15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

T he next day Nathaniel paced in the drawing room.

The fire he'd been trying to douse had flared to brilliant life the moment his hand had touched Melior's. Each time he built up a resistance to his blasted attraction to her, it went up in smoke. Such had been the case throughout the past eight years, ever since that day in the ballroom at Kendall House when he had taught her the steps of the Allemande Cotillion.

That was the moment he'd looked into those pure blue eyes and known he would never be the same.

But he was a baronet's son and she the daughter of a future duke. Society would never accept such a match, her father would never accept such a match, so he should never accept it.

But that did not keep him from fantasizing about a future connection with Melior for the next three years, all the while knowing it would never be.

Then Melior had made her debut in Society and everything had changed. Where she had been warm and amusing, she'd become cool and calculating, knowing exactly how to stand, when to smile, and who to associate with.

Every gentleman of fortune had flocked to her hoping for the chance to snag such a beautiful, well-connected prize. And each one had helped him to see how ridiculous his dreams were. So he'd done everything in his power to freeze her out.

But she was his now. Why did he not take the chance and at least see if there was any room in her heart for him?

A knock sounded on the door and Thompson announced John's arrival.

"So," he said, after shaking John's hand, "where are we to stand for this masterpiece?"

" Stop, Nate. You and I both know this will not be a masterpiece. It is only something to remember the occasion by."

"Should we have dressed in our wedding attire then?"

"No, whatever you have on shall do fine. Where is Lady Stanford?"

He was about to say she was abed when he remembered John was speaking of Melior and not his mother. "She should be here shortly."

At least, he hoped she would. Thompson or his wife would alert her to John's arrival. Even if they did not, she should recall the time they had set to meet. She had been quite punctual to any other meeting they had set.

The door opened and the subject of his thoughts walked through, clad in a powdery blue day dress complemented by dark blue ribbons at her waist and in her hair. It was truly unfair how with so little effort she could turn his mind to mush.

He joined his hands behind his back and diverted his gaze to the Persian rug beneath his feet. He needed to regain his control.

"Good afternoon, Lord Newhurst. Might I inquire after your health?"

"I am well, Lady Stanford. A bit chilled from my ride over, but that is to be expected with weather such as this."

"Yes, one would think the cold was on its way out, but it seems spring is not ready to visit. When it does come, however, I plan to try my hand at painting the flowers."

"That is a fine idea." John glanced at the door. "Could we, ah… that is, might I suggest… the music room?"

Nathaniel furrowed his brow at John.

"For the painting," he amended.

Melior clasped her hands together in front of her chest. "That is exactly where I had landed upon. The light in that room is perfect at this time of day."

"Y… yes."

They all looked at one another as if no one knew who should lead the way. As the lady of the house, Melior should probably have stepped forward first. Was it his place to offer her an arm?

John held out his.

The action took Nathaniel by surprise. John hardly ever exerted himself where females were concerned. Not that he was remiss in his duties to them, but he usually allowed other gentlemen to take the lead.

When they arrived at their destination, John asked Melior to take a seat on the piano bench, instructing her how to sit and at what angle he wanted her to tilt her head. Once she was in place, he latched onto Nathaniel's arm and pulled him to stand next to her, physically turning him and lifting a hand to place on Melior's shoulder. Nathaniel supposed he should be happy that John had not handled Melior in the same fashion.

John adjusted the hand on Melior's shoulder until Nathaniel's bare palm lay on the warm delicate skin next to the puffed blue sleeves. Shouldn't she be wearing a fichu or a shawl? It was still more winter than spring after all. One would think she would take better care of her health. She could catch a chill with the cold coming through the large glass doors that opened out to the terrace.

He flexed his fingers and she flinched under his touch. Had he hurt her? He pulled his hand away.

John grabbed it. "No, I need you to keep your hand exactly so. Now, do not move. I only have a few minutes to sketch this before the light changes."

"I thought this was to be a painting."

"It is," Melior and John said at the same time. John ducked his head and Melior giggled. She giggled.

"Lord Newhurst will make a sketch to capture the pose. It is faster and will allow him a subject that does not move so he has enough time to paint our picture."

"I will actually need several sketches, if you do not mind. I will return a few more times over the week to capture different aspects and poses. I want to make sure you are both painted in the best light."

Melior nodded, the motion causing her shoulder to flex under Nathaniel's hand. Heaven help him, was he going to be asked to stand in these intimate positions multiple times over the next week?

He tried to convey his concern to John without saying anything to upset Melior, but his friend smiled innocently.

The next half hour was the longest and shortest of his life. He relished being close to Melior without having to make an excuse for why he was there, and yet it was torture. The room was uncomfortably quiet for the first quarter hour as they held as still as possible.

Every so often Melior's fingers would wind themselves about each other and then as if she'd remembered she was not supposed to be moving, she'd move her hands back into a relaxed position. What was she thinking? Did she notice the way his hand warmed on her shoulder? How could she not?

Was she pleased with the contact or did she only tolerate it for the sake of art?

"Do you have any siblings, Lord Newhurst?" she finally asked.

"No." John leaned back and squinted his eyes at the paper before him.

Nathaniel peered at his friend. Something seemed out of place. "John, where are your spectacles?"

"I am having them repaired. One of the lenses cracked and the new one has not yet arrived."

"Then how do you know if what you are drawing is even correct?"

The corner of John's mouth tipped up. "I do not." He made several more marks on the paper and then turned it about. "Tell me Lady Stanford, have I drawn your husband's nose large enough?"

Melior laughed at the outrageously large nose that covered Nathaniel's entire face.

"I believe it is sufficient, but his ears are a bit small."

Nathaniel scoffed. "I would say they are the only appropriately sized feature on that whole picture."

John chuckled. "Are you saying your wife's features are not the right size?"

"Yes. You have her eyes far too small and her hair curls around her ear. Her jaw is more straight than round and you have completely missed the dimple in her right cheek."

Flipping the picture back around, John stared at it, but Melior was looking at Nathaniel wide eyed. He glanced down at her, now self-conscious of what he'd blurted out. He'd not meant to divulge how much he'd studied every detail of her face.

"Not many people have noticed my dimple," she said softly. "It only appears when I laugh. I suppose with all the time you spent with my brother you are one of the few who have witnessed it."

"You used to laugh often… when you were younger."

She smiled at him. "I suppose I did."

John stood. "I must be going, but may I return the day after tomorrow to draw again?"

"That depends." Nathaniel removed his hand from Melior's shoulder.

"On what?"

"On whether your spectacles will be repaired so you can see the paper you are sketching on."

John grinned. "Actually, I lied. They were never broken, I simply forgot them."

Nathaniel cast him a faux glare and Melior laughed.

"We shall see you the day after tomorrow then," she said in such a sweet happy tone that Nathaniel found he did not mind John's lie. The face that had been drawn and sad these last two weeks was bright and happy. It warmed him to see her smile again.

"Yes," he said, "until Thursday."

Dinner that evening was blessedly different. Melior's usual quiet had given way to excited chatter about the painting. Nathaniel never thought he'd be so happy to have someone talk so much.

"I hope Lord Newhurst will paint my gown blue. Mother always said it was my best color, but something lighter than my eyes. Perhaps if he mixed cobalt blue with white he could get a sky blue. But the background will have to be a light color in order to see the texture of my dark hair. A soft yellow would be pretty."

While everything she'd detailed did sound nice, her focus on her own appearance began to wear on him. He opened his mouth, a caustic remark on the tip of his tongue when she shocked him.

"And the yellow will also make it easier to see how nicely your hair curls. The contrast of your black coat and white cravat will stand out as well."

She stopped, staring at his eyes for a long moment. She leaned in, then back, then a little in again. While she was not close to him, the intensity of his focus made him feel like she had moved closer. "I hope Lord Newhurst is able to capture your lovely green eyes correctly."

He was speechless as she continued to stare into his eyes. His mouth went dry and his pulse picked up.

"Did you know your eyelashes are darker than your hair? They are quite long as well. Umber with charcoal highlights should accomplish the color, but Lord Newhurst will have to use a bit of yellow and white for your hair."

Nathaniel's hand flew to the side of his head. "Am I beginning to grey?"

Her tinkling laugh filled the room and tickled his heart. "No, not at all. I simply meant he would need to layer the colors to show the different shades."

"That is a relief. As fashionable as white hair was in my mother's generation, I am not keen on sporting it at so early an age. Especially when I have a beautiful young wife to be compared to."

Her surprised expression made him shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked. He'd not meant to pamper her vanity.

Melior's eyes dropped to her food and she carefully took a small bite of roast partridge. She chewed slowly, but Nathaniel had not missed the way her cheeks pinked. Was she genuinely pleased with his offhanded comment or was she simply reveling in her victory?

Finally she spoke. "I am not that much younger, you know, but it is kind of you to say so."

Her focus on age confused him. There was no arrogant tilt of her head, no show of victory at his admission. Had they been in the ballrooms of London she would have reveled in her own beauty, drawing men to her like bees to honey.

"Is there anything you would like to be in the painting?" She speared another bite of food. "Perhaps a pair of cufflinks or stickpin that might have some significance to you? Something you wish generations to know or remember."

He almost spit his food in surprise. Generations? Their generations? Would there be generations? The casual way she spoke led him to wonder if she was far more amenable to an actual marriage than he'd believed, but she continued on before he found the courage to question her statement.

"I know in one of the portraits my uncle had done, he made sure my aunt included the sapphire and diamond jewelry he'd gifted her from his mother. He claimed it was important because it was a symbol that love could survive beyond differences."

"How so?"

"My grandmother was a fine duchess, but she came from more humble beginnings, her father having made his money in trade."

Nathaniel could not help his melodramatic intake of breath. "You mean your line is not… pure."

She smiled, and with the same dramatics said, "Do not tell anyone."

He chuckled. "It shall be our secret."

"It is not a secret. It's part of the reason Uncle Percy insisted there be no more scandal. While a duke is granted plenty of liberties, it is best not to make more enemies."

"So your grandfather married your grandmother for her fortune, then?"

"No. It was more than that. He loved my grandmother with a fierceness not many have ever witnessed."

He smiled indulgently. "And how could you know this? Your grandparents have been deceased for a long time."

She narrowed her eyes, obviously upset at his distrust in the credibility of her story. "Because he told his children, and Uncle Percy told me. There have been generations of loving families in the Kendall line. Ones built on trust and mutual respect."

The passion in her voice flooded her face with color causing her cheeks to glow and her eyes to brighten—if that was even possible. Nathaniel did not know if he'd ever met someone with as luminescent eyes as Melior.

Then he remembered Melior's parents' relationship. He'd witnessed enough through the years to know that no love existed there. What had happened to them if love was such an important part of the Kendall legacy?

"Why do you look like that?" She set down her utensils.

"Like what?"

"You do not believe me."

"I said no such thing."

"Your face says everything. There is doubt and incredulity written all over it."

"I simply wondered how you could speak so freely of loving marriages when your own parents…"

She smiled sadly as he trailed off. "When my own parents are so unhappy? Uncle Percy is the answer. He and my Aunt Lucinda were my example. They loved each other, much as my grandfather and grandmother had, even though scandal surrounded their union."

Nathaniel took a bite, processing her words. "You loved your aunt."

She did not respond right away, but she did not have to. The glisten in her eyes spoke for her.

Finally she said, "My Aunt Lucinda meant the world to me." She took a sip of her wine, then muttered, "Much to my mother's abhorrence."

"Your mother did not like your aunt?"

Melior shook her head. "It was my aunt's influence that she disliked. They got on well together, but my mother does not believe in love and demanded Aunt Lucinda leave my social training to her."

"I see. But you ascribe to your aunt's way of thinking."

A pretty blush spread on her cheeks. "I do."

The rest of the meal was a silent affair, both of them lost in their thoughts.

Nathaniel pondered her words. It seemed Melior was a romantic at heart, something he'd never have guessed. Perhaps there was a bit of hope that they might have a future after all.