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“Ha! You are very kind, but you were the one sitting still. It was definitely my fault,” Violette said, laughing. “I was not paying attention to where I was going.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said. “I still feel I am the one to blame.” Then his eyes settled on her face, and she suddenly felt the need to adjust her top hat and pull it lower. What if he recognised her?
She knew she should make some excuse to walk away at once. Here was a man she had met, and he could well recognise her at any moment, but she didn’t want to go. There was that same handsome smile looking at her; it made something curl with excitement in her stomach and her feet stayed planted exactly where they were in the grass, staying by his side.
“Forgive me for staring,” he said, frowning. “It’s just…you look a little like someone I met not too long ago.”
“Oh?” she said in surprise, realising this could be her doom. She felt Sherborne subtly elbow her side, clearly intending for her to make an escape, yet her body argued against it. She was free now, wasn’t she? Why shouldn’t she stay in the company of a handsome man? “Perhaps I know of who you speak.”
“Lady Violette Blay, Lord Brunlow’s daughter,” Lord Northrive said, staring at her all the more intently. “The resemblance is uncanny….”
“Ah, little surprise there. Lady Violette is my cousin,” she said, thinking on her feet. She could hear Sherborne now clearing his throat behind her, desperate for her to leave. She subtly stood on his foot, telling him to shut up, a move Lord Northrive didn’t appear to notice.
“That would explain it,” Lord Northrive said and extended his hand. “I am Lord Northrive.”
“Mr Victor Blake,” Violette said, taking his hand. The moment their palms touched, she felt a kind of spark take hold of her. It shot its way through her body and up her spine. She had to work hard not to wriggle with pleasure at the feeling. It left her as Lord Northrive’s hand parted from hers.
“What brings you to London, Mr Blake?” he asked with a friendly tone.
“I am the second son of a baron,” she said, telling the story that she and Sherborne had concocted the night before. “My eldest brother has gone on his Grand Tour, and so I am in London, unsure what to do with myself whilst he is gone.”
“The Grand Tour does not entice you then?” Lord Northrive asked with raised eyebrows.
“It does,” she said, “but we do not always have the good fortune to do what we want to do.”
“How true that is,” he said with a small smile. She continued holding that gaze for a minute, enamoured by the handsome face until she felt Sherborne kick her in her calf, clearly saying again that it was time to leave.
“What brings you to London?” she asked Lord Northrive instead, refusing to leave just yet.
“Ah, my doctor says I am exhausted and need a break,” he said, gesturing down to the sketchbooks. “So, I have come to the club for some rest.” He retook his seat on the grass and picked up the sketchbooks.
“Rest or art?” she asked, cocking her head to the side as she moved closer toward him.
“Good question,” he said with a smile. “For me, I guess they are one and the same thing. Though I rarely know if what I draw these days is any good or not. Care to give me your opinion?”
“Mine?” she asked in surprise as he gestured for her to take one of the sketchbooks.
“I would be grateful for another’s thoughts. It’s better than asking the bees that keep flying by,” he jested, pulling a laugh from her.
“Mr Blake…” Sherborne said behind Violette in a warning tone, but she had made up her mind.
“I’d love to take a look,” she said, taking the proffered sketchbook and sitting down beside Lord Northrive.
***
“You have not yet been? But you said you have been in London a few days. How can someone be in London and not go to Somerset house?” Marcus asked with an incredulous tone. He was uncertain how long he had been sat with Mr Blake on the grassy mound in Hyde Park, with the bees buzzing around them and Mr Blake’s valet sat nearby, but he had no wish to go just yet.
“What can I say?” Mr Blake shrugged. “I love art, my lord, but I am no great critic. So, I have not yet been.” He lifted the sketchbook that Marcus had been working on, analysing the drawing in detail.
Marcus grew distracted in looking at the young man’s features. He did greatly look like Lady Violette, but the two of them being cousins made an awful lot of sense. It was simply hard to get Lady Violette out of his head whilst looking at Mr Blake.
So far, they had discussed almost every topic Marcus could think of. The Grand Tour, the exhibition at Somerset House, and Marcus’ own love of art.
“Then you must go some time,” Marcus said, taking the sketchbook back. “Believe me, the paintings there will make my drawings look like nothing but scribbles.”
“Ha!” Mr Blake laughed heartily at the idea. “That is a scribble? Forgive me, my lord, but you have drawn a scene of Hyde Park that is not only accurate, but insightful. I have seen enough art to know that not everyone is capable of such perception.”
“What do you mean?” Marcus asked, feeling warmed by the praise.
