Page 50 of Romancing the Artist

The red-headed noble woman studied Caroline with her brows arched, one corner of her mouth pulling upward before she spoke. “You seem distracted today, my dear. Are you quite well?”

Caroline’s cheeks warmed and she forced a laugh that didn’t sound nearly as natural as she’d hoped. “I thank you, Lady Fox. I am well. Merely thinking on a difficulty with my painting. I will do my best to set aside those thoughts for now.” Caroline turned her attention to Mrs. Barnes to find the vicar’s wife already studying her.

A glance at Lady Inglewood proved that lady stared at Caroline with curiosity, too.

Caroline took her fan from the reticule at her wrist and snapped it open. “It is quite warm today, is it not?”

The women surrounding her appeared to hold a silent conversation with their exchange of smiles, raised eyebrows, and then they looked as one toward the road as Mrs. Barnes said, “Where can my family be? My papa prefers punctuality above most virtues. Indeed, it is a wonder none of his daughters received that as a Christian name.”

The other women giggled, and Caroline fanned herself with more vigor.

“Caroline,” a child’s voice sang out from the corner of the vicar’s cottage. Caroline turned to see Luther Fox had returned. “Will you come help us with the castle?”

“There is a castle in your garden, Mrs. Barnes?” Caroline glanced to her hostess, who smiled and gave a merry shrug.

“There will be if the children have anything to say about it. You may go if you wish, Caroline, or remain here. Where you have an excellent view of the road.”

The blush Caroline had attempted to stave off through willpower alone burst through to her cheeks, the heat in them rivaling coals from an oven. She stood hastily. “I think I will go see this castle for myself.” She curtsied to the matrons and followed after Luther, her fan clutched in a firm grip.

That the women suspected she watched the road for a sign of Edward was evident. And really, since her eagerness for his arrival would assist in their charade, it ought not to have bothered her that they thought such a thing.

Why did she feel like squirming, then? Like fleeing from them before anyone could ask, directly, if it was Edward Everly she watched for with such focus she couldn’t attend to the conversation?

“Because it is humiliating,” she muttered to herself, entering the small garden. There were low-cut shrubs bearing yellow flowers, pots of marigolds, a table with chairs, and a low stone wall dividing the pleasure garden from the kitchen garden.

She had never been the girl with stars in her eyes, dreaming about a gentleman riding up to her cottage on a white horse with a bouquet of flowers and an offer of marriage. She made her own adventures, climbing trees and building sandcastles, reading books and sketching flowers.

Wasn’t it rather silly, to hold one’s breath in anticipation of receiving a glance or a smile from a man?

All she’d wanted was to paint. Though she had given some thought to her future, to a possible marriage and family, she hadn’t wanted to depend on anyone else for her happiness. And what if she fell in love with a man who didn’t support her art? Or couldn’t afford for her to buy paints and brushes? What if he expected her to give all of it up to focus on a household and children?

She didn’t object to the idea of children. She adored children. But was that to be her only contribution to the world?

Caroline kicked a small pebble off the path, her frustration twisting her insides. This was precisely why she avoided thoughts of matrimony. There were too many unknowns. At only nineteen, with a modest dowry, she had time. She could work on her painting. She could travel, perhaps, to fulfill commissions or work as an art instructor for families all over England. Perhaps even on the Continent. If only Sir Thomas found her work adequate.

And he would.

The children were toward the back of the cultivated land, beneath birch trees that had likely been planted at the same time as the woods on the Inglewood estate. The children, boys and girls both, were leaning boards against a low branch, creating a lean-to wall of loose lumber and branches. Luther had returned to picking up small stones and lining them up in a semi-circle around the front of their make-believe castle.

Pushing aside all thoughts of Edward, courtship, and marriage, Caroline joined their game, suggesting an edition of dried leaves to the floor of their castle. She also prevented the theft of a bean pole from the kitchen gardens, instead finding a long branch to hold the flag they improvised with Caroline’s handkerchief.

Devoting herself to the children’s entertainment, Caroline sat on the stone wall, weaving daisies into a crown. One for Irene, another each for Elizabeth and Marjorie, and a fourth for herself. She was absorbed in the task, looping daisy stems over and through one another, when she noticed a strange silence.

Caroline glanced up, but the children all seemed well. They were covering their mouths, looking in her direction. As though they held back laughter. Had someone told a joke at her expense?

Raising her eyebrows, Caroline asked, “Is there something amiss, knights and ladies?” A few of them shook their heads, but their grins remained. She returned their wide smiles with one of her own. “Sir Luther?”

The red-headed little boy shook with giggles as he bowed. “All is well in our kingdom, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent. I am glad to hear it.” She took off her bonnet, despite the sun shining above, and lifted her now-complete daisy-crown to put it atop her head. “Queen Caroline declares a royal holiday. Celebrating—”

A hand covered her eyes, and her whole body jolted forward in surprise. This didn’t alarm her assailant, whose arm looped around her waist, preventing her from toppling off the low wall and securing her back against a broad, warm chest.

A low chuckle near her left ear stirred wisps of her hair and made a trickle of warmth spread from that spot through her body and deep into her belly. She knew exactly who had hold of her before he even whispered, “Do you know me, Queen Caroline?”

Edward had finally arrived.

Her heart fluttered dangerously in her chest, as though it would burst free entirely and take flight. “You are a knave, for certain, and an enemy to the crown,” she said, trying to sound firm and cringing when her words came out breathless.