“Not at all, dear. No trouble. What did you wish to say? Is someone looking for me?” she asked, seeming to mistake Sarah’s hesitance for concern.
“No. No, cousin. I did not wish to disturb,” Sarah repeated shyly. “I was just uncertain of where you were. Can I be of assistance?” she added, as two footmen dragged a vast table across the floor, the sound of wood squeaking on stone drowning out any further attempt to converse.
Caroline winced, her hazel eyes flaring angrily. Sarah tensed. Her cousin was clearly busy, and she did not wish to bother her more.
“Quiet, please!” Caroline called out. The room fell into silence for a moment and Sarah reddened. She could certainly not ask Caroline about the duke with a dozen pairs of eyes watching them.
“I...I will walk in the garden,” Sarah stammered. Caroline smiled and inclined her head.
“Of course, my dear. That is very polite of you—I must apologise that I cannot talk with you now.” She gestured to two men who were lifting and carrying some other small tables. “Over there. Yes. That’s just right.”
Sarah smiled at her cousin, unable to say anything over the din as work began afresh. Caroline grinned back and Sarah turned and hurried out of the room.
The rest of the house was quiet, all of the furious activity focused for the moment on the ballroom. Sarah walked swiftly through the silent manor and up to her bedchamber, her mind drifting distractedly to the topic of where all the other guests might be. Many of them had taken the chance to go and explore Bath, but Sarah had elected not to, despite Lord and Lady Egerton politely inviting her to go with them. The thoughtof being in the company of so many strangers was disturbing, almost frightening, after the silence of Wakeford Hall. Even though part of her longed to see the duke, she could not bear the hours of noise and bustle. She hurried to her room, taking the satchel where her sketchbook was stored, and then hurrying to the garden.
The tranquility of the grounds was a strong contrast to the bustle and rush indoors. Sarah walked across the lawn, marveling at the silence. The only sound was coming from the stables, where men worked raking the hay and occasionally, a horse made a snuffling, neighing sound. The lawns stretched out silently under the sunshine. Sarah walked along a path, breathing deeply. The smell of fresh, damp earth was sweet and loamy in her nostrils, refreshing and calm. The silence was a balm after the days of chatter and bustle. She walked along the path under her feet, unsure of where it went. The grounds at Averhill Manor were vast and rambling, and she had not had a chance to explore them.
She followed the path along a low wall, the space above the wall filled with shrubs and flowering bushes, the fragrance of so many blossoms sweetening the air. She had no idea where the path led, but she found herself at a bricked square with a wooden bench on it, the area screened with boxwood bushes trimmed into a hedge. When she stood before the bench, she could see a beautiful view over rolling fields and hillsides, heading towards a blue horizon. Breathing out appreciatively, she sighed and sat down on the bench.
She opened the satchel and began to sketch.
The lines of the hills flowed across the paper, worked in with a soft pencil. Then she started to draw the leaves of the tree that framed the scene, working with a darker pencil to make it appear closer. The bushes and shrubs nearby were next, the dark and light patches captured with strategic scribbles.
Sarah narrowed her eyes, gazing up at the landscape, measuring distant objects against the length of her pencil to make the proportions correct. She sketched them in carefully and quickly, adding detail with effective pencil lines. It was a process she had learned years ago from her governess’ cousin—a woman who loved to draw and whose friendly, open personality had been welcome in the silent, oppressive house. Sarah worked automatically, the procedure of sketching landscapes and objects something that was second nature to her. She scribbled in some dark patches on the hedge, absorbed in her work. The intense focus let her forget about the duke, the dinner party and the conversation.
She was sketching in some cloud cover over the landscape when a small voice startled her.
“Madam? What is that?”
Sarah whirled around, shrieking in fright. She found herself staring into a pair of pale blue eyes in a small, worried face.
“Sorry.” Henry, the duke’s son, was standing at her elbow. He looked at her worriedly.
“Hush. It is all well,” Sarah said automatically, smiling at the boy who was evidently fearful. Her scream must have frightened him. “I just was not expecting anyone to be there.” She gestured to the bench, patting it. “Come and sit down, if you like.”
The little boy did nothing, just stared at her with round eyes. Sarah smiled again and when he said nothing, she resumed sketching.
“What are you drawing?” the little boy asked after a moment. Sarah looked up, amused by his insistence on remaining despite his fear.
“The view. The hills in the distance, here,” she used the pencil to point to things on her sketch. “Here are the bushes. And this is the lawn.”
“Mm.” The little boy nodded. He frowned. “You left that rock out,” he said after a long moment.
Sarah chuckled. “Yes, I did. Artists sometimes have to choose what to leave out of their sketches. It is as important as what you choose to add in.”
The little boy tilted his head, thinking about the comment. “But then, it isn’t really a picture of what you can see, is it?” A crease was showing on his brow between his pale eyebrows. Sarah grinned.
“It is not always meant to be,” Sarah explained as the little boy came and sat down beside her, staring at the picture in the book on her knee.
“What is it then?” he asked, frowning.
“It is not so much about drawing what you can see, as about trying to draw how it makes youfeel,” Sarah told him. “When I am unhappy, the scene looks different. I might notice the sad way the grass is drooping, or those dead leaves. But when I’m happy, I see the happy things. That fountain there, or the flowers in the lawn. See?” She tried to explain.
“If I’m sad, I do not go outside,” the little boy said sorrowfully. “I stay inside and read. Reading is good.”
Sarah grinned. The fact that he could read did not surprise her. She had been taught to read by her governess when she was four years old, and by the time she was seven she was reading simple stories by herself.
“Reading is good,” she agreed softly. “When I am sad, I draw.”
