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A blackened eye—Beatrice was clumsy after all.

Another ruined gown…

On and on and on.

She would come up with scheme after scheme to prevent her likeness from being painted.

Then what would Uncle do?

With Nala and Teddy trotting at her heels, Beatrice picked her way toward the marble folly in the formal gardens where Uncle had ordered she have her likeness replicated. The satin slippers adorning her feet were better suited for the house’s marble and parquet floors, not freshly clipped grass.

Uncle Cedric had seen the gazebo furnished with a floral settee, several throw pillows, flowers, ferns, and other greenery. All in all, the folly was lovely, and had Beatrice not been so put upon, she might have appreciated the effort that had gone into creating the attractive space.

She supposed a garden portrait was a minor concession on his part, as Uncle knew she preferred the outdoors.

More likely, however, was he didn’t want her future husband to see the inside of Highbury House. To prevent the money-grubbing potential husband from comprehending Uncle Cedric’s wealth and perhaps demanding a dowry, in addition to getting his greedy hands on her twenty thousand pounds.

Uncle Cedric, the heartless wretch, had refused her request to allow Nala and Teddy in the portrait. And that had caused another concern to raise its warty little head… What if he threatened to take her beloved pets from her if she didn’t comply?

Beatrice feared it wasn’t beyond him.

Well then, she would have to make certain the series of mishaps were wholly believable.

As she tiptoed across the greens, trying not to slip on the grass, she contemplated the precise moment she would trip on the gown and take a fortuitous tumble. She needed to ensure the gown was beyond repair—torn and stained. A couple of rolls across the verdant lawn ought to assure just that.

A tall, dark-haired gentleman attired in gray, stood with his broad back to her.

Odd, she’d expected a shrunken, balding, grizzly-eyebrowed eccentric with hair poking from his ears. Her rather too acute observation of this man revealed he was young and fit.

He’d arranged his painting materials outside the folly on a table.

What had Uncle Cedric said his name was?

Cassius Westbrook?

Uncle boasted the artist was quite accomplished, but Beatrice had never heard of him. That meant little, however, since she knew few people beyond those that she attended Sunday services with and her two friends, Esme and Charlotte.

Nala gave an excited woof and dashed forward.

The artist spun around, his dark blue eyes widening upon seeing a ten-stone boarhound descending upon him with the exuberance of a bull detecting a cow in heat.

Lord, he was breathtakingly handsome.

If Beatrice wasn’t worried her dog was about to assault him, she might’ve taken a moment to appreciate his male perfection.

A first for her.

“Nala. Stop!”

When Nala ignored her command, Beatrice hoisted her skirts higher and broke into a run.

Teddy yipped in excitement and tore after Nala.

“Teddy. Nala. Stop this instant!”

Rather than show alarm at having two dogs charging toward him, the handsome artist appeared amused.

He must be familiar with dogs.