Romancing Her Rival - Joanna Barker Page 0,31

Daphne a curious look.

“Aunt,” Daphne said sternly, and Aunt Hartwell’s chin snapped back to the side, though a grin tugged at her lips. “But to answer your question, I saw it illustrated in a book. Lavater’s Essays on Physiognomy.”

“Ah, the one from the library.” Cole nodded. That made a great deal more sense now. He had been confused to find Daphne with such a volume, but now knowing she was interested for the sake of her art made it understandable.

Aunt Hartwell sent him a sidelong glance. “The library?”

Cole clasped his hands behind his back, moving closer to Daphne to watch as she continued to make a series of small precise cuts. “Yes, she was reading it the other day, and I’m afraid I teased her a bit about it.”

Daphne did not look up at him, focused as she was on her task. “It is a fascinating subject, really. Lavater suggests that one can tell a person’s character from their facial features, particularly in profile.”

Aunt Hartwell gave a huff. “I would put no stock in that, my dear. It is likely as accurate as a palm reading.”

Daphne lifted one shoulder. “Perhaps. But I must admit the author makes some interesting points.”

Cole raised an eyebrow. He agreed with Aunt Hartwell in this case—the shape of a man’s head had nothing to do with the person he was. But the fact that Daphne dared to disagree, however slightly, intrigued him.

Another few minutes of work, and then Daphne held up her finished work. “There. Now, it is not perfect by any means, but I think it a decent likeness.”

Cole leaned down to study the silhouette, his sleeve brushing her arm. His eyes widened. “Decent?”

“Let me see,” Aunt Hartwell demanded, rising and joining them at the sofa. She took the paper from Daphne, now only the size of a fisted hand, and held it up against the fire. “Well,” she said, blinking. “I never thought I could look so well in black. See, you have even captured the curls about my neck and—are those my eyelashes?”

“I may have embellished a little.” Daphne fidgeted with her scissors. “I couldn’t quite see your eyelashes from here.”

“Remarkable,” Aunt Hartwell said simply, and Cole could only nod his agreement. It had taken no more than a quarter hour, and yet Aunt Hartwell now held a near perfect profile of herself. “I shall have it framed immediately.”

“Oh, you needn’t do that.” Daphne sounded embarrassed. “It is just a simple cutting.”

“Hush,” Aunt Hartwell scolded. “You do yourself no credit. You have a talent, my dear, and you should not shy away from it.”

Daphne stared at her aunt. “Really?”

“Really,” Cole interjected. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Her eyes moved to his, and the doubt there made him want to shake her. He could only imagine what treatment she’d had over the years to have such a disbelief in herself. He was quite certain it had more to do with her manipulative mother than anything.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “That is kind of you to say.”

“I insist you do one of Mr. Everard,” Aunt Hartwell said, sitting beside Daphne on the sofa. “I must have my turn to observe.”

Blast. This was just as unexpected as her invitation to join them during their outing on Saturday had been. “No need. I am certain Miss Windham would like a rest.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, retrieving another piece of paper. “I should like more practice.”

Aunt Hartwell shooed him away, and he had no choice but to sit in the chair she had previously occupied. He faced the wall, his back straight, his hands clasped in his lap, glad the light of the fire behind him would hide the color in his face. He did not much like the idea of Daphne inspecting him as much as she wished for the next few minutes.

“Hold still,” she said softly, and began her cutting. Cole watched her movements from the corner of his eye. What did she see in him as she cut?

After a few minutes, Aunt Hartwell murmured something to Daphne, and then there were footsteps. Cole turned his head as Aunt Hartwell slipped from the room.

“Where is she off to?” he asked.

“To fetch her spectacles,” Daphne said, a bit distractedly. “Now turn back before I accidentally give you a second nose.”

Cole grinned, but obeyed. “I daresay Aunt Hartwell would not be so eager to display that portrait.”

“Perhaps a museum would like it. A man with two noses would certainly draw a crowd.”

Cole chuckled. He liked this side