“You are terrible at it.”
Lord Bideford blinked. “Do you always speak your mind?”
“I do,” she replied, smiling. “I am afraid it is another one of my many endearing traits.”
“I daresay that is not the case.”
Ellie walked over to the table and picked up a small, intricately painted blue vase. “This is lovely,” she commented.
“That vase came from China,” he informed her.
“Did your father travel there?”
Lord Bideford shook his head. “No, but he bought it from a merchant who frequently did.”
“How marvelous would it be to visit these exotic places?” she asked as she put the vase down. “It must be quite the adventure.”
“I have no desire to spend week after week on a blasted ship.”
“But think of the stories you could tell.”
“Not if you are dead.”
She lifted her brow. “Good heavens, you are quite the cynic.”
“I contend it is better to be a cynic than someone who strives for things they cannot have.”
A small frame containing a portrait of an older gentleman caught her attention and she picked it up. “Is this your father?”
“It is,” Roswell replied, visibly stiffening. “A larger portrait hangs in my mother’s bedchamber.”
“My father commissioned a portrait of himself before he died,” Ellie revealed. “He struggled to get out of bed each day to sit for it.”
“Then why did he do it?”
“For my mother,” Ellie replied softly. “He wanted to give her something she could always remember him by.”
“That was most thoughtful of him.”
“It was,” she said, returning the frame to its place. “Sadly, the portrait remains in the manor, so we rarely have the opportunity to see it.”
“That is most unfortunate.”
“It is.” Ellie turned her head so that he would not see the unwanted tears that were starting to burn her eyes.
Lord Bideford stepped closer to her and extended a white handkerchief without saying a word.
After she wiped her eyes, she took a moment to compose herself before turning back towards him. “I do apologize for my display of emotions.”
To her surprise, his eyes held something akin to compassion in them. “You have no need to apologize,” he said. “I know the grief associated with losing a father.”
“I do appreciate that, my lord.”
Ellie held up the handkerchief. “I shall return this after my lady’s maid washes it.”
“You may keep it,” he said, putting his hand up. “My mother loves to make me handkerchiefs with my initials on them, and I have a whole drawer full of them.”
Lowering the handkerchief to her side, she replied, “You are most kind for saying so.”
