Page 17 of Romancing the Artist

Perhaps thinking of her as his sprite was presumptive. But that was who she was in his thoughts and memory, since that was the only place she lived at present. At least until he had a proper name for her.

Her loveliness attracted him, of course. What man wouldn’t find someone with her features and teasing smile alluring? But more than that, as soon as she spoke he knew she possessed a sharp wit and intelligence that would make for engaging conversation, and that intrigued him. Even still, he couldn’t quite articulate, even to himself, exactly why he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

He’d nearly asked his sisters if they knew of any guests at Inglewood or nearby. But she hadn’t dressed quite like a lady. More like an upper-servant, or a governess, or some such thing that hinted at gentle breeding but lacking in funds.

He forced himself to bite his tongue rather than make inquiries. At least until after the picnic. If she wasn’t among their guests, he would look for her.

After uncovering her identity, there would be no need to dwell on her any longer. She was merely a mystery to be deciphered, albeit an attractive one.

Edward shook his head to rid himself of his ridiculous thoughts. And just in time, too. His mother had left the servants to themselves for a moment and strode toward him with a rather determined gait.

Usually, he didn’t have much to do with picnic preparations, even though his family had put together such events every season of the year. Sometimes every-other month of the year, for as long as Edward could remember. His assignments, since boyhood, had consisted of a list of things not to do.

He wasn’t to muddy his shoes, or boots, or coat. He wasn’t to let the dogs loose on accident or on purpose. He wasn’t to sample any of the food prior to their guests’ arrival. And today, despite his age and maturity, he’d been given yet another thing not to do. She had told him the evening before he wasn’t to “sneak away” from the picnic.

His mother made an inspection of his person the way a general inspected their troops. Thoroughly and with a sharp eye.

“Edward, mind what I told you before. I want you here from this moment until the last guest steps into their gig and waves farewell. You will one day be master of this house, the lands, and it will fall to you to be a good host to your neighbors. Do you promise me you will stay at the picnic until its ends?”

She faced him with the same eyes he saw in the mirror every day, wearing an expression she had used with great effect to instill in him respect for her desires. What choice did he have but to say, “Yes, Mother. I am yours to command today.”

She gave a satisfied, succinct nod. Then gave her attention to a servant bearing a large tray of fruits, directing him to a table set up beneath a stretch of fabric meant to mimic a medieval tent. The large blue and cream colored fabric billowed like sails when the breeze caught itself inside, but softened again the next moment to add a fairy-tale quality to the center of the oldest part of the orchard.

His mother had outdone herself, and Edward hated knowing the reason for her excess care. Large cushions with gold tassels were scattered about under the nearest trees, along with old rugs the maids had spent the better part of the previous day beating into dustless submission. Chairs made to fold up cleverly were set about the area, too, and three local musicians took up a place in the shade behind the tent where they couldn’t be seen, but certainly were heard.

Two violins and a flute, played by footmen on loan for the occasion, filled the air with cheerful—if not always perfectly musical—notes as they warmed up until the moment the guests arrived.

“Here you are, Edward.” He started and looked down into the laughing blue eyes of his youngest sister. Patience was all of seventeen years old, and she loved pranks far too much for a young lady of her standing. She had taken after their eldest sister, Hope, in terms of her humor. “I thought you’d have run for it the moment the sun came up this morning.”

He snorted and folded his arms across his chest, surveying the scene of bustling servants and his mother following everyone about like a mother hen, clucking admonitions at everyone in her vicinity. “I am certain, had I tried, Mother would have run me to the ground in less than an hour’s time.”

“I am only glad it is you and not me,” Patience noted with a wry smile. “Thank goodness Father thinks seventeen too young for marriage.”

“Twenty is the ideal number,” another soft voice said as Charity stepped around to Edward’s other side. In six months, she would have the birthday that made her that very age. “Though apparently, boys can wait half a decade longer.”

Edward smirked. “Never you fear. I don’t intend to give in to our parents’ matchmaking before the year is out. They will have me to focus all their ambitions upon for some time yet.”

Charity’s lips twitched. She was the most unique among the siblings. Even Grace, a vicar’s wife, was not so somber and serious-minded as Charity. She looked the definition of the word “staid.” Steady, sober, and sedate. “Do not make me any promises, brother dearest. Not when our mother and father have joined forces against you.”

“And wish to enlist the entire neighborhood’s help,” Patience added. “This has all been done to inspire romance, you know.”

“I know.” Edward looked at the flapping blue tent, then let his eyes drift to the hammock his mother had insisted on displaying with a spray of roses at each of its ends. “I am well aware we are setting the stage for Romeo and Juliet to have one of their famed meetings.”

Charity and Patience simultaneously cringed. Patience looked up at him, her expression pained. “You know they both die rather stupidly at the end of that story, do you not?”

Edward caught sight of bonnets bobbing from behind a stone wall that separated the house’s gardens from the orchards. “I am familiar with the tale of how they escaped one another, yes.” He drew in a deep breath, then extended his arms outward, one for each sister.

They accepted his escort, and Edward led them to the rug in front of the tent his mother had declared they must stand to welcome the guests. Their father appeared, leading the first of their guests with a broad smile beneath his somewhat ridiculous wide-brimmed hat. Edward’s sisters behaved themselves perfectly, greeting all their neighbors by name or title, making brief but welcoming conversation with everyone who came through their informal receiving line.

The moment Miss Kimball arrived, his mother would expect him to perform as though the young woman was their most honored guest. Such a performance would, in the eyes of most if not all of their neighbors, signal his interest in Miss Kimball. An interest neither of them felt toward each other.

How was he to depart from his mother’s plans without offering the Kimballs insult, or calling attention to the fact that Mariah’s heart belonged elsewhere?

Lord Inglewood arrived, with his wife on his arm and his young son holding his hand. No one would officially outrank the earl that day, as the Marquess of Alderton and his family were in France for the season.

Edward put his full attention into welcoming the nobility. Even if the earl and his wife were friends with Edward’s sisters and brother-in-law, he stood in some awe of the prestige and power such a man wore as easily as Edward wore a waistcoat.

It was only when Lady Inglewood stepped in front of Charity and gestured slightly behind her that Edward realized someone new had joined the earl’s family.