Three days later—exhaustive days trying to ignore Miss Hartley and her soft lips and compassionate eyes—Lady Tesh gathered the small Seacliff party together for an impromptu picnic.
Though impromptu might be the wrong word for it. Peter surveyed the lavish spread set up beneath a stand of twisted spruce trees. Nothing other than meticulous planning could have accomplished what he was seeing.
A large, pristine white tent rose up against the brilliant blue sky like a triangular cloud. Beneath it, an elegant wood table stood, topped with all manner of crystal and fine china. At its center were several vases, hothouse flowers spilling from them with colorful abandon. Off to the side, a second table fairly groaned under the weight of the food it held. To top off the ridiculous display, half a dozen bewigged footmen stood at attention.
Peter dismounted from his horse, striding to the carriage as it rumbled to a stop. He threw open the door, helping the dog down, then accepting Lady Tesh’s hand as she made to alight.
“I do hope you don’t mind a meal out of doors,” she said with a too-innocent smile.
He raised an eyebrow as he tucked the viscountess’s hand in the crook of his arm to help her over the uneven ground. To his surprise, she pulled away.
“Mr. Nesbitt may help myself and Margery,” she said by way of explanation. “If you could assist Lenora, I would be much obliged.”
Quincy was beside her in an instant, responding to the sound of his name on a female’s lips no matter that woman was old enough to be his grandmother. He bowed gallantly. “You honor me, my lady,” he said with a grin, offering his arm. Soon the three were off across the grass, talking and laughing quietly among themselves, the dog trotting regally ahead, leading the procession.
Leaving Peter alone with Miss Hartley.
With unease, he turned back to the carriage. She peered out at the departing trio, her eyes wide. With almost comical slowness, she turned to look at him.
Peter cleared his throat, stepping forward and holding his hand out to her. She hesitated but a moment before slipping her fingers into his. They both wore gloves, yet the shock of the tentative touch stunned him. Making certain to keep their contact as minimal as possible, Peter guided her behind the others.
It took an inordinately long time to walk the short way to the tents. He was painfully aware of every breath she took, every sway of her body. The space of a foot was no hindrance to the heat of her. It seemed to shimmer in the air between them. It took everything in him to hold his arm still under the tentative touch of her fingers on his sleeve.
No matter how he had wracked his brain over the past days, he couldn’t make sense of his body’s response to her. She was lovely, yes, and had shown proof on more than one occasion that she possessed far more spirit than he’d thought her capable of.
But that did not explain the way he burned for her, how she preyed on his thoughts, how he was achingly aware of her whenever she was near.
It was with relief that they made it to the luncheon area. Peter released her as soon as he was able. A footman was there before he could blink, pulling a chair back for Miss Hartley. It was only then that Peter saw the only chair available was beside her. He stared at it as if it were the fiery pit of hell.
“Come along, Peter,” Lady Tesh said. “Take your seat before we all expire on the spot from starvation.” The dog, seated regally in Lady Tesh’s lap, seemed to stare at him in faint reprimand.
Pressing his lips tight, Peter moved forward and sank into the chair, all the while painfully aware of Miss Hartley on his right.
“I must say, my lady,” Quincy said, “this is delightful. A more elegant picnic I could not imagine.”
“Mr. Nesbitt, you are too wonderful. If you don’t stop with the flattery, I’ll be forced to keep you here against your will when your month’s stay is up.”
Quincy grinned. “You’ll have no reason to keep me here by force, not if you continue to house such lovely guests.” He looked at the younger women. Was it Peter, or did his friend’s eyes linger a touch too long on Miss Hartley?
Scowling, Peter shot a booted foot out and caught Quincy squarely in the shin. The other man grunted in pain, the smile falling from his face. He glared at Peter, rubbing his leg under the table.
“Are you quite all right, Mr. Nesbitt?” Lady Tesh demanded.
“Just banged my knee, is all,” Quincy gritted, turning a tight smile her way.
The excuse seemed to satisfy Lady Tesh. “Do take care,” she said, before turning to signal to the waiting footmen to serve. As Quincy drew both the viscountess and Mrs. Kitteridge into conversation, Peter began to feel a peculiar tingling at the nape of his neck. Just then a soft voice sounded in his ear.
“Why did you kick Mr. Nesbitt?”
Against his better judgment he turned to look at Miss Hartley. The shock of her green eyes boring into his had him sucking in a breath. He quickly recovered and scowled. “My friend oversteps himself and has to be reminded at times of his impropriety.”
Her brows knit a moment before understanding cleared them. “You think Margery or myself might be in danger from his charms? You may lay those fears to rest. There’s no chance of that happening with either of us.”
It was said with such certainty that Peter found his mood shifting. Was she thinking of Hillram? Had she loved him so very much that she could never see herself falling for another?
And why the hell did that bother him so damn much?
* * *
After the meal was cleared away, Lady Tesh leaned back and surveyed her guests.
“I imagine you all wish to be off now for some exercise.”
Instantly an image filled Lenora’s head, of wandering over the rolling hills, her hand tucked into the crook of Mr. Ashford’s arm. The longing it brought about nearly undid her. “Surely we could not leave you alone, Gran,” she hurried to say.
“Nonsense,” the older woman stated. “Getting you all off is just the excuse I need for a nap. Besides, I’ve found your old paint things and have had them set up just beyond those trees.”
Lenora froze. “My paint things?” At Lady Tesh’s nod, she said, panic making her voice a touch louder than she intended, “It would be rude of me to separate myself from the party like that.”
“A problem I have already considered,” Lady Tesh declared, dismissing her with a wave of her hand. “I’ve had Margery’s things brought as well, and so you may have a companion in your artistic endeavors. Margery,” she barked, “why don’t you go on ahead, make certain things are set up properly.”
“But Gran—” Margery tried, shooting a worried glance at Lenora.
“Enough loitering about,” Lady Tesh barked. “I’ve a mind to speak to Lenora alone, and so you may take Mr. Nesbitt and see to things, as I’ve asked you.”
With reluctance, Margery took Mr. Nesbitt’s arm and moved off.
Mr. Ashford made to follow. Lady Tesh’s voice stopped him.
“Peter, you may stay, for the proposition I’m about to make includes you as well.”
Surely the man would not take such a tone from his great-aunt. But apart from a muscle ticking in his jaw, he made no response as he reclaimed his seat.
Lady Tesh returned her attention to Lenora. “I’ve a job for you, my dear.”
Lenora blinked. “A job?”
“Yes, an important one. You gave me the idea on your first day here, when you mentioned your plan to visit your old haunts.”
“Ah, yes.” She gave her a sickly smile. After the strain of Danesford, she had conveniently forgotten about her original intention in coming to the Isle.
“If I remember correctly,” the viscountess continued, not deterred by Lenora’s lack of enthusiasm, “it was the historical places that drew you girls like flies to honey. I’ve long wanted to compile a record of the family history, and have written out all I can remember. But I lack someone with the skill to paint the various places around the Isle that the Ashford family is connected with. You, my dear, have just the talent.”
“You wish me to paint for you?”
“Very much so.”
Lenora shook her head. “Surely Margery can manage it. She has talent—”
Lady Tesh slashed a hand through the air. “Talent, yes. For lovely watercolors that any young lady of breeding can create.” She sat forward, her eyes blazing. “What I need goes beyond that, paintings with heart, images brought to life with unsurpassed skill. Only you have that, my dear.”
Lenora wrung her hands in her lap, any pleasure she might have received from such praise overshadowed by the pain of her memories. She remembered how it used to be, how art had been an extension of her heart. Yet once Hillram died, she’d given it up. Oh, she still drew. But as Margery had pointed out to Clara, there was something different in it. Only Lenora knew that she had retained the mechanics of her art, but had gutted it of any emotion.
Now, however, temptation stirred, to experience again that deep satisfaction of creating from the very depths of her soul, something she had vowed never to do again. And it frightened her.
She opened her mouth to refuse.
Lady Tesh spoke before she could utter a word.
“It would be a great gift you give me.” Her voice warbled, suddenly reed thin. “Especially as I wish to see it finished before I pass from this world. And there is no telling how little time I may have left.” Here she paused, her vision going distant and sad, as if she were seeing some melancholy truth only she was aware of. The next moment, her eyes cleared, though the mournful look remained. “Would you do this for me, child?”
Lenora was stunned. The woman was talking of her death as if it was close at hand. Was the viscountess unwell? Lenora looked at her closely, noting the tired cast to her shoulders and the heavy way she leaned on her cane. Sorrow engulfed her. No matter that she did not want to be involved, she would see it through. She owed the woman too much for all the love she had given her over the years.
“Yes,” she said, “I’ll do this for you.”
Lady Tesh straightened, a smile lighting her face. “Splendid,” she pronounced, all trace of weakness gone.
Lenora gaped. In the space of a second, she looked as if she had shed twenty years.
“Peter,” Lady Tesh continued, swinging her gaze to Mr. Ashford, “I would have you accompany Lenora on her outings.”
Lenora opened her mouth to denounce the plan. The very idea of being forced to paint with Mr. Ashford nearby left her feeling cold and hot all at once.
Mr. Ashford, however, was quicker than she in attempting to put a stop to the mad scheme. “I don’t believe that was part of the deal, madam.”
Lady Tesh merely smiled. “Ah, but you see, I asked that you provide your company. I did not specify with whom.”
Mr. Ashford’s typical scowl deepened considerably, frustration and a kind of grudging admiration flashing through his cold blue eyes. “Very well,” he muttered with a decided lack of grace.
The whole exchange was confusing in the extreme. Even as Lenora wondered at it, however, she ruthlessly tamped down her curiosity. It was none of her business if the two of them had struck up some bizarre understanding. She would not get involved.
She wouldn’t.