A Lady's Dream Come True - Grace Burrowes Page 0,51
just as worthy of sketching in the late afternoon as at midday.”
Jeremy took a sip of his tea and patted his lips with his table napkin. “Catherine wants to steal a moment with young Tom Treeble. I’ve seen how he looks at her in the churchyard.”
Catherine blushed rose pink, Miss Diggory frowned, and Vera wanted to slap Jeremy for his lack of consideration.
“A gentleman,” Oak said mildly as he resumed his seat, “would not remark the occasion of another fellow’s unrequited longings, particularly not those of a young lad whose masculine pride is in its tenderest beginnings. Pass the honey, please.”
Jeremy set the honeypot at Oak’s elbow. “A gentleman doesn’t pine for his ladylove in public like the veriest moon calf either. Catherine would turn any man’s head, but that doesn’t mean she should have to put up with Master Treeble making sheep’s eyes at her over his hymnal, hmm?”
Catherine apparently did not know what to make of that assertion, while Vera found it badly done. Catherine had just put up her hair for the first time. Sheep’s eyes and lovelorn looks should be a good way off and turning any man’s head some distance after that.
“I’ll take both Catherine and Alexander with me,” Vera said. “You can use a few hours at liberty, Jeremy, and I will enjoy the company of my children.”
Jeremy stirred his tea. “I will refrain from informing the terror that he’s to have another interruption in his studies until the hour is upon him. He’s been exceptionally distractible lately, but I can hardly fault him for that. Mr. Dorning’s arrival has caused all manner of upheaval. I’m sure things will soon settle down.”
Oak drizzled honey into his tea. “I’ll be off to London before you can list my many shortcomings, Forester, and perhaps by then you will have begun addressing your charge politely rather than making snide references to the child before his own family.” Oak let the last of the honey drip from the wooden whisk. “Hmm?”
He smiled faintly at Jeremy and set the honeypot in the center of the table.
Catherine was frankly goggling. Miss Diggory’s expression had gone carefully blank. Vera was astounded to find a duel being fought at her breakfast table, but also pleased. A man raised with a herd of brothers wouldn’t bat an eye at Jeremy’s sarcasm and verbal sniping, while Vera hadn’t known what, if anything, to do about it.
And Jeremy was sniping—at a small boy with no means of defending himself.
She took a final sip of tea and rose. “I’m sure Mr. Forester means only to poke affectionate fun at Alexander—my son is anything but a terror, after all—though I do agree with Mr. Dorning. If we expect Alexander to adopt the manners of a gentleman, we ought to take every opportunity to set a polite example for him. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Diggory?”
“Of course, Mrs. Channing.”
Oak rose, as a gentleman did when a lady left the room. “Well, that’s settled. Master Alexander and I can have our drawing lesson when he returns from escorting the ladies on their call. Miss Catherine, you and I can meet before supper, if that suits.” Oak turned a mildly inquisitive gaze on Jeremy, who shoved to his feet.
“I’ll enjoy my free time,” Jeremy said. “Have a pleasant outing, Mrs. Channing.”
“I’m sure I will.” Vera would have made a grand exit, except that Oak touched her arm.
“Might I have a word with you regarding the paintings to be restored, Mrs. Channing?”
“Now, Mr. Dorning?”
“Now would suit.”
“Very well.” And blast the luck, he looked as if he did, indeed, have nothing more than paintings on his mind. Vera accompanied Oak from the breakfast parlor up the steps to the floor where he’d organized his studio.
Breakfast had gone reasonably well, for a public encounter after a near tryst, but the near tryst still puzzled Vera. She was attracted to Oak Dorning, she liked him better the more time she spent with him, and she truly wasn’t looking for an entanglement.
So why had she been so missish about taking him as a lover? Why was she out of sorts now?
“I spent some time in my studio before breakfast,” Oak said, “and I wanted you to see the fruits of my labors.” He unlocked the door and bowed her through before relocking it.
The windows were open, though a faint odor of turpentine and linseed yet lingered in the room. The portrait of Anna Beaumont as an odalisque lay on the worktable, another unframed canvas beside it.