“Then you just draw the sad things,” the little boy stated with a frown.
Sarah chuckled. “I suppose that is true,” she agreed.
They sat quietly looking across the lawn at the distant hills. Sarah frowned. His pale blue eyes were calm, but she could see sadness in them; a wistful quality she would not have guessedat when she met him. His brow creased; nose crinkled as if something discontented him.
“Sometimes I draw horses,” Sarah told him. She recalled something his father had said about him running off to see the horses. His eyes kindled, the pale blue seeming brighter as he grinned warmly.
“Horses! I like horses.” He clapped his hands. “Have you seen these horses? In this stable?”
“I have,” Sarah replied, remembering her brief trip to the stables on her first day.
“They’re nice. I like them.” He frowned, gazing up at her wistfully. “Could you draw me one?”
“A horse?” Sarah asked, a frown creasing her own brows. “I can try,” she added with a smile. Landscapes and objects were more of her chosen subjects, but she had learned to draw living beings too. She turned to a fresh page. “Would you like a big horse? A coach-horse?”
“I want a horse like Papa’s,” the boy informed her instantly. “His horse is a bay thoroughbred, seventeen hands tall!” His eyes shone as he related the exact details. Sarah grinned.
“That’s a big horse,” she breathed. It was an extremely tall horse. She blinked as an imagined scene of the duke seated on the magnificent horse sneaked into her thoughts. He was wearing a black riding jacket and riding breeches that clung to his long, muscular legs. The thought made her cheeks burn with a delicious, slightly wicked, feeling she had never experienced before.
Focus, she told herself, blushing red. The child wants a picture from you.
She lifted her pencil and, hastily, sketched a horse.
“Like that!” The little boy said raptly. “That’s my horse!”
Sarah beamed as she completed the outline and set to work on the details. She herself had not spent much time with horses—Caroline rode, but Sarah had never learned, not beyond the rudiments. It was difficult to recall exactly what a horse looked like. She sketched in the hoofs and started to work on the shading. The mane she sketched in feathery lines down the neck, adding a thick, lustrous tail. The little boy made a delighted squeal.
“That looks just like him. Just like Firesmoke.”
Sarah smiled at the imaginative name. Again, an image of the duke rose unbidden in her thoughts. He was atop the horse, lifting his hat. A wry smile played across his lips. Her heart thudded at the thought of him.
“This is your horse,” she told the boy as he reached for the paper. “One day, you’ll have a real one,” she added, smiling down at him.
“It’s mine!” the little boy was delighted. “Just like Firesmoke. But I think he’s even bigger!” He grinned up at her, laughing at the thought.
“Mayhap so,” Sarah replied, wondering if she should add a fence or some detail to show how tall the imaginary horse might be. The little boy was holding the picture, studying it with a rapt grin. She did not think she could ask to have it back and she let him study it, watching him with wistful joy.
How grand it would be, she thought sadly, to have a child like this one.
You can be pleased to have a child to play with,she reminded herself. It was wonderful to have a little boy with whom she could talk and for whom she could invent games and pictures. She watched as he held the picture up and she was sure he was imagining the horse in the sketch, imagining what it would be like to own him.
“I can add to it, if you want?”
“No!” Henry said, grinning. “I like it.”
Sarah chuckled. Her heart soared at the smile on his face. She had never created a sketch that had brought someone so much joy before.
She sat quietly, unsure of what to say as the child chattered about his father’s stable at home.
“...and we have a gray thoroughbred, and two hunting horses—a bay and a black. I want to ride a hunting stallion too, when I am big. But I don’t want to jump over fences. Not yet,” he added, looking up at her with big round eyes.
“I am sure your instructor will not compel you to,” she replied gently.
“He makes me ride round and round the paddock!” Henry told her, his eyes wide. “I ride a roan mare. She is fifteen hands. And a half!”
“She is very big,” Sarah told him. He grinned proudly.
“I want to ride the biggest horse in the stable one day. Papa says that maybe when I am eight,” he began. A voice behind them spoke.
