When Leah came and called him for supper later that evening, James was standing, grinning at the fresh canvas he had set up on the easel.
“You look like the cat who has got the cream,” she said.
He laughed. “I feel like all the cats who have got the cream. I can’t believe I have a painting studio.”
Leah stood beside him in front of the blank canvas, a hand held under her chin. She tilted her head, as if inspecting an artwork. “So, what are you going to call this piece? ‘Blank canvas without paint?’” she teased.
He loved it when she was playful. It took all his strength not to haul her into his arms and kiss her stupid.
Picking up a brush, he quickly mixed a little dry paint and oil together, then handed the brush to Leah. “Here. You make the first stroke.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Leah set the brush to the canvas where James directed; she began to make small strokes up and down. When she looked at him, he nodded.
“That is good. Keep going.”
He watched as she added the first patch of dark blue to the painting.
Then, picking up a fine brush, he mixed in a little white paint and after following the outline of where Leah had painted, a wave began to appear on the canvas.
“Oh, James,” she murmured.
It was some time before they finally headed in for supper.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Each morning when she drew back the bedroom curtains, Leah could see that James was already down in the cottage, hard at work. She suspected that if he could fit a bed in the room, he would sleep in the stone building which had once been her grandmother’s favorite place to sit and watch the boats come up river from the North Sea.
Having had James all to herself on the journey down from London, she now found herself missing his company during the day. He ate breakfast long before she rose most mornings. His noon meal was taken down to him at the cottage, and by suppertime, he was usually so tired that he took himself off to bed after staying with her and Sir Geoffrey only as long as was polite. Twice, he had fallen asleep at the supper table.
By the end of the fourth day, Leah was feeling a tad jealous of the paint and canvas. She poked her head inside the doorway of the cottage. “Are you busy?”
James was kneeling in the corner, mixing a new batch of paint. He greeted her with a grin. “Come in. Mind where you step. I have some pieces laying out to dry on the floor. Oh, and watch out for the linseed oil rags. They will stain your gown.”
The smell of oil and paint in the room was strong enough that Leah felt her head spin. How James could stand to work in among the fumes was hard to fathom.
“You should open a window or two. You don’t want to faint from the tainted air,” she said.
James frowned, then took in a deep breath. His face registered surprise. “I hadn’t noticed the odor until you mentioned it. And now that you have its all I can smell. It is rather strong.” He got to his feet, swaying just a little. “Perhaps I need to go and get some fresh air. I will open some windows when I return.”
It was the opening she needed. She yearned for them to spend some precious time together. To be able to prize him away from his paintings. To simply walk and talk. She found herself thinking about him a lot of the time. She wanted to know whether his thoughts ever turned to her.
“There are some old sea caves I could show you a little way along the coast. They might make a good subject for one of your paintings. It would get you out into the fresh air. I could ask cook to pack up a small picnic and we could eat it while we are out,” she said.
His eyes lit up. “That sounds like a perfect idea. Let’s do it.”
The caves were farther along the beach than Leah had remembered, and it took close to two hours before she was able to find them. As they walked, she worried constantly that James would call a halt to their march and ask that they return to the manor. She was pleased when he did not.
The unexpected comfort she found in being in his presence had her mind mulling over a number of issues. Foremost being, how long did James plan to stay at Mopus Manor? He had set himself up nicely within the cottage, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he announced his intentions to leave.
The prospect of watching him climb into his carriage and drive away filled her with a sense of dread. She didn’t want him to leave, fearing she would never see him again.
While James picked up stones from the beach and tossed them way out to sea, she stood with hands tightly held together. She dared not ask him to remain, fearful that if her father did finally come to Cornwall, his wrath would come crashing down on the man who had tried to save her.
Yet she knew that if she said nothing and simply let James go, she may never get the chance to be alone with him again. Her father would make certain of that.
