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“Your Grace, I learned you are very fond of paintings and sculptures,” Margaret said, and Diana could hear the ingratiating tone in her voice.
Matthew glanced at Diana, and her cheeks immediately warmed. She smiled slightly and looked down at her folded hands on her lap.
“Yes, Lady Dervin,” he replied. “I am not in possession of the talent but I greatly appreciate the art and hold a deep respect for artists.”
“We seem to share that opinion, Your Grace,” Florence said with an artful smile. “Would you like to see my watercolors?”
Diana straightened in her seat and looked at her cousin, wondering why she would claim to have watercolors when she did not know how to paint and always mocked Diana for hers.
Matthew smiled. “I certainly do, Miss Dervin.”
“I shall ring for tea.” Margaret stood and walked to the bell-pull near the drawing-room door, while Florence went to an end table to pick up several sheets that Diana was horrified to discover were her watercolors. When her cousin met her surprised stare, she grinned spitefully.
Florence gave Matthew the sheets and one of his dark brows rose very slightly when he saw the first sheet, a painting of a vine-covered window.
Seconds later, Diana winced as she remembered she had sent him a miniature of the exact painting years ago for his thoughts on it. He stared at it for a long moment, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. That, right there, was proof that one of them was Dee. There was no playing coy now.
He looked up at Florence, a question in his eyes that she seemed oblivious of. He was about to speak when Margaret rejoined them, and he seemed to decide against it. Likely because their correspondence had been a secret that he did not want to expose to her aunt.
“These are lovely paintings, Miss Dervin, especially this window.” He held up the sheet. “What inspired it?”
Diana began to cough loudly to distract them. Matthew’s question was a test because Diana had told him what had inspired the painting, which Florence did not know.
“Are you well, Miss Pearson?” Matthew asked, setting the sheets down and rising.
“Oh, dear!” Margaret exclaimed, coming to place a hand on Diana’s back to pretend to help her. “Florence, tell the maids to hurry with the tea and bring Diana some warm beverage to help with her cough.”
“Yes, Mama,” Florence replied with much alacrity.
“Oh, my poor Diana,” Margaret murmured, running a hand up and down Diana’s back while she coughed. “She has bouts of cough often, Your Grace, but she will be better once she drinks something warm. For now, she will be returning to her chambers—”
“Has she been examined by a physician?” Matthew asked, sounding very concerned, and Diana felt guilty for worrying him. She lessened the coughs.
“Oh, yes,” her aunt replied. “He is the one who recommended warm spruce beer to soothe her coughs.”
“Perhaps peppermint tea would be more effective than spruce beer,” Matthew suggested.
“That is an excellent suggestion, Your Grace. We never considered it. How are you so knowledgeable about this subject?”
“I am not very knowledgeable,” Matthew replied plainly, his eyes intently on Diana. “My valet is.”
“That is very humble of you.” Margaret laughed. Diana almost rolled her eyes at her aunt’s exaggeration. She had stopped coughing now, and Margaret looked down at her. “Are you better now, my dear?”
Diana nodded and smiled. “Yes, Aunty, I am.” She turned to Matthew. “Forgive me for alarming you.”
“Think nothing of it. I am glad you are better.” The concern in his eyes warmed her heart, and she lowered her eyes and smiled shyly.
Florence returned with two maids behind her, each bearing a laden tray. Once the trays had been set down on the center table, Margaret picked up Diana’s warm beer and handed it to her.
Matthew did not return to the subject of the watercolors, and she was greatly relieved that, although done inelegantly, she had been able to distract them. She remained quiet as they had tea, while Margaret sang Florence’s virtues and accomplishments.
Although he responded when he needed to, and looked as though he was paying attention, Diana caught Matthew stealing glances at her, and every time their eyes met, she felt something pulling her to him. She augured their encounters henceforth would become more difficult for her to bear.
After tea, he rose to leave, and she felt bereft. “Thank you for having me, Lady Dervin, and it was a pleasure to see you again, Miss Dervin,” he turned to Diana, “Miss Pearson.” His gaze lingered on her, and he looked as though he wanted to say something more.
“You may call upon us any time you wish, Your Grace,” Florence said, lowering herself into a deep curtsy and inclining her head artfully.
Matthew nodded, the small smile on his lips polite, before he walked out. As Diana subtly tried to make way for the window, Florence and Margaret dashed to the window that faced the front of the house to see his departure, and Diana frowned.
