Chapter 1

Burnham-On-Sea, England

August 9, 1817

This was a mistake. Vanessa had known from the beginning that it was, but when a friend who had been so kind asked her for a favor, how could she refuse? That alone made Vanessa feel beholden to assist Easton Alden, Viscount Fane. Now that he was Tassandra's cousin-in-law, as well as an Irish aristocrat who had traveled all the way from Dublin to Burnham-On-Sea to recover his inspiration for painting, she found it even more impossible to brush aside the request. She just prayed this meeting wouldn't take any longer than necessary, and she could rush back to the security of the Society boarding house and put this ordeal behind her. It wasn't that she wasn't amenable to conversing with anyone. She just had reasons to keep to herself.

The Seaside Society (of Spinsters, which former member Iona had added), was an establishment designed to encourage women to live independently of the restrictions that were generally placed upon them, like marriage. Vanessa had read about the advertisement by chance and immediately written to Miss Grantham and Miss Stratford, the patronesses of the Society. The amount of relief she'd had when they had accepted her application had been like nothing else. The sole thing she'd ever wanted to do was paint, and this quaint town had given her the freedom to do so.

She sat at a table for two at Marie's Tea Shop and told herself to calm her nerves as she waited for Lord Fane to arrive, although she couldn't resist taking one more peek at the letter in her reticule that she had received from him the day before. She had been impressed with his neat penmanship.

My dear Miss Carter…

That salutation alone had given her reservations. She knew he was merely being gracious, but it still hadn't settled well. She didn't need anyone in her life making things more difficult. No complications. Especially from a gentleman. That had been her adage since she'd set out on this venture. Burnham-On-Sea had sounded like the perfect retreat not only to engage in her favorite pastime, but also to give her a reprieve from her current situation. It had been the escape she'd been looking for, and she wasn't going to allow anything to ruin it.

She straightened her spine and continued to read.

Let me begin by saying how grateful I am that you were willing to speak with me. When Miss Devenport told me that you would be inclined to help me over this current hurdle, I nearly wept with relief. Painting is the sole purpose of my life, and since I haven't been able to properly put any color on a blank canvas in months, I knew I needed a drastic change. It's why I traveled to Burnham-On-Sea, hoping that inspiration would strike. Unfortunately, it has not, although I was grateful to be of assistance to your friend and my cousin, Lord Stanton, during my tenure here. It was kind of him to allow me to take over the lease for his residence and servants for the remainder of the summer. I daresay a place as quaint as Burnham-On-Sea will surely start to invoke my muse out of hiding.

I'm sure I must sound terribly desperate, but indeed, I am bereft without a brush in my hand.

I hope that you can join me for tea at Marie's tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock to discuss the future of my existence. You are my last hope.

In friendship,

Lord Fane

Vanessa folded the letter and tucked it back into her reticule. She had to admit it was very charming and eloquent, and she could feel the urgency coming through on the paper. Unfortunately, that didn't extinguish her reservations. She couldn't get close to anyone who might ask too many questions about her life before Burnham-On-Sea. That would be courting danger that she didn't need.

She took a deep breath and told herself that all would be well. She'd been at Burnham-On-Sea for a few weeks, and nothing had yet dared to disturb her current harmony.

"Miss Carter, I presume?"

Vanessa glanced up and her mouth fell open slightly. The man standing next to her table wasn't at all what she'd been expecting. In her mind, she'd pictured a balding man with a decided paunch and paint-stained fingers. This man was nothing like that. In truth, he was quite… handsome. He had thick brown hair that wasn't in any sort of danger of falling out anytime soon, smooth trimmed sideburns, and the most enchanting amber eyes that she'd ever beheld.

Realizing that she hadn't yet confirmed her identity, Vanessa gave a brief nod. "Yes. That's me."

He looked at her askance, and then he shook his head as he slid into the seat across from her. However, the bewildered expression never left his face. "Forgive me, but would it be out of line for me to say you're not what I expected?"

Her lips twitched. "It's funny you should say that, because I was pondering the exact same thing."

"Were you?" He lifted a brow and offered a brilliant smile that stirred a sensation within her that she believed was long extinguished. "I daresay this might be the beginning of a wonderful partnership, then."

Vanessa instantly stiffened. "I'm here to offer you counsel, Lord Fane, nothing more."

"That might be a problem." He sat back in his chair and looked rather pleased with himself. "Because you are the inspiration I have been looking for. You, Miss Carter, are my new muse, and I wish to paint your portrait."

* * *

Easton had never spoken so boldly to anyone in his entire life. He wasn't like his cousin, the Earl of Stanton, who had a gift for speaking to the opposite sex. Easton preferred to take a more casual approach—until now. But really, he couldn't be blamed for his actions because Miss Carter was truly lovely. He pictured that slight smile making more of an impression than the Mona Lisa. She was certainly just as mysterious. And with that slight tinge of red in her strawberry-blonde hair, it made a perfect combination with her blue eyes that hid a wealth of secrets. He was instantly fixated on putting her likeness on canvas.

He could tell he'd taken her by surprise, and it might take a bit of persuasive cajoling on his part to convince her to sit for hours on end to complete the portrait, but he had to have her. His fingers were already itching to find a brush and some paints. It was a welcome feeling after so long, with nothing but emptiness on the easel in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Lord Fane, but I can't help you."

She gathered her things and acted as if she would leave him alone at the table, and he realized he was going to scare her off. He rose at the same time she did. "Forgive me, Miss Carter. You must think me rather curious to demand something when you don't know me. I fear I got carried away by my passion for my art." He put a hand over his heart. "I would love it if you would stay and at least have tea with me. It's the least I can do." He paused, waiting to see if she would accept his apology. When she looked skeptical, he waved a hand toward her chair. "Please?"

"Very well, Lord Fane, but only if we discuss your current distress over painting, in that our conversation has nothing to do with your attempt to convince me to sit for you."

He held up his hands in surrender. "You have my word."

It was obvious she retained further reservations, but he was glad when she sat back down in her chair. She folded her hands together and placed them on the table. Easton might not have been very adept with women, but he could tell that was the signal to keep his distance.

He offered what he hoped was a friendly smile as he gained the attention of the nearby server and ordered their tea as well as scones. As the server left, Easton looked at his companion. "I suppose I should have asked if you liked scones or not," he noted ruefully.

"I do," she returned politely, although much cooler than before.

Her change in demeanor, along with her refusal to sit for him, made him even more intrigued than it should. It was regrettable that his muse did not find him inspiring as well. "What do you like to paint?" he asked, thinking it was a safe topic to begin the conversation.

"Landscapes, mostly," she said. "Although I have done some still life."

"Do you have a favorite artist?"

"John Robert Cozens. His watercolors have such a melancholy vastness. I could stare at them for hours."

"I would agree that he is quite a talented artist. Some of his work was displayed at the Royal Academy, and I understand that J.M.W. Turner was inspired by one of his Alpine oil works."

He could tell his knowledge softened her toward him. "I have heard the same."

There was a brief break in the conversation when their tea was served.

As Miss Carter stirred her tea, Easton remarked, "When it comes to landscapes, I prefer Richard Wilson. He was one of the founding members of the Academy and influenced many men in the field with his distinguished ideals."

"He is quite remarkable," she concurred.

"I'm influenced by Wilson, just as Cozens influences you, because I prefer oil to watercolors. I find that they appear much more vibrant, although they are more expensive to obtain."

"That they are, which is why I'm perfectly content with my chosen interest."

Easton was afraid that she was going to drift away from him again when a lengthy silence fell. "I understand you've sold some of your pieces already. When did you realize you had a talent for painting?"

She cupped her hands around her tea and stared into the liquid for a time before she replied. "Since I was a child. My father always encouraged me. But I started to… falter in recent years. For a long time, I never picked up a brush. I didn't start again until I arrived at the Society."

The look of pain that abruptly filled her gaze caused his chest to twinge. "What made you stop?"

She blinked and glanced up at him. "I'd rather not talk about it if it's all the same to you."

"Of course." He swallowed. "I didn't mean to pry. I only wondered what made inspiration strike again for you."

Again, there was a brief hesitation, and then she gave a soft smile and said, "Freedom."

Easton thought it was a rather odd reply to give, but perhaps it was because she had been restricted in what she could paint. In that regard, it would certainly be nice to have the independence to do what she wanted. "I applaud you for taking a stand and choosing to live life on your own terms. I said the same to Tassy before she married my cousin, but I couldn't deny such a perfect match."

She smiled in turn. "No, they are well suited."

She reached for one of the scones and after she'd covered it with jam and cream and taken a bite, he asked, "How are they?"

With a nod, she replied, "Very good."

"That's a relief. I didn't want to try one until I knew for sure they were worthy." He offered a wink and then plucked one off the plate and lathered it just as generously as she had. "It's nice to know I'm not the only one who suffers from a sweet tooth. I was always sneaking into the kitchens when I was young and charming the cook into giving me a prelude to that evening's meal, especially if there was any sort of pastry to be had. It is my weakness—other than painting, of course."

"I imagine your parents weren't too happy about that," she noted.

He gave a shrug. "I can't readily say. My father died in a riding accident when I was still in short pants, and my mother was more interested in what Aline was doing than in paying attention to me. Besides, I was the heir, so she allowed me to get away with more than my younger sister." He popped the last of the scone in his mouth. "Do you have any siblings that liked to bedevil you?"

"No." She took her time spreading cream and jam on her second scone. "My mother had complications with my birth and died shortly after I was born. My father never remarried."