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Henry got to work straight away, scratching the charcoal against the paper with care. He began with the outline of her body in gentle strokes, light enough so he could add detail later. His eyes swept across Florence’s body, and his mind began to wander.
What a truly an interesting position I find myself in.
CHAPTERSIX
Little evidence was needed to confirm what Henry had assumed about Florence from the very beginning. She looked like no other woman he had ever laid eyes on.
Perhaps it was due to the long gaze he maintained between her and the drawing he worked at tirelessly, as if it were his only task for the day. Regardless, Henry thought the predicament served as the perfect excuse for him to assess her features down to the very last detail.
Henry even noticed the light blush that ghosted her cheeks while she looked out across the garden, surely grateful not to have to look him in the eye. The flush of color made Henry snicker discreetly, yet he kept the fact to himself.
He didn’t wish to mortify Florence or make her break her pose. She maintained it so perfectly, he found himself enjoying the challenge. It was unusual, yes, but Henry liked having Florence stand before him—an ideal subject.
When the basics of her form were fleshed out enough for Henry to have a reliable idea of his placements, he inspected Florence’s face more closely.
From the gentle lift of her nose to the sharp line of her jaw and the delicate curve of her cupid’s bow lips, Henry inspected it all. He was granted the pleasure of watching how Florence’s lashes fluttered each time she blinked, and how her lips were parted just enough for him to see a flash of white teeth.
Florence swallowed hard, and it traveled the length of her slender, pale neck. Henry urged himself to focus despite how wonderous that small action had seemed.She is a sight to behold!
Henry formed the shape of her plump lower lip. It looked so tempting, he had to push down his growing excitement.
Upon observing how he worked, one would assume Henry was a professional artist, dedicated to his craft, intent on his art and the model before him.
Henry was startled out of his reverie by Agnes’ voice. He had nearly forgotten she was there. “Uncle Henry has always been artistic, that’s why he evaluates my drawings. But he is too proper and thinks a man of his station shouldn’t spend his time doodling.”
Henry watched as the corners of Florence’s lips turned up slightly at the explanation. She was clearly amused by the idea, and perhaps, also by Agnes revealing a personal detail about him. He scoffed and threw a warning glance at Agnes over his shoulder.
“Show some respect, will you?” Henry murmured half-heartedly, not impressed by Agnes’ willingness to give away such personal details. However, it was a gentle enough rebuff that the young lady only laughed and continued watching.
Agnes used to sit in the drawing room after tea and observe Henry as he sketched. That was before his responsibilities as an earl made him too restrained. She would sit next to him silently, not saying anything while he worked. Agnes' eyes would be glued to the page, anticipating the next detail even if he drew for hours.
With the passage of time and the addition of more responsibilities to his plate, those special moments shared between them had become increasingly rare. Thus, Henry didn't mind making time to entertain Agnes and her challenge.
Henry wasn’t prepared to lose, so he committed himself entirely to capturing the genuine details in Florence’s complexion. The light shading added to the center of her cheeks gave her face more definition, and it allowed the white space above to illuminate the apples of her cheeks. Her brows were drawn with quick, light strokes to form the delicate arches of her browbone.
The fine details of Florence’s face proved to be far more labyrinthine than he had anticipated. It didn’t take long for him to get lost in their intricacies. He was so invested, he realized he never wanted to stop drawing her, not even when he could easily have walked away.
Henry treated each portion of his sketch with such great care, one might have thought he was engaged in a high stakes competition. He made sure not a single line ran longer than it should and that every inch of her illustrated form was free from any smudges or marks.
It struck him then that he was treating the likeness of Florence better than her real self. He was her employer, after all, and he didn’t think she needed to be offered anything on a silver platter. He didn’t exactly treat his servants as family, but he didn’t treat them badly either. He appreciated his staff and all they did for them, and there was no reason for Florence to be handled any differently.
He still felt his initial criticisms of her outspoken nature were a little harsher than necessary. He was well aware that his protective feelingsfrequently fueled his more severe actions. Florence didn't appear to be a threat to Agnes' education or manners, at least not as far as Henry could tell. In fact, he was impressed by her intuitive approach to teaching. Henry's conscience nagged him with guilt.
Hewas so engrossed in the sketch that Agnes became bored andeventually wandered off through the grass, admiring the blooming flowers and the flutterings of several butterflies. But by that point, anything that didn’t have Florence at its center went completely unnoticed. His hands crafted the sketch into something far more meticulous than necessary, and Lord Gray wasn’t prepared to stop until it was finished.
When Henry realized just how long Florence had been holding her pose, he noticed she was beginning to look uncomfortable. It didn’t take anything away from her face or her nearly perfect pose, yet he could see she was growing tired. Probably, she was bored too, with no one to talk to.
Nearly a week had gone by since their tense interview in his study.Perhaps it is time to see how she is faring, he thought.
“How are you finding your new post, Florence?”
Another drawn-out swallow ran down her throat, and she didn’t rush to answer. Eventually, she spoke softly and without an ounce of malice or indifference.
“I am finding it very satisfying, my lord.”
Henry wasn’t happy with the governess’s answer. It was a shallow, reserved response that lacked any true feeling. He knew it wasn’t the real Florence speaking.
She was being polite. For better or for worse, she wouldn’t reveal her honest opinion. However, he knew her real opinion was in there, and he wished to hear it. Although he thought he ought to appreciate such a diplomatic answer, its simplicity only frustrated him. He didn’t enjoy how dismissive it sounded, as if she only intended to tell him what she assumed he wanted to hear.
