Page 45 of Romancing the Artist

The other man chuckled and gave his riding crop a spin. “I am rarely idle, Edward. In London, I am a busy man. Every hour is spoken for by either delightful recreation or leisure enjoyment.”

“The country must not agree with you, then.” Edward crossed his arms and turned his full attention to the house. If his father didn’t arrive soon, Edward would go inside and drag him out. He wasn’t about to go riding alone with Claude. “Perhaps you should return there.”

“It would be so much better here if there was a young lady or two who appreciated my charms.” Claude sighed wearily. “I applied to your sisters to re-introduce me to the local females, but they never seem to want to visit their friends.”

Charity and Patience were not about to sacrifice a friendship at the altar of their cousin’s arrogance. They would likely pretend they had no friends for the duration of Claude’s visit, rather than expose any unmarried maiden to the man’s dubious flirtations.

“Had you attended services with us on Sunday, you may have gained introductions,” Edward pointed out with outward calm and inward relief.

“Step foot in a church, and at ten o’clock in the morning?” Claude shuddered. “But we are not speaking of church. We are speaking of leisure hours and ladies. Tell me, Edward. Do you have a woman hidden somewhere? Perhaps tucked away behind some bit of heather or a sand dune?”

A muscle over Edward’s eye twitched. “If I did, why would I confide such a thing to you?”

“Perhaps that is where you run off to every day for an hour?” Claude spoke as though he gave thought to his own musings, with no expectation of a response. “That would make an abundant amount of sense, given your father’s preoccupation with your bachelorhood. Or perhaps the daily appointment has more to do with an avoidance of your family’s plans for you and their lady of choice. Is there already someone who occupies your thoughts?”

Edward ground his teeth together and said nothing, though memories of time spent with Caroline danced through his head.

“Your dear papa and mama would be quite cross if you entertained affections for someone they hadn’t deemed suitable,” Claude went on, still as though he expected no reply.

A new thought occurred to Edward. What if Claude wasn’t merely invited to annoy Edward into marriage? What if his father had asked Claude to investigate Edward’s doings? With Edward’s refusal to openly court Mariah, his parents might have suspected Edward had promised himself to another.

He wanted people to think he and Caroline were in the first stages of a courtship. Which meant he needed to speak about her, openly. Even though the thought of saying her name in front of his cousin made Edward’s skin crawl.

“I must say, you seem awfully secretive compared to the last time we were in company together.” Claude sniffed and tilted his head enough to peer at Edward from the corner of his eye. “It’s strange for someone as committed to high principles as you to act clandestine about, well, anything.”

“There is nothing secretive about how I spend my time. Though I doubt it would be of any interest to you, which is why I kept my explanation short.” Edward couldn’t seem too willing to share the information. Claude would likely find a sudden change in attitude suspect. “As you seem incapable of setting the topic aside, I will put your overly curious mind at rest. I am sitting for a painting, assisting a friend of mine by acting as a model for her.”

“Her?” Claude sounded far too gleeful. “The friend is a lady?”

“Indeed. And an artist of some talent.”

“And you are her model?” Claude appeared taken aback.

“As I said. Have your grown hard of hearing, cousin?” Edward raised his eyebrow, mimicking Claude’s mocking tone and finding at once it did not suit him. “For a study on a Greek myth.” Edward tried to sound unconcerned as he revealed more and more to his cousin.

“Who do you portray in this mythological scene?”

Edward shrugged as he answered, “Atlas.”

“Atlas.” Claude’s face twisted, for once making him appear less than handsome. “You? How many gentlemen turned your friend down before you were asked?”

Edward was saved an answer, or reacting to the implied insult, when his father emerged from the house at last, hat in hand rather than on his head. He came toward them, puffing as though he’d already undergone exercise that day.

“My apologies, lads. The delay could not be helped.” He climbed his mounting block and Edward mounted his horse as Claude did the same with irritating ease. They had not long exited the stable yard before Claude took up the conversation again.

“Uncle, you did not tell me that Edward had artistic leanings.”

“What is that?” Mr. Everly turned in his saddle to look first at Claude and then at Edward. “Artistic? Edward’s never had the talent for drawing, of course, but he took particular notice of the statuary during his time in Rome. Did you not, Edward? Every letter he sent home seemed full of description of ruins and disfigured gods and goddesses. Lot of rot, if you ask me. But then, I never saw need to leave England.” The older gentleman ended his monologue on a grumble, giving Edward another glance of disapproval. “Travel is nothing but an aimless pursuit, a frivolous indulgence that accomplishes nothing of importance and empties a man’s bank account.”

Claude’s expression hardened. “I suppose it is a good thing my father had the navy to fund his need for exploration then.”

“Indeed. My late brother saw the world while still doing his duty to his country.” The senior Everly gentleman didn’t take notice of the way Claude’s lip curled, though Edward saw it and wondered at it. He knew his late-uncle had made his living as a naval officer. He’d even taken enough prize money in the war to fund his son’s education and set him up as a gentleman of leisure, to some extent. Claude never spoke much about it. But given his fine clothing and lifestyle, Edward supposed there had to have been some funds left to his cousin upon his father’s death.

“My cousin has an interest in art as well as travel, then?” Claude said, no trace of bitterness in his tone despite his distaste for the last thing his uncle had said.

“I’m not artistic in the least,” Edward muttered.

Claude tutted at him. “But you have an interest in it,” he noted, not to be dissuaded from the subject.