Page 54 of Romancing the Artist

“It is admirable that he follows his instincts, is it not? It takes courage to act on an impulse, to cast aside fear of whether society will deem your action appropriate, or if a risk will be rewarded. Perhaps in certain situations, it is wiser to act with swift decision instead of lingering in endless contemplation of the potential consequence.”

Given her recent teasing about his headstrong behavior, Edward couldn’t tell if she meant what she said or had only spoken in his defense. Whichever the cause, humor sparked to life amid the thorny frustration his cousin caused with his mere presence.

“Hear, hear,” Jacob muttered, joining the conversation he’d hardly blinked at a moment before. Edward narrowed his eyes at his brother-in-law, who smiled back at him with a far too innocent expression. “Why do you look at me with such suspicion? I agree with every word Miss Clapham said.”

“You are one of the many who have lectured me on the danger of rash behavior,” Edward said, glancing at Caroline. “I am certain at least one of his sermons on ‘careful contemplation’ was directed at me in the past.”

“I never sermonize to a single person. That is the swiftest way for a vicar to annoy congregants.” Jacob turned his grin toward Caroline. “And while it’s true that Edward made trouble for himself in the past, I cannot think of any recent events that would warrant caution on his part that he has not taken.”

“Really?” Caroline raised her eyebrows and leaned forward enough to look past Claude, giving Edward’s brother-in-law her full attention. “Have you any examples of the more troublesome times?”

Edward didn’t like where this conversation was going, but one glance at Claude’s smug grin kept him from protesting. Best to pretend he didn’t mind the stories rather than let Claude think he’d exposed a weakness. Even if Edward knew precisely which story Jacob would tell.

“When Edward was about thirteen years of age, several of the local boys developed something of a mania for climbing atop tall trees. It was a game, to see who dared venture the highest.” He raised his eyebrows at Edward. “This lad thought that growing up climbing apple trees made him the expert. Never mind that apple trees are rarely more than fifteen feet in height. He joined the challenge when it was ash trees that were the favorite. Then someone dared him to climb the oldest oak in Alderton, standing behind the inn. That tree was measured by survey last year. It is sixty-seven feet tall. More than double the height of the ash trees. But that didn’t stop Edward.”

“Oh dear.” Caroline bit her lip as she turned to look over her shoulder at Edward. “Did you make it to the top?”

“Not quite.” Edward well remembered that day. “The limbs were large and the bark rough. It was difficult to get any purchase on the lower branches. So I snuck inside the inn, climbed out on of the windows onto the roof, then jumped into the nearest branch of the tree.”

“I still say a prayer of gratitude that you didn’t fall and break your neck that day,” his mother said suddenly from the other side of the half-circle. “Honestly, Edward. It is a wonder you reached your majority.”

“What happened?” Caroline asked.

Jacob continued the narrative. “He made it up high enough to get stuck.”

“And nearly everyone ran off, afraid they would be held to blame if anything happened to me.” Edward winced at the remembrance. He’d looked down through the branches to the ground and hadn’t seen a single friendly face looking up at him. He’d never been more afraid in his life as he clung to a thin limb as tight as his thin arms had allowed. “Robert Merrell hadn’t run away like the rest. He went to the innkeeper and then to the blacksmith, raising an alarm, and soon enough half of Alderton’s residents were beneath the tree shouting up at me.” He shook his head with the remembered misery. “I couldn’t understand a word of it. My mind was wild with fear.”

“First they found the tallest ladder they could and stood it again the tree,” Jacob said. “Then they had Alfie Smith, the blacksmith’s son, a strapping lad of eighteen, heft a rope over his shoulder and climb as high as he could.”

“Then they passed Alfie a pole,” his mother said. “By that time, someone had fetched his father.” She glanced at her husband, who was lightly snoring, completely undisturbed by the recounted tale of Edward’s reckless behavior. “Alfie tied one end of the rope to the pole and threw it like a javelin.”

“It hit my shoulder.” Edward shook his head. “On the first try. That made me focus, and I caught it on the second. I dropped the pole over my branch, and it slid back down to the ground, where the Blacksmith held it. Alfie kept hold of the other end. Then I climbed down the rope.”

“As I said. You must have some sort of guardian angel, Edward.” His mother placed a hand over her heart, as though the story still affected her. “We give the Smith family an enormous goose every Christmas to this day.”

“And that isn’t even the worst thing he’s done,” Jacob said with a broad grin.

Edward glowered at his brother-in-law. “I thought vicars were forgiving sorts who didn’t dwell on the past mistakes of others.”

The unrepentant vicar laughed at him. “It’s the sins we don’t dwell on, Edward. Childhood folly is fair game for a brother, even if the brother is a vicar.” But he didn’t torture Edward by sharing another tale. Instead, he turned with intent toward Claude. “You must tell me more about yourself, Mr. Claude Everly. We are kin through marriage, yet I cannot think we have spoken more than a few words to one another, and most of those when you were yet a child come for summer visits. I seem to recall some incident with a seagull when you were a lad.”

Caroline leaned forward. “Another childhood mishap? Will this be an entertaining story with a rescue, too?”

Edward glanced toward Grace again to find her watching him with a raised eyebrow and tilted head. He smiled, putting as much apologetic feeling into the look as he could. She shook her head and turned her attention to her husband, who recounted a time when Claude had been under attack from seagulls for “no reason whatsoever.”

Edward knew the reason. Claude had climbed up a low cliff where several seagulls had made nests, and he had tried to steal their eggs. He’d managed to get hold of one before the parent birds had swooped in, beating at him with their wings, knocking him about with the claws on the ends of their padded feet, screeching terribly.

Every time Claude had stepped on the beach the rest of that summer, the birds shrieked and swooped at him. Edward had found the experience highly amusing. He’d taken care to bring strips of dried fish and bits of pastry to feed the birds after Claude returned home.

Reliving that memory put him in a better humor, until the moment he saw his mother prodding his father awake and whispering in his ear. His father’s disinterested expression swiftly turned serious, and his gaze swung up abruptly to meet Edward’s.

He didn’t appear pleased.

Rising with his plate, Edward gathered Caroline’s as well. “Allow me, Miss Clapham.” He returned the empty dishes to the table, where the children had come to stack their tin plates after enjoying their food. They were scattered about together in the grass yards away from the adults, giggling as they played some sort of guessing came.

One tin plate remained in the grass with them, and Edward hurried to fetch it. As he bent to pick it up, he spoke in an undertone. “Does anyone wish to walk to the beach with me? We can feed the gulls our scraps.” Their response came in a chorus of excitement, their young voices blending together in their eagerness.

“Yes, can we?”