Page 14 of Romancing the Artist

“Isn’t it wonderful when it is bright and blue? Though I do love the rain,” the mother answered her child, as interested in the conversation as she would be with a person her own age. In many ways, Lady Inglewood reminded Caroline of her own mother. The countess had two children. Isaac, whose place as his father’s heir gave him the title Baron Marham, and little Lady Irene.

The vicarage wasn’t far, and Irene spoke of her good friend the vicar’s daughter with enthusiasm. “Eliz’beth has acorn cups in the garden. May we play in the garden today?”

“If Mrs. Barnes doesn’t mind, neither shall I,” her mother answered.

Caroline had met Mrs. Barnes once, years before, on a previous visit with her family to Inglewood.

“You will like my friend, Miss Clapham. Will you play in the garden with us, too?”

“I think today your mother wishes me to keep her and her friend company,” Caroline said.

“Oh. Aunt Grace,” the child gave a somber nod of approval. “She is lovely. She will be your friend.”

Lady Inglewood’s light laugh made her daughter grin up at her. “I think you are right, my darling.”

The vicarage was a picture-perfect house of two stories, with ivy climbing up its bricks and a touch of moss upon the roof tiles. So near the sea, almost within sight of the shore were it not for a small, grassy rise, the house doubtless never dried out. The cottage itself was quite welcoming with the flowers along the path and the gentle swirls of smoke curling from the chimney, and the vibrant green of the door and shutters.

“Lady Inglewood,” a deep voice called. “Allow me to assist you.” The vicar had come from around the corner of the house, hat in one hand and a little girl holding the other, skipping along beside him.

“Auntie Essie,” the child shouted, waving her hand with enthusiasm. “Did you bring Irene?”

Lady Irene jumped from her place between the two grown-ups. “Here I am! Good day, Marianne.” She waited, though with some impatience given the sway of her shoulders, for the vicar to help first her mother down and then take her up in his hands and put her on her two feet again.

“Miss,” he said to Caroline, holding out his hand. “Might I assist you as well?”

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” She took his hand and stepped down, noting that the only thing that even hinted at his place as vicar might be the somber color of his coat and waistcoat.

He seemed to remember her all at once, and his expression immediately brightened. “Ah, Miss Clapham. Lord Neil’s daughter. Come to stay for the summer at last? Welcome. We are delighted to have you.”

The front door opened on the last word, and the vicar’s wife came outside. She curtsied, as was proper, but then immediately enveloped Lady Inglewood in an embrace as though they were sisters. “Esther, I am so glad you came today. And Miss Clapham, you have certainly grown since we last met.”

With unhurried cheer, the vicar’s wife led them all into the home she shared with her husband and two daughters. Caroline caught shades of blue and green throughout the home, and watercolor paintings of flowers on the walls, before she settled in a comfortable chair near a large window. The vicar had taken charge of the two little girls, taking them all the way out the back of the house to the garden.

Soft yellow papered the sitting room, and the ladies settled on rose-petal pink furniture. Mrs. Barnes deftly produced rose-sprigged teacups for her guests in a trice.

“And how have you two been getting on?” she asked as she settled on the sofa beside Lady Inglewood. “Your hands are not paint-splattered. I cannot tell if that is a good thing or a bad.” The twinkle in her eyes hinted that this was a usual way in which she teased her friend.

Caroline kept quiet, enjoying her tea and smiling as she listened to the friends trade news of their households. She let her gaze roam from one corner of the room to another, appreciating the soft feminine touches of the room as much as she did the combination of colors in paintings and the ribbons from which they hung.

Small oval portraits took up a large portion of one wall, and they all appeared quite recent rather than depictions of ancient ancestors from centuries past. Caroline rose and went closer, to study the watercolors with appreciation. It only took her a moment to recognize the methods of her mentor, and she could not help a squeak of surprise.

“Caroline?” Lady Inglewood asked. “Do you like the portraits?”

“I thought you did not work in water colors, my lady.” She looked over her shoulder at her mentor.

“Not usually, though they used to be my favorite medium.” Lady Inglewood didn’t rise from her seat. “I do find them more forgiving when I create smaller portraits.”

Mrs. Barnes appeared relaxed as she asked, “How long did it take to complete the set of my family and Jacob’s? He has so many siblings, and with four of my own all trying to sit for you—it was the better part of a month, was it not?”

“Two Christmases past, yes.” Lady Inglewood huffed. “And the men were difficult about it, of course. They all wanted to be off doing other things, and stealing away one at a time they treated like an act of kidnapping.”

Amused with that idea, Caroline leaned closer to study the gentlemen. She found the vicar’s portrait and realized the men nearest him were likely brothers. Then she moved along the wall, pausing a moment when she came upon two images of Mrs. Barnes, though the smiles on each was quite different. An identical sister? Extraordinary.

Then she came to another gentleman and paused. She leaned closer. He was quite familiar. The tight-lipped, half-smile and slight curl of his dark hair, and the cut of his jaw, made her feel as though she had studied his likeness before—no. It couldn’t be.

The handsome man from the clearing, who’d walked about bare-headed and in his shirtsleeves, as though he owned the whole of the outdoors. His deep blue eyes stared back at her from the small portrait, and she realized that half-smile he wore was akin to a teasing smirk.

The cheek of the man! Appearing here, in a vicar’s cottage.