Chapter 7
“There you are, Your Grace.”
Lady Lavinia stood, pretty as a picture, at the edge of the terrace, her pale blue skirts fluttering in the breeze. Behind her, the other guests had gathered for bowls on the lawn or a game of shuttlecock. There was also archery, if one was inclined.
“Is there somewhere else I should be, my lady? You seem overly concerned I might be missing.”
Hugh liked Lavinia well enough, but the appeal of having her as his duchess had faded sometime over meat pies and an odd discussion about Arcimboldo.
“I was taken aback yesterday, Your Grace.” Lavinia pouted. “There is no need to be cruel, especially with Miss Bell. I’ve apologized for Lord Alpert.”
“I’m not trying to make you jealous,” he said gently. Hugh had caught Lavinia in a heated embrace with Alpert a few weeks ago during a ball and hadn’t cared. “And I’d completely forgotten about Alpert.”
Lavinia reddened and looked away.
“The archery is about to commence. Do you plan to take part?” Lavinia excelled at archery. She’d beaten Hugh in competition before, apologizing for hours because she’d assumed his pride had been wounded.
Her lips pulled together, debating on whether to ask further about Miss Bell, but good manners finally won out. “I think I will. I enjoy archery, as you know, Your Grace. And there is no wind today to account for. I promise I’ll hit the center of the target every time.”
“I’ve no doubt.” He searched the area for any sign of Miss Bell. He hadn’t seen her at breakfast either.
Approaching a footman, Lavinia took up a bow and made her way to stand some distance from the targets set up against the trees. A servant trailed behind her with a quiver of arrows.
One of the guests yelled in alarm just as a bow appeared in his vision, sailing through the air above Hugh’s head.
“Oh, dear,” he heard Miss Bell say. “My apologies. No harm done, though. I didn’t hit anyone. I’m not skilled at archery.”
“No doubt,” Lord Lackburn said as he passed Hugh. “Watch yourself, Your Grace. That is the third time Miss Bell has accidentally released her bow while toying with it. Thank God she hasn’t yet notched an arrow.”
Hugh picked up the bow and waited patiently for Miss Bell to see him.
She stood with her hands clasped, shaking her head at a footman who held up another bow.
The breeze tangled in the strands of her hair that had escaped her bonnet.
She looked in his direction, and an annoyed smile broke across her face.
She came forward and dipped into an awkward curtsey. “Your Grace.”
The sun came out somewhere inside Hugh’s chest at the sight of her. “I believe this might belong to you.” Deliberately, he brushed his fingers along hers as she took the bow, gratified at the way her hand trembled at his touch.
“There you are, my fake suitor,” she breathed. “Thank goodness. Todson is eyeing me as if I’m a trifle.” The bow bounced against her legs as she held it.
Not fake. Not in the least.
The crowd let out a roar as Lavinia scored a perfect bullseye. She looked at Hugh with a triumphant smile, which faded from her pretty features at the sight of Miss Bell.
“Perhaps I shall endeavor again.”
As she spoke, Miss Bell waved the bow in the air until Hugh snatched it from her in exasperation.
“For all our sakes, give me that. I don’t want you injuring anyone. I am only thankful they didn’t give you arrows, Miss Bell.”
“Probably for the best,” she sighed. “I’m terrible at bowls as well.”
“Shuttlecock, perhaps? I understand that is a game all young ladies enjoy.”
“Not me, Your Grace.” She shook her head. “I lack the coordination required for most athletic pursuits. I swatted my last shuttlecock opponent with the battledore, giving Miss Ellison a black eye. That was last year, and I don’t believe I’ve improved.”
“You don’t care for the outdoors? Is that why you took up painting?” Did she know how strange and wonderful she was?
“Oh, I do,” she assured him. “I adore long walks among the trees. The ocean is a favorite spot of mine. The waves crashing along the shore. The scent of the salt in the air. Birds soaring overhead. It is all inspiring for an artist like myself.”
“You imagine a gull in place of an ear?”
A soft musical sound came from her. “No, Buxton…I mean, Your Grace. But I enjoy seabathing.”
“Seabathing?” Hugh was struck by an image of Miss Bell, wet fabric clinging to every line of her body as she frolicked about in the ocean with the spray in her hair. He had to blink twice to clear it away.
“Yes.” She reached for the bow again, and he lifted it out of her reach. “I only wanted to hold it,” she muttered.
“No. I need both my eyes.”
Miss Bell blew out a breath. “Fine. The sea is good for a variety of ailments. It is a scientific fact. Salt benefits the skin and lungs. Have you never seabathed, Your Grace?”
“If you are asking whether I swim, the answer is yes.” Hugh loved the ocean, as it happened, so it was gratifying to know Miss Bell adored the sand and surf as much as he did. “But I do not do so in a crowd of nitwits flapping about in the water like a pack of seals.”
She covered her mouth with a palm as an unladylike snort came from her. “A pack of seals.”
“Also, I do so without a bathing costume.” He winked at her. “Unclothed.”
Color stained her cheeks. “Are you deliberately trying to shock me, Buxton?”
“A little, perhaps.” Hugh noticed that when she was shocked or annoyed, Miss Bell completely forgot to address him properly.
Her cheeks also turned a delightful shade of peach.
And just now, with the sun casting her features in a golden light and those delectable lips parted, all Hugh could think of was kissing her.
“Should we begin my portrait today, Miss Bell?”
“Oh, yes. Your portrait.” She turned slowly around.
“There is a spot in the garden with excellent light,” she said, looking up at the sky with a frown.
“But I do not think for long.” Miss Bell nodded at the gathering clouds.
“A pity, because I should like to get started as soon as possible, though it will take me until the end of the house party to complete your portrait.” A sideways glance was followed by a tiny smile.
“As you say, Your Grace, an acceptable excuse to be in each other’s company and keep Todson at bay. ”
“I’m clever in that regard, Miss Bell.”
As expected, she rolled her eyes.
“The other ladies present won’t dare approach me and risk ruining my portrait. And I thought Todson sufficiently vanquished.”
“Not completely, Your Grace. He lingers. Much like a bad cold. Or a skin rash.”
Hugh let out a small bark of laughter. “Do not worry, Miss Bell. I doubt Todson will pursue you further. Now, Savorton has a greenhouse we could use for our endeavor. You might gain inspiration from the orange trees.” Hugh pointed to the roof, barely discernable from where they stood.
The greenhouse would offer privacy, but since the walls were entirely made of glass, he and Miss Bell would be clearly seen by the other guests.
“Not a whisper of impropriety. We’ll be in full view of the others. ”
“Splendid. Much like an animal at a zoo. But I suppose you are accustomed to such, Your Grace. Allow me to retrieve my sketchbook. We must start with a sketch. I did bring my paints and bushes.” Her brows drew together. “But not a canvas.”
“Leave that to me, Miss Bell. I’ll speak to Lady Savorton. I’m sure a canvas can be found. Gather your things, and I’ll meet you inside.” He tilted his head in the direction of the greenhouse.
She once more dipped into an awkward curtsey. “Yes, Your Grace.”