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“I had no idea.”
“You must ask him to show you the design. I helped with some of the drawings over the winter.” She flipped through a few of her sketch pages. “I think I have one in this mess of drawings.”
“May I see more of your work?”
She looked over at him for a long moment as if assessing whether she should allow him the privilege. “Very well.”
She handed over a few of the pages as she went through them. “I know it is in here.”
Simon took the drawings and looked at each one. “Miss Drake, I must apologize. When I said your drawing was quite lovely, I was vastly mistaken.”
“Oh?” She looked stricken.
“Yes, they are far beyond lovely. I am amazed and thoroughly impressed by your talent. Do you only sketch?”
A slow smile turned her lips upward, but her eyes remained wary. “I paint in watercolor also.”
He stared down at the sketch of a waterlily and wondered how it would look in watercolor. “I would love to see your paintings.”
“You would?” She cheeks tinged with color. Returning her gaze to her drawings, she said, “Here it is.”
Simon reached for the paper. His finger grazed the top of her hand, and he tried to ignore the spark of excitement that traveled up his arm with lightning speed. Emma released the paper as if burned by his brief touch.
Interesting. Simon had never noticed Emma’s reaction to him until the incident in the butler’s pantry. That response he’d assumed was founded in fear, not desire. Ignoring his base thoughts, he focused on the paper she’d handed him. The design appeared well laid out with areas for shrubs, trees, and a fountain. Then he looked out at the landscape, imaging the fountain that would stand about a hundred feet away.
“The fountain was my idea,” she commented. “Don’t you think this would be a lovely viewing spot for it? Just imagine sitting here with a cup of tea and hearing the fountain tinkling in the distance. You should be able to see it from the library too. I cannot wait for Harry to have it commissioned.
“It’s lovely,” he muttered, still amazed by her talent. There was far more to Miss Emma Drake than he’d ever assumed. For the past two years, he’d only thought of her as another silly lady with the single intent of finding a wealthy, titled husband. “How long have you been drawing?”
Emma blinked in surprise at his question. Her former fiancé had never paid any attention to her artistic talent. She assumed most men did not care about such things. So why was Mr. Kingsley showing an interest? Then again, did it matter? They were both stuck out here until Louisa and Harry settled their differences. At least she and Kingsley now had a topic for conversation.
“I’ve been drawing from the moment I could hold a
pencil, according to Mamma, that is. I started painting when I was twelve.”
“Do you paint in oil?”
“No, that is considered unladylike,” she replied with a long sigh. She still had no notion how she would arrange to hire an instructor who would teach a woman. And how she would ask Louisa if she would be willing to pay for the instruction.
“You should do it anyway,” he added with a smile. “Hang those who want to tell you what you can and cannot do just because you’re a lady.”
She smiled at his naïveté in the way of Society. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she said as an excuse.
“Where did you start with watercolors?”
She stared down at the picture of the water lily he still examined. “I begged Mamma for a teacher even though I knew we could scarcely afford such a luxury. Luckily, well not luckily for her, Tessa married...” Which husband had she married then? She looked up at him and shrugged. “Well, she married one of her husbands, thus allowing me the indulgence of an art teacher.”
“Then perhaps to paint in oil, all you need is a teacher,” he said, tracing a finger along the petals of the sketched lily.
Emma continued to glance over at him. She wondered what it would be like to sketch the hard lines of his face. He had a square jaw and high cheekbones that created marvelous lines and shadows across his cheeks. But it would take oils to capture his visage correctly. Charcoal and even watercolors couldn’t highlight the contrast between his black hair and sapphire eyes. The darkness of spirit that seemed to color his entire features would never truly be apparent in watercolors.
“Might I sketch you sometime?” she blurted out before she could stop the mad thought from erupting.
His gaze met hers, causing her to suck in a breath. There was a sadness to his eyes that she’d never really noticed before now. Perhaps she had missed it because he always took it upon himself to taunt her.
“That might not be the best idea, angel.” He broke their stare and flipped to another page of sketches.
“Why not?” For some reason, she now could not let the idea go.
