Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

T he following afternoon, the mantel clock chimed the three o'clock hour as Emily curved the paintbrush bristles around the rolling clouds of a landscape she'd painted to quiet her roaring thoughts. Jacob and Christian would return from the stream at any moment. She wanted to make herself scarce and retreat to her bedroom because Jacob would surely seek her out to finish their discussion. But she'd mixed too much paint, and it would go to waste if she cleaned up now.

Perhaps she could complete the lowlights. She added a liberal amount of darker gray to her brush and swept another line parallel with the horizon and a couple more lines on the pond's reflection underneath.

She'd successfully avoided Jacob earlier. Guilt had eaten at her as Christian and Jacob waited for her in the side yard. Eventually, she'd sent Samuel to them with an excuse about her heel getting caught in her gown lining and tearing it, advising them to go on without her. It wasn't a lie. Her heel had gotten caught in her dress—a couple of days ago, but she'd already mended it.

God forgive her. She couldn't face Jacob yet. Her feelings had fallen into a mixing bowl and were whisked into confusion. She wanted to separate herself from him, keep him at a proper distance, merely a portrait subject and nothing more. But her mind feared what her heart seemed to already know.

Those eggs couldn't be unscrambled.

How could Jacob endearing himself, not only to her but also to Christian, end well? Their hearts would break when Jacob returned to his ostentatious life in London. She couldn't fathom the pain if he took Christian with him.

This morning, she'd awoken early to watch the sunrise and pray. But a barrage of questions distracted her time with God. God wouldn't allow Jacob to take Christian away from them, and Jacob wouldn't dare take Christian back to London. If he did, Christian would be branded as illegitimate. He'd be an outcast—shunned from society. Jacob wouldn't do that to him, would he?

And why would God allow her to have feelings for Jacob? She could never go to London, never live as Jacob's wife there. God knew her mother's reputation and how her partially nude image also hung in Carlton House, the prince regent's home. It would have been simpler if she could have loved Mr. Mathis and Jacob had fallen for Phoebe. That would have solved Phoebe's problem.

But Jacob would have been deceived into believing Phoebe's child was his.

All the hypotheticals would drive her mad and still leave her with a broken heart.

"Emily! I won. I won!"

Christian charged into the converted art studio, waving his toy boat above his head, and circled her easel.

"Careful around the painting."

" Pirate Catcher won. It beat out Lord Jacob's boat by at least two yards."

"I'm demanding a rematch."

She tensed at the sound of Jacob's voice. Why hadn't she cleaned up earlier? How much would the wasted gray paint have cost her? She turned to face her punishment.

Jacob leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed and a smug grin lifting one side of his mouth. His gaze dropped to her hands, and his smile faded.

She followed his line of vision to a spear of red paint near her wrist.

He paled.

"Wait!" She grabbed a cloth. "It's paint." She wiped the paint away. "See?"

He sucked in a ragged breath. "Phew. We didn't need another ship sinking today."

Emily gasped. "Your ship sank?"

"No, but Christian didn't warn me that the Shark Hunter could run aground on a reef." He arched a brow at Christian. "Don't worry. I don't hold grudges. I merely remember things for a long, long time." He winked, ruining the stern effect.

Christian returned a similar arched brow—a mirror image. "You got stuck in the reeds. Creeks don't have reefs to run aground on."

"I had you beat."

"That's because you released the boat before Samuel said ‘go.'"

"Did not." Jacob's petulant tone almost had Emily forgetting to fret.

She tended her brushes as they recounted the match. There was no question that Christian was Jacob's son. Perhaps Christian would be better off knowing his true father. She'd sacrifice her own life for Christian's happiness, but would that mean letting him go?

Surely, her parents wouldn't allow it, but they kept saying it was in the Lord's hands and to pray to understand His will. God, I promised to protect Christian.

"Did you see the Pirate Catcher almost tip over as it rounded the bend?"

"I thought it was a goner for sure." Jacob ran a hand along the back of his neck. "It was strange how my boat changed direction. It was on a direct path to the finish line."

Christian giggled. "That frog knocked it off course and drove it into the reeds."

"What frog?"

"You didn't see it jump off the lily pad?"

Jacob scowled, and Christian laughed louder.

Emily gathered her brushes in one hand to take to the sink.

"Confound it," Jacob said. "A frog? Really? Those creatures are the bane of my existence."

Emily recalled Jacob's tale of the happy little frog's croak, nestled in his mother's bosom, and a burst of laughter exploded from her lips. She raised her arm to cover her mouth since her fingers were smeared with paint.

"Go ahead and laugh at my expense"—Jacob cocked an eyebrow—"but don't be surprised if you one morning wake up to find frogs stuffed in your slippers."

She eyed Jacob and Christian with a look she hoped communicated, don't you dare .

"Let me help you with the brushes." Jacob moved to her side and wrapped his warm hand around hers.

His nearness drew her nerves tighter than a bow string, and the heat of his touch sent her skin up in flames. She didn't remove her hand. "I don't want you to get paint on your clothing. The stain will not come out no matter how often you wash it."

"The gentleman inside me cannot stand idly by."

She tugged on the brushes, but his grip tightened.

"I insist."

His gaze flowed into her with the intensity of a river current after a heavy rainstorm.

She released the brushes. "They must be taken outside and soaked in mineral spirits."

He issued her a curt nod. "Lead the way."

Christian played a game of pretend pirate adventure with his boat as they left the room and strode into the kitchen.

She gestured at a small basin on the counter, and he set the brushes inside while she retrieved a bottle of mineral spirits and a cloth for Jacob to wipe paint off his hands. She picked up the basin with the brushes, but Jacob took it. He was a gentleman, and she appreciated his noble gesture. She showed him outside to a small table where the powerful turpentine scent wouldn't seep into the house, poured the solvent onto the brushes, and worked the paint from the bristles.

Mrs. Hayes was nearby, hanging the wash out to dry. A gentle breeze ruffled the sheets already pinned on the line.

Jacob's gaze flicked between Emily and Mrs. Hayes.

He wanted to speak to Emily, but Mrs. Hayes stilled his tongue. God bless the dear woman .

A comfortable silence fell between them as Emily worked.

Jacob covered a yawn.

"Am I boring you? There's no need for you to stay. I appreciate your assistance, but I can take care of this."

"I'm not bored." He leaned against the house. "I could watch you work all day."

"Is that a threat?"

He chuckled. "Pardon my ill behavior. I woke early and watched the sunrise."

"It was rather colorful this morning with pink streaks and indigo clouds." She swished the brushes, muddying the clear mineral oils.

"I thought the sky was more violet than indigo."

"Truly, there's not much of a difference." Emily massaged the paint from the brush and glanced his way. "Was there a reason you watched the sunrise?"

"I do every morning. I look forward to it. It's the most peaceful part of the day, before the staff awakes and bustles about. The morning holds the most promise." He shrugged. "Unless it's raining, of course."

She paused and stared at him. "I didn't know that about you." Did he know that she, too, got up every morning to enjoy the sunrise and pray?

"Keep this as our secret. I try to uphold a tough image." He pushed away from the house. "I thought you'd understand, being God's canvas and all that." He waved a hand.

Mrs. Hayes ducked around a sheet and bobbed a curtsy before slipping back into the house.

Jacob didn't hesitate. He stepped so close that it would have been rude for Emily to continue her work. Their gazes held. "There's a connection between us. I've felt it since you rescued me."

His eyes darkened like storm clouds, and his nearness sent a shiver of anticipation over her skin.

Mrs. Hayes returned with more clothespins.

Jacob drew back but didn't step away.

Mrs. Hayes eyed them, and her steps slowed. She patted her skirts and mumbled about forgetting something before retreating into the house.

Jacob leaned in again. "I knew my world wouldn't be the same after we met. You've helped me see life differently because you hold no pretenses, no airs. With you, I can be my true self, no guarded walls or secrets. I want to court you. Not like I used to woo ladies, but with marriage intended. I trust you, and I haven't been able to say that about many people. I no longer want to return to my old life. More than ever, I want to lead a life pleasing to God"—he took her hand, ignoring the mineral oil that covered it—"and to you."

His words filled the dam of her heart to nearly overflowing. Never had she wanted to hear something so badly—but at the same time, it wasn't true. She wasn't to be trusted. She wasn't a vicar's daughter. She was the by-blow of an opera singer and could never step foot into his life in London without being recognized. Nor had she been honest with him about Phoebe due to her promise. She longed to open the floodgates and let herself absorb the sweet bliss, but Jacob mingled with lords and ladies in London. He was expected to marry the likes of Phoebe, and Emily was supposed to marry the likes of Peter Mathis.

What her heart wanted was too risky. Why couldn't Jacob see that?

A white cap peeping above the window caught Emily's attention before it ducked away.

"Please, allow me to escort you to the Simmons' dance. It's a small venue, but I want others to see what a rare and brilliant woman you are, and I want you by my side. You're worth risking my heart for, and I'd be a fool to let you get away." He leaned in farther. "I know you feel the same way. I can see the tender affection in your eyes. The pull between us in the alley and again in the solarium before Phoebe interrupted us was overpowering." He ran his thumbs over the back of her hands. "There's something uniting us. It's real, tangible. Undeniable."

Tears filled Emily's eyes. She didn't dare blink, fearing she'd send them cascading down her cheeks.

"You don't have to say anything. I know you need time to consider what I'm proposing."

"Don't you see?" Tears blurred her vision. "You told me your father believes you to be a failure? Think of how disappointed he'd be in me."

"I've learned not to weigh my father's opinions heavily."

"He'll hate you even more when he finds out. Everyone will know. I'll be scorned."

"Because of me?" His brows drew together. "I'll change. I'll make them understand."

Her head shook violently. "No, because of me. Because of who I am."

"You are wonderful. Everyone will love you as I do."

"You don't understand."

"Then help me."

"I'm…" She choked on the word. "I'm…adopted." Her body recoiled against the sound. And baseborn.

"Like Christian?" He paused, but his eyes jumped as if creating a mental checklist and refuting items.

A thousand knives dug into her heart and twisted. She stepped away from his hold and paced as though she could shake off her torment. "I received information regarding my birth mother—a well-known opera singer. There is no denying I'm her daughter."

Jacob's face was a stone mask as he sorted the new information. He reached for her. "I don't care."

She angled out of his reach. "I do. I have to. I must think of my family and what pain a poor reputation would cause them. I must think about Christian's future employment and marriage prospects."

"No one will know. The Thompsons raised you as their own."

"I must remain in Sylvanwood, where people won't recognize the resemblance between my mother and me. She posed for paintings…semi-nude paintings." Heat flooded her cheeks. "My family means everything to me. For them, I'll sacrifice my dream of going to London to study at the academy, and for them, I must sacrifice my feelings for you."

"Don't you think God will provide a way?" Jacob stepped closer, looking more confused than hurt. "Can't we trust Him to cover the sins of your parents as He's forgiven the sins of my past?"

Her heart told her yes . God was all-powerful. He was merciful and forgiving. But her flesh screamed, and her logical side shouted , I'm not worth the risk.

"Shouldn't we trust God with this situation—with our futures?"

In her torment, she couldn't find words to respond. Tension electrified the air between them as he waited for her answer.

Mrs. Hayes returned, sneaking around the corner as if hesitant to intrude upon their moment but unable to dally in her duties any longer.

Emily wilted inside as he waited for an answer. When she remained silent, his gaze flickered with pain, and his expression fell.

He was disappointed in her, and it stabbed her heart.

"I don't need an answer now. Pray about it." He bowed and excused himself.

Her heart crushed under the image of his normally confident posture sagging as he walked away.

Oh God , where is my faith? And when did Jacob's become so strong?