Chapter 23

If the situation wasn't so intense, Easton might have thought the shocked expression that Vanessa offered him was particularly amusing. She might have tried to get rid of him in Nottingham, but she didn't know him very well if she believed he was going to leave England without her. Thankfully, Lady Beauvais had offered him an open invitation to stay on at her cottage however long he wished.

"You seem surprised to see me," he noted softly, taking note that she had forgone the dreadful widow's weeds. The lavender shade suited her much better, but it was more than that. He hoped it meant she was letting go of the past.

"I… am," she breathed. "I expected you to be in Ireland."

He lifted a brow. "Are you disappointed I'm not?"

"Not at all." She took a step forward and then hesitated. "I'm glad you haven't left yet."

He decided to return her focus to the painting. He'd been anxious to reveal it to her for some time. "Would you like to see it?"

"Yes."

Easton walked over and grabbed the edge of the linen. He hesitated, anticipation rolling over him, and then he whipped it away from the portrait.

He heard the gasp to follow, and he glanced at Vanessa to see that her focus was riveted on the painting. Easton was particularly proud of his work, feeling as though it was the best work he'd ever done. It might have had something to do with the subject of being his muse, but it was so much more than that. He'd been able to paint a portrait of devotion, adoration, but more than that—love.

"I call it The Mysterious Lady."

He waited for her to say something, but her entire focus was on the art before her. He tried to see it through her eyes, the woman with the confident, slight grin on her face in the brilliant red dress that flowed around her. She was sitting in a chair in the midst of his beloved homeland of Ireland, the green hills giving way to the waves of the ocean crashing against the tall cliffs in the background.

"It's… remarkable," she finally said. "I never knew I could look so…"

Words seemed to fail her, so he stepped in to fill in the missing word. "Sensual?"

"Yes." She turned her blue gaze on him, and he realized how much he'd missed her in the past few days. "But it's more than that. You captured my essence with absolute precision."

"I'm glad you approve."

"I do. Very much." She moved toward her easel that was also draped with linen. "I want to show you something."

Curious, he waited as she lifted the covering and swept it away.

Easton blinked. And then blinked again. He wasn't sure she could draw anything more captivating than The Desertion of Existence, but as he looked at his likeness on the canvas, it was as if he could reach out and feel the waves of the ocean behind him. He was standing on the beach—he knew it was Burnham-On-Sea—and his leather satchel was tossed over his shoulder. He was turned to the side, smiling at something, or perhaps someone, behind him. His sideburns were present, his brown hair windblown. But it was the focus on his eyes, a unique shade of amber with a slight crinkle in the corners, that made him applaud her efforts. It was easy to see that she had put a lot of consideration into his appearance, and he was humbled by it.

"What do you think?"

He looked at her. "I think it's better than mine."

She smiled. "I don't see how that's true at all. I'll be pleased so long as you approve."

"Then you have my wholehearted consent."

She left the painting and started to move closer to him. His breathing began to deepen. He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and kiss her, his body starved with need for her, but he wasn't going to do it. He hadn't remained in England to pressure her into anything, but rather to show her that he was willing to wait as long as it might take to prove his love. She would have to make the first move.

She stopped right in front of him, and without kissing him or wrapping her arms around him, she said simply, "I love you."

Easton instantly stilled. In truth, he wasn't sure if she'd actually spoken the words he longed to hear, or if this was an illusion where he imagined she had. Neither did he dare to assume that she was willing to take a risk on him. On them.

"I know I've probably surprised you," she said almost sheepishly, and then she sobered. "I haven't exactly acted properly in the past few days, and for that I'm sorry. I don't know what to say except I wasn't thinking clearly. I allowed the pain of my past to cloud my future—a future that I hope includes you." She paused, as if waiting for him to speak, but for some reason, Easton's tongue was suddenly glued to the roof of his mouth. She went on, "As soon as you left, I realized the mistake I'd made in asking you to leave when I did, but I think it was the push I needed to wake me up to the sincerity of your affections. You are unlike any man I've ever known, and that was the part that frightened me. I was afraid that I couldn't make you as happy as you made me. I was afraid that I would fail you somehow, that I wouldn't be able to—"

The fog suddenly cleared and Easton came to his senses.

He kissed her.

* * *

Vanessa had been in the middle of pouring out her heart to Easton when she was abruptly silenced. Not that she cared, because the moment his lips met hers, relief flooded her body. He hadn't said a word, and she was starting to think that she'd terribly misjudged the situation. When he'd walked into the room, he hadn't appeared angry, but his silence was starting to become condemning.

As always, his actions proved more than words could ever say, although she was desperate to hear him speak all the same.

Nevertheless, passion began to course through her body and she clung to Easton. She was expecting him to deepen this kiss, but as her breathing began to deepen, he pulled back. "I love you too, Vanessa."

This time, her breath caught for a different reason. "Are you sure? I realize that I'm not perfect, and I've made plenty of mistakes. I'm a widow and—"

Again, she was silenced by an earth-shattering kiss.

"Do you mind letting me speak?"

Vanessa had to laugh. "Of course. I'm sorry. I seem to be rambling."

He traced a finger along her lower lip. "But that is what I adore about you. I have never met anyone so genuine." He shook his head. "There were so many times I searched for this feeling inside of me that only I feel when I look at you, but it always eluded me. I was starting to think that I wouldn't know what true love was like either. I had actually resigned myself to the fact it would never become a possibility. I convinced myself that at least I had my art. But then I lost it. I was bereft—until I came to Burnham-On-Sea. Spending time with my cousin helped to relieve some of my melancholy, but it wasn't enough. I was desperate, under the impression that my muse couldn't be salvaged. And then I met you."

Vanessa thought it was a wonderful speech, but she feared that he might just be saying these flowery things because he still looked at her as his saving grace, his muse. "I am glad I was able to rescue your work, but I don't want to be a fantasy—"

He grasped her shoulders. "Never." He blew out a breath. "I have no doubt I am mucking this up. I am not very adept at explaining myself." His focus became intent on her, his amber eyes swirling with golden flecks of fire. "When I first met you, that might have been what drew me to pursue a deeper connection, but you are so much more than the inspiration for my art. You are the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I want to have children with you and enjoy a long, happy future with you. I want us to have an art gallery in Ireland and paint side by side as equals, just as we did on the strand." His grin widened. "I want to draw hearts in the sand with you, to proclaim to everyone near and far that we share the same heart, the same soul." He grasped her hand and set it over his heart where she could feel it beat strong and sure beneath her palm. "This is for you. It's all for you."

The first tear that fell down Vanessa's cheek turned into another and another until there was a steady stream trailing along her face. She brought his hand up and placed it over her breast, where her heart was thumping steadily. Then she repeated his words. "This is for you. It's all for you."

He drew her back into his arms and for a long time, they just held each other. For each exhale, they clung to the security of their love. At long last, Vanessa felt as though she had finally discovered home.

"How soon can I convince you to marry me?" he whispered.

She appeared to think for a moment and then wound her arms around his neck. "As soon as possible."

He smiled. "Good. Because I don't want to wait long. I will apply for a common license. Unfortunately, I can't exclude my sister from the ceremony and live to hear the end of it, so I will have to invite her."

Vanessa thought of spending the rest of her days with Easton, and it was like her feet didn't touch the floor. She was floating on air. "I can't wait to meet her."

His nostrils flared as his gaze slowly swept her from head to toe and back up again. "All I can say is that she better not take long to get here, because I will not be denied from that delectable body for long."

* * *

Lady Beauvais and the ladies from the Seaside Society were overjoyed to hear the news later that afternoon. After Easton had sent a letter to his sister, he headed out to speak to the parish bishop on horseback to appeal for the marriage license. She prayed he wouldn't have any trouble obtaining one. She was still a recent widow, and with all the gossip that had swirled about their relationship during the recent court proceedings, she hoped that would sway the church in their favor.

Until his return, Vanessa spent her time between visiting the ladies of the Society and the art studio, completing the rest of her work for Lady Beauvais's gallery grand opening. The countess was more than pleased to learn that they planned to gift her the paintings they had completed as, not just a gift to her for her kind consideration these past weeks, but also because they wanted to give something back to the seaside resort that had meant so much to both her and Easton. Burnham-On-Sea had changed their lives in so many ways.

On the fourth day of Easton's absence, a special guest arrived at Lady Beauvais's manor. Vanessa was in the art studio when the butler arrived to announce the arrival of Mrs. Aline O'Bannon.

Vanessa quickly made her way to her bedchamber to ensure she looked presentable in her violet gown. She patted her simple chignon and would have pinched her cheeks to give them some color, but the anticipation of meeting Easton's sister was enough to gain her face plenty of that delicate pink shade.

She headed downstairs and entered the parlor, not sure what to expect. However, the shorter, dark-headed woman with bright blue eyes wasn't quite what came to mind, nor were the words that she spoke next. "Dia duit. You must be the lady who stole my brother's heart. I'm Mrs. Aline O'Bannon."

Mrs. O'Bannon walked forward and kissed each of Vanessa's cheeks. "Welcome to the family. I hope you don't live to regret your decision." She glanced behind Vanessa. "Where is my brother? I hope he hasn't lost his manners."

Vanessa smiled. She decided she liked Mrs. O'Bannon very much. "He hasn't yet made it back from London with the special license." She waved a hand toward the settee. "You've had a tiring journey, I'm sure. Why don't we sit and chat while I order some refreshments?"

"Thank you. You are too kind," Mrs. O'Bannon returned politely.

Trying not to let her nerves get the best of her, Vanessa sat down across from her future sister-in-law after she'd rang for tea. It would be the first time she'd had another woman to call family. Other than the servants, in which a specific line was drawn when it came to being a confidante, she had been quite lonely when she'd been married to Frank. She had been an only child, and any aunts or uncles she might have had were relatively unknown to her after her mother's death. They had severed ties once her father had turned into a gruff recluse, regardless if she had been desperate for any other sort of companionship. She hadn't wanted to reach out to the village women who knew her strained circumstances with her husband, and she'd been too scared that her identity would be exposed should she let down her guard at the Society.

This was the first true chance she had to befriend someone, and she was worried that she would do something in error. She wasn't sure what Easton had told his sister about her. She clasped her hands in front of her.

They sat in polite silence until the maid arrived. Once she had departed, Vanessa stood to pour the tea, but Mrs. O'Bannon rose first. Waving her hand, she said, "Don't trouble yourself on my account. I don't get to play the hostess too often with two young boys underfoot."

Vanessa smiled and forced herself to remain seated, although everything she'd been taught about catering to a guest screamed at her to refuse the offer.

"How do you like your tea?" Mrs. O'Bannon asked.

Vanessa thought of when she'd shared tea with Easton. "I prefer cream and sugar, but please don't tell your brother."

She chuckled at that. "Why? I wouldn't think he would mind. He likes both."

"Does he?" Vanessa lifted her brows as she was handed a cup.

"Aye. Very much so. Always had a sweet tooth." As Mrs. O'Bannon added a couple of sweets to her plate and settled herself again, she added, "Did he not tell you how he used to beg Cook for a biscuit or two?"

"He might have, but I daresay I've been concerned with other matters since then." Vanessa's throat closed up as she thought of how she had always allowed the subject to revolve around her and Frank. She didn't know all the stories from his childhood that might warm her heart, the small tidbits that had molded him into the man that he was today. The good thing was she had plenty of time to get to know all those little things about him. The important part was she knew his true character—and his heart.

"We certainly can't let that stand now. You need to know what sort of man you're marrying."

Vanessa knew that Mrs. O'Bannon was joking, but a sudden chill traveled up her spine. However, she dismissed it just as quickly as it arrived. "Easton is as close to perfect as anyone else I could imagine." She looked into her cup. "In truth, I wonder if I am as good for him as he is to me."

"My God. I didn't think it was possible."

Vanessa glanced up and frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. O'Bannon gave a crooked smile. "Don't take this the wrong way, but my brother can be a… difficult man at times, especially when it comes to his art." She shook her head. "I despaired that he would be able to drag himself out of the melancholy he'd become mired in several months ago. He hadn't picked up a brush in months before that, and I knew it was weighing heavily on his mind. Painting is all that he lived for. I encouraged—no, that's too light of a word—I demanded that he come to Burnham-On-Sea to visit his cousin, the Earl of Stanton, in the hopes that he could shake himself back to reality. I waited for a miracle, and then suddenly—I got a letter. He told me that he'd met a woman who had changed his life. Naturally, I was skeptical, but now I can see exactly what he was referring to when he told me he was in love."

Her eyes filled with moisture, and Vanessa was stunned. To hear Easton speak, he acted as though their bond wasn't that strong, but Mrs. O'Bannon's reaction to his happiness told her something entirely different.

"I'm sorry." Mrs. O'Bannon withdrew a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. "I don't want you to get the wrong impression of me. I have high hopes that we can be friends and the rift that has never been completely repaired between my brother and I can finally be sealed."

This is where Vanessa had to tread lightly, but considering Mrs. O'Bannon was confiding more than she thought she would, she asked, "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, or being too bold on a personal matter, but can I ask why it seems you aren't very… close?"

"Oh, it's not a secret," Mrs. O'Bannon returned. "When our father died, Easton had to take over a lot of responsibility at a young age. Our mother enforced his strict upbringing while I was able to have a bit more freedom, which caused a divide between us. I think he resented the fact he was the heir, although he never said as much. It wasn't until his art started to suffer that he began to rely on my counsel. I know it was a difficult time for him, but I will be forever grateful for the chance for us to become more familiar with one another. Now that he's found you, I feel as though I finally have my brother back after all these years."

Vanessa's heart filled with warmth for this woman, and it expanded further toward Easton. She could understand the loneliness and distance they must have been feeling in their younger years, the pressure to live up to familial expectations and duty of position.

She wasn't sure she could accept all the gratitude that was being shown to her, but it was certainly humbling to think she had made such a difference just by falling in love.

With a smile, Vanessa said, "The honor is truly mine, Mrs. O'Bannon. I care for your brother very much. I love him."