Page 30 of Romancing the Artist

When the men rejoined the ladies, Caroline had drifted from the portraits to the corner farthest from the hearth. Perhaps she would return to that position. It would be the most comfortable, given that Lady Inglewood and Lady Fox were seated comfortably near the low fire. With no wish to intrude on their conversation presently, Caroline turned her attention to the small bookcase in that corner, reading the spines with their tiny gold-embossed titles.

Caroline sensed Edward’s approach when he was within a few feet of her. The sensation was as it had been the day at the fountain, with warmth slipping through her until her fingertips tingled with awareness. She pressed her lips together and did not turn. Perhaps it was someone else—?

“Do you often spend your time at parties hiding in the corners?”

Her first instinct proved correct. Edward had found her.

Caroline lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, removing a book titled Of The Kings and Queens of Britannia, then placing it elsewhere in the row. “Only when I am the guest of honor, I suppose.” She took another book out, The History of Wicked Plots. She shelved that one in a new spot, too. “I do not mean to sound ungrateful, you must understand, but I did not ask for this party. I cannot think why it necessary to acquaint myself with people I will likely never see again after this summer.”

“I am given to believe that three things matter in this world. Land, money, and connections. Given that the first two can be had as a result of the third, you might reconsider the value of many acquaintances.” Edward leaned one shoulder against the side of the bookcase. “Are you well, Caroline?”

She met his gaze briefly. The concern in his dark blue eyes made the witty remark she thought to make die upon her lips. She looked down at the books again. “I am well, Mr. Everly. I appreciate your defense at dinner. You came speedily to my rescue when the conversation grew discomfiting.”

She felt his gaze on the top of her head before she glanced up to confirm his careful scrutiny. “I wish I could do more for you, Caroline. I must apologize for the behavior of the other men. You must have a poor opinion of our neighborhood, given their manners. I hope my own are better, even if I do occasionally come crashing through the woods at you and ruin your paintings.”

His heavy sigh coaxed a smile from her. Though she could not explain the ease she felt around him, Caroline could certainly repay him for it by sharing a part of herself.

“I find your behavior preferable to what my dinner companions displayed this evening. Though I suppose they had the right to be shocked.” She moved another book. “I do regularly take meals at a farmer’s table. And the farmer’s daughters come to my home in their turn.”

“Do they?” He didn’t sound shocked. Merely curious. He kept his shoulder against the bookcase and his gaze on her. “Are they better company than what you enjoyed this evening? I must imagine so.”

“My closest friend is a farmer’s daughter,” she said. “Her name is Jill Martin. Her family leases the farm across the lane from my home. My mother owns our land, through an inheritance. And though I am a gentleman’s daughter, I have few memories of a time before I spent every summer picking cherries from our orchard to sell at market.” She braced herself, unmoving, staring at the books she had reordered and waiting for his judgement. For him to scoff or excuse himself.

He moved slowly, standing fully upright, then took a step to her side. They stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, both facing the leather and cloth spines of books. “Your family has a cherry orchard? Why on earth did you let me lecture you about fruit orchards when you were at the picnic?” He shook his head and took it upon himself to move yet another book from one place to another—a final book from the top shelf to the middle one she had spent time ordering just-so.

“I did not mind hearing what you said of them,” she admitted. “Mr. Everly?”

“Edward,” he reminded her. “We are quite alone here. Unless you prefer we return to formality?”

“No.” She swallowed. “Though I am too nervous this evening. Formality suits me better.”

“I see. Very well, Miss Clapham. Here is our construct.” He pointed to the first book in the row and read the spines allowed, from right to left, inserting an occasional word.

“A History of Wicked Plots - Of the Kings and Queens of Britannia - and their Whole Comical Works -caused all in their kingdoms to make Curious Remarks and Observations until- A Great and Terrible Curse swept across the land, and then - Within the Prophecies Fulfilled - a fate that not even - Experiments and Observations on Electricity - could offer relief or - A Vindication of Man.” He grinned and nudged her arm softly with his elbow. “Not bad, is it?”

She turned her head enough to stare at him from the corner of her eye. “You have played this game before?”

“And suffered the consequences of putting my father’s library out of order, yes.” He grinned back at her, clearly unrepentant. “What else is an ill-mannered boy to do when he is home from school for the summer and all it does is rain?”

She couldn’t help returning his smile. “We must hope the earl is more forgiving.”

“Since this is but one shelf, I imagine he will not see any harm done.” Edward Everly winked at her, and such a thing might have shocked Caroline were she not so used to the way her papa winked every time he wished to tease her. What surprised her instead was the way he lowered his voice and said, “It doesn’t matter whether you pick cherries or have picnics with farmer’s daughters, Caroline Clapham. You are a guest of Lord Inglewood and his lady. That ought to be enough for everyone here to know themselves in the best of company.”

A glance over her shoulder ensured no one was about to come upon them. They were, despite being in a room full of people, quite alone. It wouldn’t last long. And who knew when she would see Edward again? She had to ask her favor of him.

Caroline took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Mr. Everly, I have been thinking about what you offered before,” she said, trying and likely failing to cover her nerves with confidence. “When you offered me a favor.”

Edward’s expression changed rapidly from surprise to careful examination. “I hoped you would. You have thought of something? I find myself anxious to find out what you have in mind.”

She met his gaze steadily and kept her tone serious. “It isn’t anything horrid. I promise. And you can decline if you are uncomfortable. What I want most is something that will help me achieve my goals this summer.”

He turned and leaned his shoulder against the bookcase again, though he seemed less certain of himself despite the leisurely pose. “I suppose that is fair. I’m not certain what I could do to be of assistance to you.”

“I know exactly what I need,” she assured him. Even as she felt a twist of discomfort in her stomach. That wrung-out feeling that made her miss her home, her mother, her papa, and their constant reassurance. “I have an idea for a painting, Mr. Everly. A painting that I believe is important to my future as an artist. But I need a model. A gentleman model.”

His eyebrows drew together sharply. “You wish me to sit for a portrait? Of course. That is simple enough.”

Caroline shook her head and twisted her gloved fingers together. “Not a portrait. And you certainly will not be sitting. This is different. I need someone who is willing to pose as Atlas, with the weight of the world on their shoulders. I have been told no gentleman would willingly do such a thing. Men don’t want to model in a way that looks silly, you see.”