A Lady's Dream Come True - Grace Burrowes Page 0,74

is common sense.”

“Oak is very sensible. He simply keeps most of his conclusions to himself.”

Grey folded the letter he’d written and used a spill from the jar on the mantel to carry a flame from the hearth to the wax jack.

“Is that a letter to Oak?” Valerian asked as the wax dripped onto the paper.

“It is.”

“You are letting him know the traveling coach will be along directly?”

Grey blew out the taper, leaving a hint of smoke and beeswax on the air. “Alas, no. Beatitude has requisitioned the coach to do some shopping in Dorchester—or she’s about to. I am helpless to deny her, so Oak must apply to Sycamore for the use of his traveling coach.”

“You’ll leave Oak stranded in the wilds of Hampshire?”

“For as long as possible.”

“Devious,” Valerian said as Grey pressed the family seal into the warm wax. “I like it.”

In Dorset, Oak had lived with a growing sense of frustration. His dreams had all pointed to London—success as a portraitist was possible only in London—though he’d lacked a plan for getting there.

Then Casriel had gone up to Town in search of a countess and come home matched with his heart’s desire. Willow had found his dear Susannah in London. Sycamore was thriving in London, and Ash appeared to have found a way to support himself in the capital as Sycamore’s conscience and business associate.

Oak had concluded that the first step in any plan to succeed in London had been to simply go to London. From Winchester, he could travel to the capital in a long day, if the roads were dry and the post chaise teams sound. He told himself regularly that he should set a departure date, pack up Vera’s attic paintings, and be on his way.

Pursue the dream he’d cherished since boyhood.

In London.

Noisy, stinking London, where Verity had no desire to be, ever.

He’d tried to explore why she was so averse to the metropolis, but the conversation was invariably waylaid by desire. Somebody started kissing somebody else, hands grew busy and inventive, and doors were locked. For the past week, Oak had been sharing Verity’s bed for the most of every night, though she occupied his thoughts nigh constantly.

And here he was again, sauntering into her bedroom at the end of the day, helpless to waste what little time they had left together.

“How does Alexander seem to you?” Vera asked, untying his cravat.

“He seems like Alexander. Serious, shy, intelligent, and unusually complicated for such a little fellow.” He put Oak in mind of himself as a boy, in fact. “Why do you begrudge me the pleasure of undressing you, Verity Channing? By the time I join you of late, you are in your nightgown and dressing gown. I am denied the experience of unbuttoning, unlacing, and unwrapping you.”

And he wanted that experience, wanted to look forward to it at the end of every day.

Her hands paused. “And I never start my day with the sight of you as you don your finery. Never hear you using your toothpowder behind the privacy screen, never see you making the odd faces men make when they shave. I will never see you at your bath, never ambush you some rainy morning as you lounge about in a banyan and pajama trousers.”

She drew the jacket from his shoulders and hung it over the back of her reading chair. When she would have unbuttoned his waistcoat, Oak caught her hands.

“Come to London with me.”

She shook free of his grasp and started on his buttons. “And live with you in an unsanctioned union? How would that reflect on my children, Oak? How would that reflect on me?”

“I didn’t mean—” What had he meant? “You could stay at my brother’s town house. I can have Will or Grey or Valerian come up to Town. A sister-in-law or two will make your visit plausible, and I’ll stay with Sycamore and Ash if I can’t find my own quarters. Nothing unsanctioned about it.”

Though his brothers would think he’d run mad, and they’d be half right. Oak wasn’t traveling all the way to London to once again be the butt of fraternal humor.

Vera finished unbuttoning his waistcoat and started on his shirt. “Assuming your siblings are willing to drop everything, travel to London, and idle about Mayfair while I find excuses to tryst with you, what then? I have no real friends in London, you must pursue your aspirations, and I am responsible for this property. Harvest does not happen without management on hand, Oak.