Chapter 10 #2
“If you are tired, miss, there is a… That is, in the other room… I’m afraid the bed is not fit for a female, but—” mumbled Davenport’s friend.
“How very kind of you, Mr. Leighton,” she interrupted, giving him a warm smile. “I assure you, it will be perfect—and very welcome.”
Her words caused the young man’s shoulders to relax. He even managed a semblance of a smile in return. With that, the two of them left, closing the door firmly behind them.
* * *
Caroline lay down on the narrow bed for a short time, but even though she was aching for rest, she was too agitated to sleep. After tossing and turning, she finally gave up.
Pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders, she wandered back out to the young man’s workplace.
The clutter was deceiving. On closer inspection, it was clear that every color and every brush had its place and that most things were organized on the right side of a table or easel, in easy reach of Jeremy’s lone hand.
Her gaze went again to the large painting that dominated the small space, and once more she was startled by the sheer power of its emotion.
The young man might have been shy of speech, but he had another form of expression that was perhaps more eloquent than any words could be.
She studied it with a knowledgeable eye, being well acquainted with the works of many of the leading artists of the day.
There was no doubt that this young man was a prodigious talent.
On a low table in front of the narrow windows was a stack of sketchbooks.
Caroline couldn’t resist the temptation to view more of his work.
Seating herself in one of the pine chairs, she began to leaf through them.
The pages were filled with bold charcoal sketches that caused her eyes to widen in admiration.
A single tree, drooping with the weight of a summer rain, a heron picking its way along a riverbank, neck held crooked at just such an angle—the earl’s friend had an uncanny eye for detail.
The next book held vignettes not only of the countryside but of people as well.
There, with a fishing pole on his shoulder, head turned in profile, was a familiar face.
The artist had captured the intensity of Davenport’s gaze, the exact curl of his lips, the brooding look that rarely cleared from his brow.
But who was the lovely lady walking beside him…
The sound of a low gasp interrupted her thoughts.
“Oh!” Caroline looked up with a start, embarrassment heating her cheeks as she encountered Jeremy Leighton’s astonished stare.
She let the cover of the sketchbook fall shut.
“Forgive me for being so rude as to look at your drawings uninvited.” A tentative smile.
“I couldn’t help it—your work is marvelous. ”
The young man’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he was clearly uncomfortable with praise. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his gaze sliding to the floor.
She beckoned to the seat beside her. “Will you show me the rest of the drawings? That way, I’ll not feel so rag-mannered.”
When Jeremy didn’t move, she let the books drop in her lap. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
He dropped the bundle of clothes he had tucked under his left arm and came over to sit next to her. “No, please. Don’t think such a thing, miss. It’s just that…I suppose I have lost my manners, living alone,” he said haltingly.
“Well then, perhaps we two churls may enjoy each other’s company without worrying about the niceties of Polite Society. And please, my name is Caroline.” She grinned and was heartened to see his expression soften.
Reopening the sketchbook she had been perusing, she started at the beginning. After turning through the first few pages with him, she paused and asked whether he was acquainted with the work of a minor artist whose bold style had recently caused a stir at the Academy.
Jeremy’s eyes lit with interest. “You are familiar with his work?”
She nodded, and they began an animated discussion of the other man’s merits. By the time the page turned to the sketch of Davenport, Jeremy had lost most of his reticence.
“You’ve captured His Lordship’s intensity very well,” remarked Caroline. “Do you paint portraits as well?”
“Occasionally. But I prefer landscapes.” A wry grimace. “People are too much trouble.”
She wondered at the deliberate ambiguity of his answer but forbore to comment on it. Instead, she pointed at the delicate rendering of the lady. “Who is that beside Lord Davenport?”
“Oh, that’s Lady Davenport.”
Caroline sat back. “The earl is married?” For some reason, the thought bothered her more than she cared to admit. But of course he was, she reminded herself. Hadn’t Mrs. Collins already alluded to that fact? And yet the existence of Davenport’s wife seemed to have slipped her mind…
“Julian? Good lord, no!” responded Jeremy. “That’s his brother, the late earl’s wife.” The earl’s friend hesitated for a moment. “Though I sometimes think it was Julian who was in lo—”
The door to the set of rooms suddenly banged shut with a rattle. Davenport stalked across the room and placed a jug of cider and a package wrapped in oilskin down on the table with a tad more force than necessary.
“Have neither of you anything better to do than gaze at pictures?” he snapped.
His eyes, noted Caroline, were so clouded that they appeared nearly as dark as the charcoal lines in Jeremy’s drawings.
Davenport then turned his stormy gaze on her. “I thought you were concerned about reaching London as quickly as possible. It appears Jeremy has found some new garments for you, so why are you dallying about with pictures instead of trying to make yourself halfway presentable?”
He gave an exaggerated grimace. “You look like hell, and that will only attract undue attention,” he added acidly, eyeing her muddy cheeks and disheveled hair with a withering look.
“Julian!” exclaimed Jeremy in a shocked tone.
“Don’t be angry with Mr. Leighton, sir,” she replied.
“He found me stealing a look at his sketches, and I asked if he would be kind enough to allow me to continue. There’s no need to get in such a pucker over it.
” She couldn’t help but add, “It’s no wonder you are taken with the lady—she’s quite beautiful. ”
Davenport slammed a fist down on the rough wood. “Stubble the commentary and get yourself dressed,” he said through gritted teeth.
Caroline regarded him calmly. “I’m now beginning to see the resemblance. At this moment, you’re looking nearly as nasty as that portrait of you that hangs over your mantle.”
A choked laugh caused both of them to turn toward Jeremy.
“She’s right, you know,” he said. “At this moment, you are taking on an unfortunate resemblance to Charles.” As Davenport glowered, Jeremy smiled at Caroline.
“How astute of you, Miss Caroline. Most people wouldn’t notice anything but the handsome face, but I—well, I call the subtle hints of character my little revenge on Charles. ”
Caroline’s brows came together in confusion. “I don’t understand. The man in the painting…”
“Is Julian’s older brother,” replied Jeremy. “Older by ten minutes, that is.”
“H-How long has he been…” stammered Caroline.
“Four months.”
Comprehension slowly dawned on her face. “Ye gods,” she whispered. “Then you’re not him. You’re not the Earl of Davenport. I mean, you are—but you’re not.”
“Ah, well.” A note of irony tinged the earl’s voice. “It would appear that neither of us is what we seem.”