Shadows of Doubt (6 page)

No
. He did not need the temptation. It was all he could do this afternoon to keep his hands out of it when it was tumbling about her. He sighed. She did not think of him as more than a friend. He was only supposed to be providing a brief divertissement anyway. He was leaving for America in two days and only God knew how long he would be gone. He looked to the sky again. “As an arbiter of humour, I must say I have to appreciate how diverted you must be.”

He turned and walked back towards number twenty-one, nevertheless excited for tomorrow. It was nice to feel a sense of purpose again, even if it would be of short duration. He headed straight for Cook to order up a basket of delicacies worthy of a queen. He was in trouble, he must acknowledge. All of his thoughts were on Miss Lambert, and how he could bring a smile to her face. He would be miserable when he had to leave her, but if she enjoyed herself, nay forgot herself, for a few days his misery would be worth it.

She did not flirt with him whatsoever, and while not piqued, he certainly felt challenged. Usually he at least ranked some courtesy flirting from ladies. What was it about him that kept her from desiring him? He was not an eyesore; at least he did not think he was repulsive. Was he too familiar? He had never succumbed to the old adage of playing hard to get. He enjoyed conversing and laughing…perhaps that was his downfall. He treated the ladies as he would a friend. Did he need to be more romantic or obvious? He was afraid he would look a fool, but he likely would not be able to stop himself.

***

Gwen had barely finished her chores when she heard a knock at the door. Could Mr. Abbott have arrived so early? He said morning, but to town folk that generally meant after noon. Her mother had barely dressed and come downstairs. Gwen needed to change, as she still had on her ragged gown on that she wore for housework. She opened the door to find the Dowager before her.

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

“Good morning, dear.” The Dowager made her way inside. “You best change quickly. I am to send you to meet Andrew in the carriage.”

“The carriage?” No one used carriages in Bath. The terrain was steep and the town small. If a person were unable or disinclined to walk they called for a chair. She had almost understood the carriage for the ball, but in a day dress?

“Those were his instructions. Hurry along.”

Why the mystery? She wondered but did as she was told. Her day gown was little better than her other, but it was the newest she had. She kissed her mother goodbye and climbed into the waiting carriage.

The drive was very short—only to the Royal Crescent—and Gwendolyn shook her head. She was not accustomed to such luxuries. The footman opened the door and pointed to where Mr. Abbott was setting up an array of painting supplies.

“Good morning, Miss Lambert. I hope this will do.” He beamed, pleased with himself.

“Good morning Mr. Abbott. Gracious! It looks as if you purchased the entire store,” she exclaimed as she surveyed the variety of canvas, pigments and brushes. He already had a beautiful new easel set up for her. She must have died and was caught in purgatory watching someone that looked like her living her dream.

“Well,” Mr. Abbott interrupted her thoughts. “Say something please. Is this acceptable? I could not find a satisfactory place by the Bridge, so I selected your other favourite.”
 

“Acceptable? It is beyond anything I could have imagined. If you wish for me to paint the Royal Crescent, however, we’d best get started.”

“We? No, no. I am merely here to see to your comfort. You paint, I entertain. You’d best begin.” He motioned her on. “As it is, it sounds like you might not have time for breaks. But inform me when you need sustenance and I will bring it to you.”

“Am I not allowed to rest, then?” she asked wide-eyed, still unsure of when he was teasing.

“Of course,” he said with crinkled eyes and a devillish smile. “When you finish.”

She gave him a perplexed look and turned to her task. She carefully selected a canvas, trying not to think about the fact that he was going to be watching her all day. His focused gaze was disconcerting. Fortunately, as soon as the frame was in place, all of her thoughts were on her art. She prepped the canvas then sketched a rough drawing of the building, and concentrated on the proper mixture of colours. How could she have forgotten the recipes for Bath stone and the sky and the grass? She had known them by heart. She desperately wanted to make this beautiful for him. Her hands began to shake and she fought back tears.

“Miss Lambert? Did I forget a colour? I can retrieve it at once! I relied solely on Mr. Scott to choose. I never knew there were so many hues of yellow.” He was instantly before her, exaggerating his concern. “Tell me what your heart desires and you shall have it immediately! I am at your disposal.”

She giggled despite herself. He had a way of making everything seem humourous.

“No, forgive me. You thought of everything, but I do not know if I can do this anymore.”

“Of course you can. Splash some paint up there and see what happens. It will be like riding a horse. It will come right back to you.”

She laughed, “One does not splash paint, Mr. Abbott.”

“Then show me what you do with it. Teach me. I have always admired art, but never had the patience for lessons.”

She sighed. “Very well. But it is the colours I am worried about.”

“I never cared for Bath stone personally, so I will be happy with whatever you choose.”

“You shall find yourself with a picture not fit for a nursery wall, sir.”

“Yes, well, one must have to have a nursery to worry about that.” He coughed into his hand and feigned great interest in her picture.

She selected Indian yellow, ceruse white and black lead and began mixing the colours with the oil and turpentine. She started over several times, but finally settled on a mixture. She then mixed ultramarine blue with chalk and began the sky. When the brush hit the canvas, she found her rhythm. He was right.

***

Was he out of his mind? Andrew sat back on the blanket and watched Miss Lambert work. She was the most exquisite being he had ever seen and she was completely engrossed in her art, ignoring him. That was not how he had envisioned the day, but she was happy. He watched her transform as she took the brush in her hand; she was radiant, confident, and smiling. And that made him happy. When he could no longer take it, he paced around her for a while and, eventually, he sorted through the basket of food and found some fruit he could distract her with.

He waved a strawberry in front of her mouth and had to shove it in to get her attention.

“Oh! Thank you,” she said with the berry lodged in her teeth.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said sheepishly and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I am, actually. I have not yet breakfasted.”

“Take a break and eat.”

“Why thank you, Master,” she said coolly.

She eyed the canvas, which was now a muddle of blues, yellows and greens.

“I suppose a few minutes won't hurt. It will allow the initial layer to dry a bit.”

He helped her take a seat on the blanket and began to fill a plate for her.

“How much is there left to do?”

“Several hours’ worth.”
 

Hours? So much for this brilliant idea. He wanted her to pay attention to him. He was desperate.

“I see.” He must have frowned.

“Oil paintings are not normally painted in a day, Mr. Abbott. I am doing my best to use thin layers, but most oil paintings do not fully cure for years, decades even.”

“Decades?” he asked in astonishment.

“I only need to outline the buildings, and the rest I will finish at home after this layer dries.”

Thank God.

“You must be bored to tears. You needn’t wait here with me.”

“Not at all. I am fascinated. But will it be ready in time for my departure?”

“I will do my best.”

“Why is this one of your favourite places to paint?”

She looked towards the magnificent structure, “I suppose the challenging façade with its iconic columns, defying the bounds of symmetry, standing tall in grandeur over the valley. I normally prefer natural landscapes, but I confess a weakness for Palladian structure.”

“Then Bath should be your heaven on Earth. I will have to remember that when rebuilding the plantation house, so if you ever visit you will wish to paint it.”

“If I ever have cause to visit, I will happily paint it.”

“I can give you cause.”

Her eyes met his in question for a moment and flickered with some unrecognized emotion, but then she averted her eyes. Her pulse beat strong in her neck and a flush crept over her visible skin, yet she remained silent and looking away. Did she not welcome his attentions? Had he been too bold? He was not one to waste time feeling self-conscious, but her response mattered to him very much.
 

After a slightly awkward pause, she spoke. “I envy you, Mr. Abbott.”

“That is something I’ve not heard before.”

“I suppose not in the way you imagine, but to be able to pick and go anywhere you choose at any moment.” She began to stand and he rose to help her.

“It has its benefits. For instance, when my sisters or grandmother suddenly have brilliant plans for me.”

She picked up her brush and dipped it in the paint. “Such as escorting a poor relation about town,” she said with a smile.

“I refuse to countenance that remark. Besides, I would not have agreed to something which I did not wish to participate.” He watched carefully as her brush stilled. It went back to work after a few moments, but she did not respond. Again, she chose to ignore his hinting, and boldly at that.
 

He was near, too near, standing directly behind her as she worked, taking in her scent of…he sniffed. What was that fragrance? Lemons, lavender and turpentine? He leaned forward and inhaled deeply. He had the strongest urge to pull her in his arms kiss her.

She spun about and almost covered him with her palette of paint. She drew it back and fell forward into him. He had to force himself to right her, when all he longed to do was give the old harpies an eyeful. Nothing went on in this town that the ‘Bath quizzes’ did not know about, and that would not be fair to leave Miss Lambert’s reputation ruined when he was leaving two days hence.

“Pardon me, I was trying to see your view as you paint.”

“Oh, by all means then.” The innocent miss scooted over to make room for him. He moved closer, against his better judgement, and was completely enthralled by her creation. The picture was beginning to take form, no longer splotches of colour, but a glorious imitation of the scene before him. It was wonderful. And so was the painting.

“Is it so dreadful you have no words?” she said with self-deprecating humour.

“On the contrary, I am in awe that you were able to make me think Bath stone glorious.”

She laughed. It was the most melodious sound he had ever heard. Her face lit up and she forgot to be cautious. He wanted a portrait of that to take with him on his travels.

“I confess I was shocked when you selected this spot for the painting.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I wanted to see you paint, and this seemed the best location.”

She shied again. “I apologise, I had not thought of your comfort. I tend to forget myself when I hold one of these in my hand.” She waved the brush dramatically.

“There was no discomfort, I assure you.” Save his pride.

“I would love to hear about your travels one day, Mr. Abbott. I may live vicariously through you.”

“That would bore you, indeed.”

“No, please. I long to hear of other places. All of my visions of places are from books. To hear an account first hand would be delightful.”

“I could not do justice to them, for I am no poet.” He suddenly had an idea for a gift.

“There.” She placed one last stroke on the canvas with a flourish. “I believe I may be finished for now.”

“You are certain you are not stopping so soon for my benefit?”

“No,” she smiled. “I am certain.”

“Shall I have everything delivered to your home?”

“Thank you, yes. I shall place the finishing touches tonight after this dries.”

“I will have it seen to.” He waved the footmen over and directed the transport of the supplies back to Miss Lambert’s home.

“Shall we walk?” She eyed her work on the easel then looked towards the footmen with distrust. “It will be fine. They will guard it with their lives.”

She nodded, unconvinced, and hesitantly took his proffered arm. She reached up to adjust her bonnet and left behind a smudge of paint. Heaven help him, he was jealous of that streak of jade that matched her eyes. He took out his handkerchief and wiped it off. Her dimples formed on her cheeks and he fought the impulse to reach down and kiss them both. He was utterly lost. He took a deep breath and forced his concentration away from kissing her. He straightened and walked briskly, likely dragging her, but he needed some time to cool down and clear his head. One more day, then his head would be clearer than he wanted.