tosses her children at you.”