A Lady's Dream Come True - Grace Burrowes Page 0,41
against a tall glass jar.
“That’s a pleasant scene,” Vera said. “Not without charm, for all you pronounce it inadequate. The mama clearly dotes on her offspring.”
“Did you want more children?”
Not a question anybody had been brave enough to ask Vera before. “I have five brothers. That Catherine and Alexander are so far apart in age, no siblings between them, isn’t what I had planned, but then, I hadn’t planned on becoming a widow before I turned thirty.”
“You can remarry,” Oak said as he reached for the second half of a fat ham-and-cheddar sandwich.
That Oak would remark, between the lemonade and the sandwich, on Vera’s ability to remarry was disappointing. Perhaps a friend would make that observation, but coming from a prospective lover, it implied a disinterest at odds with shared intimacy.
“I am content as I am,” she said, “and finding a husband is problematic. What of you, do you intend to marry?”
The question caught him with his lemonade halfway to his mouth. He studied Vera over the rim of his glass, expression unreadable.
“I must establish myself professionally before I contemplate matrimonial ambitions. I had a drawing lesson with Catherine today.”
What sort of answer was that? “She mentioned her lesson at supper. In detail. Mr. Dorning this, and Mr. Dorning that. I believe her recitation put Mr. Forester off his feed, which amused Miss Diggory, and that bothered Mr. Forester all the more.”
Oak dusted his hands over the empty plate. “Our Mr. Forester has undertaken a flirtation with Miss Diggory.”
“A moment, please.” Vera rose and fetched a lamp from the sconce in the corridor. Upon her return, she closed the studio door—flirtation was under discussion, after all—and used the lamp to light a branch of candles on the mantel and another on the worktable. “Tell me about this flirtation.”
“I nearly came upon them in the corridor. Forester was trying to persuade the lady to grant him intimate liberties. I believe kisses were exchanged. He sought more.”
“Was Miss Diggory upset? She was her usual cheerful self at dinner.”
“Miss Diggory had the situation in hand. She seemed amused more than anything else, but I was not in a position to assess her expression. I heard this exchange, I did not see it.”
“I am unhappy with Jeremy for accosting Tamsin where anybody could happen upon them. To the wrong sort of observer, that behavior compromises the lady’s good name.” Without being able to say why, Vera knew that Oak would never be so cavalier. He’d do his exchanging of kisses behind closed and locked doors and away from large windows.
“I was intent on using the servants’ stairs,” Oak said. “I would not have come upon them otherwise.”
“My servants gossip, for which I don’t blame them.” Vera set the lamp on the deal table. “A footman who came upon that scene would mention it to his brothers or cousins over darts. A maid would tell her aunt in the churchyard. The news would spread to other households, and by this time next month, Miss Diggory could be enduring untoward remarks from louts on market day.”
And Vera did not want Tamsin, a decent and pleasant young woman, to suffer such a fate. Neither did Vera look forward to scolding Jeremy, a grown man who ought to know better.
“I can say something to Forester.” Oak rose and crossed to the worktable. “I’ll tell him he was observed and that another lapse in discretion could cost him his post—which it should. If I am ever that indiscreet, you should sack me too. Come have a look at our mystery painting.”
“You wouldn’t mind having a pointed word with Jeremy?” Vera asked, joining Oak at the worktable. “I could not raise the topic without blushing furiously, while you can probably make a casual comment and convey an entire lecture.”
“Consider it done. If Forester takes me into dislike for offering a friendly warning, no matter. I’ll be gone in a few weeks.”
Why must he remind Vera of that? Why did she need reminding?
Oak withdrew a folding knife from his boot and turned the canvas over. Vera moved the candles closer.
“You won’t hurt them, will you? The young mother and her children?”
He smiled, a crooked, piratical smile. “She’s safe, as are the children.” He opened the knife, a casual gesture that spoke of familiarity and skill.
Oak Dorning was not Dirk, and Vera liked the differences she’d seen so far. Dirk would never have carried a knife in his boot, but then, Dirk had been an artist dwelling in the country from time