“What do you think, Mr. Applewhite? Am I your only student who paints exactly what she sees?”
“At least you paint,” he said, giving Kate a stern look. He was extremely thin and very short for a man. Louisa actually stood a head taller than he.
Kate stuck out her tongue and turned her attention back to her book, which she’d been reading the entire time instead of painting.
“You see why I said it would be fine if you came,” Jenny said. “Papa pays for two lessons, and one is wasted.”
“I don’t like painting,” Kate said.
“Or playing the piano,” Jenny said. “Or embroidery. Or penning letters. None of the things that a young lady is expected to do.” She looked at Louisa. “I don’t know how you’ll manage to find a husband for her.”
“She won’t,” Kate said.
“I’m sure—” Louisa began.
“Remember, my requirement is love,” Kate interrupted, finally looking away from her book. “I absolutely refuse to marry without love.”
“And how do you judge love?” Louisa asked.
“If you have to ask, then you have never been loved.”
“Kate!” Jenny admonished, but the damage had been done.
Louisa felt the sharp sting to her pride, the brutal flaying of her heart. “No,” she said quietly. “If I do not count my father or my brother, then I have never known the love of a gentleman. Am I to assume that you have?”
Kate looked back at her book. “Assume what you wish.”
“Kate, you have no reason to be difficult with Lady Louisa,” Jenny said. “She doesn’t deserve your ill temper.”
Kate looked up, regret laced over her face. “I apologize. It is my heart that judges love. It sets no boundaries, sets out no requirements. It is like calling to like, and it recognizes love without consulting me. My heart beats harder and faster when it encounters love, and it quite simply leaves me breathless. I have known love and lost love. And I will not be content with any man incapable of giving me the full measure of his heart.”
Louisa hardly knew how to respond to such a heartfelt declaration. What would it be like to have the full measure of a man’s heart?
“You think I expect too much,” Kate said.
“I think”—Louisa forced herself to smile bravely, a soldier suddenly terrified of the unknown—“you have presented me with a challenge that I shall not take lightly. I shall find a gentleman who is capable of loving as deeply as you require.”
Kate smiled, the first true smile Louisa had ever received from her, and it transformed the usual harshness of her features, which tended to resemble her mother’s, into the kindness that was more fitting of her father. “I shan’t hold you to that promise, Lady Louisa. I know you’re in as difficult a spot as Jenny and me when it comes to pleasing our mother.”
“Still, I shall try.”
“Well, then,” Jenny said brightly, “perhaps I should detail what I want when it comes to passion.”
“I’ll wager you want a well-shaped mouth, skilled hands, and a firm body,” Kate said.
Jenny laughed. “You’re not far off.”
Mr. Applewhite cleared his throat. Louisa had fairly forgotten that he was there.
“Mr. Applewhite, I think our lessons are over for the afternoon,” Jenny said.
“Thank you, Miss Jenny. I do have another student waiting on my arrival, and I’m certain she won’t mind my arriving early.” He gathered up his satchel and walked out of the room.
“He is such a snob,” Kate said.
“And Mama’s spy,” Jenny said. “You do realize he will report every word spoken.”
“I don’t think we said anything too untoward,” Louisa said.
“Miss Jenny?”
They all turned to see the butler standing in the doorway, holding a silver salver.
“Oh, we have a caller,” Jenny said, smiling brightly, picking up the card. “And my word, if it isn’t the Duke of Hawkhurst anxious to make his mark upon our day. Show him to the conservatory.” She glanced over at Louisa. “That’s all right, isn’t it? This will be a perfect place to showcase our talent.”
“Your talent,” Kate said, getting to her feet. “I have no interest in the duke. If you’ll excuse me…”
“Don’t tell Mother he’s here,” Jenny ordered. “I don’t want her involved yet.”
“Because she’ll have you wed before the week is out?”
“Because, in spite of her best intentions, she will frighten the man away.”
“The duke has never struck me as a man easily frightened,” Louisa said.
“Then let’s say she will dim his enthusiasm.”
“I shall not breathe a word of his arrival,” Kate promised, before waltzing out of the room.
Louisa stepped back from her easel. “We should put this somewhere,” she said inanely, referring to her own work, not certain why she was suddenly so very self-conscious that someone might look upon her poor efforts.
“Why?” Jenny asked.
Louisa tried to think of a polite way to say—
“Because mine is so hideous?”
“It’s not hideous,” Louisa said quickly. “It’s…it’s…” She furrowed her brow.
“Hideous,” Jenny repeated.
“I’m not certain you were trying.”
“Oh, I was trying. I simply have no talent.”
“We should tell the duke that this one is yours,” Louisa said, pointing to her own work.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We Americans may have the reputation of being spoiled, but we don’t take credit for what we don’t achieve ourselves.”
They heard footsteps, and Jenny turned. Louisa could only see her profile, but she could see enough to know the lady was smiling warmly.
“Your Grace,” Jenny said, with a well-executed curtsy. “How nice of you to pay a visit this afternoon.”
He bowed slightly. “Miss Rose. Lady Louisa.”
A time existed when he would have addressed Louisa first, a time before she’d put on the mantle of chaperone.
“Your Grace,” Louisa said. “Perhaps we should adjourn to the garden, where we might have some refreshments.”
“Oh, not until he’s seen our efforts. Do you paint, Your Grace?” Jenny asked.
“No, I’m afraid I have no talent when it comes to art.”
Jenny laughed lightly. “Neither do I. But Lady Louisa is another matter entirely. Come. Tell me what you think of her work.”
“Oh, the duke has no time for nor interest in—”
“I’m very interested,” he said quietly. “While I may have no talent myself, I’m always in awe of those who do.”
Holding his hat in his hand, he walked over until he stood before her canvas. His scent wafted toward her: sandalwood. And something more masculine. He had the scent of a man who had been riding, and she wondered if he’d come by horse rather than carriage.
He seemed to be staring a rather long time.
“It’s a rose,” she blurted, suddenly very self-conscious of his perusal. She wasn’t accustomed to sharing her drawings. They were her guilty pleasure.
A corner of his mouth hitched up. “Yes, I can see that.”
“I’ve never had lessons before,” she said, feeling a need to justify the less-than-perfect rendition of a rose that she’d created. All of its flaws were suddenly so glaringly obvious.
“Indeed? One would never know by looking.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“No. My compliment is that it is astonishingly good.”
“Astonishingly good? So you were taken by surprise? You did not expect it to be good?”
He turned his head, his gaze homing in on hers. “I did not expect to take such pleasure from gazing upon it.”
She swallowed hard, not at all certain why she was suddenly so rattled or behaving so irascibly. “I think we should go into the garden.”
“Yes, let’s,” Jenny said. “I’ll have a servant fe
tch us some tea.”
She sat so near that if he inhaled deeply he could enjoy the fragrance of her perfume. Strange that with all the scents of flowers in bloom surrounding him, he could still recognize hers. Stranger still, because she was not the lady sitting closest to him.
Lady Louisa sat a short distance away, sketch pad in hand, allowing Hawk the opportunity to woo Miss Rose. Damned if he could think of anything with which to woo her.
“What is she drawing?” Jenny asked.
Hawk jerked his head around to meet Jenny’s amused gazed. “I have no earthly idea.”
“Really? You were staring so hard I thought perhaps you could see through the paper.”
“My apologies. I’m not accustomed to being watched. I find it most disconcerting.”
“Surely you have courted others.”
“Actually, no.”
She angled her head thoughtfully. “Then why me and why now?”
“I’m fast approaching the age when I must see to my duties.”
“May I offer you a bit of advice?”
“I would welcome any advice you have to offer.”
“A lady does not always welcome honest words.”
He chuckled. “I have botched my wooing, haven’t I?”
Peering at him over her bone china teacup, before sipping, she said, “Oh, I have every confidence that you can recover quite nicely.”
“Do you enjoy the opera?” he asked.
She swallowed delicately, pressed her lips together, and set the cup on the saucer on the table. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I enjoy it immensely.”
“I have a box. Perhaps you would be so kind as to accompany me tomorrow evening.”
“With my chaperone, of course.”
His stomach tightened at the thought of Louisa so very close, but there was no hope for it. “That goes without saying.”
“Then I shall be delighted.”
“Very good. I shall be by with my carriage at seven.” He came to his feet, bowed slightly. “Thank you for a most pleasant visit.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
He nodded, turned to the chaperone, who was staring at him oddly. “Lady Louisa. Good day.”
“I shall see you out, Your Grace.”
She rose to her feet, set her sketch pad aside, and joined him as he headed into the house. “Your visit was rather brief.”
“I couldn’t think of a damned thing to say, pardon my language.”
Her lips twitched, and he could not help but wonder what it might be like to kiss her mouth. Why did thoughts such as those not visit him when he was with Jenny?
“Miss Rose has consented to accompany me to the opera tomorrow evening.”
“Then perhaps you should spend what time remains this afternoon studying poetry, so that you might impress her with a bit of well-crafted words.”
He grinned. “Surely you are not attempting to help me in my pursuit of a conquest.”
She came to a stop in the entry hallway, her smile a bit mischievous. “No, Your Grace, it would be a disservice to the lady were I to do that.”
Nodding, he took a step toward the door, stopped, turned. “You were correct in your assessment of me. It is the thrill of the hunt that I take pleasure in. I quickly lose interest in the conquered. Miss Rose does not present me with a challenge, and, therefore, I’m at a loss when it comes to pursuing her. If it is a title she seeks, I have but to ask, and she is mine.”
“Do not make the mistake of confusing the daughter with the mother,” Lady Louisa said.
Hawk felt a thrill shimmer through him. “You think the daughter would deny me?”
“I think she is a woman with a mind of her own. I cannot speak for what she would or would not do.”
“I shall keep that in mind.” He turned to go.
“Your Grace?”
He looked back at her. She was gnawing on her lower lip, clenching her hands, and darting a gaze toward the stairs. “I followed you out because Mrs. Rose instructed me to ask you your opinion regarding her daughters.”
“Mrs. Rose?”
“Yes, she wants to know if you find her daughters…agreeable.”
“I find them very agreeable.” He tipped his head slightly with further thought. “Too agreeable.”
“How can a woman be too agreeable?”
“By not offering a challenge. I’m not certain if these ladies are revealing their true selves.”
“Are you revealing yours to them?”
He laughed heartily. “I suppose I am not.”
A knock sounded on the door. The footman who had been standing at attention beside it opened it. Ravensley walked in carrying a large bouquet of American Beauty roses. The red rose had been successfully bred only two years before, its name chosen to honor the beauty of the American heiresses now clamoring on England’s shores.
“Hawk, fancy meeting you here,” Ravensley said.
“Indeed,” Hawk replied laconically.
Ravensley tipped his head toward his sister. “Louisa. Will you let Miss Jenny Rose know that I have come to call?”
“She’s in the garden. If you’ll come with me…”
As Ravensley walked by, Hawk grabbed his arm. “You have set your sights on Jenny?”
“Indeed I have. She led me to believe last night that she would welcome my courtship.”
Well, Hawk thought. The hunt just got more interesting.
Chapter 8
“Pray do tell me you’re not planning to wear that again.”
Louisa turned from closing the door to her bedchamber to find Jenny standing in the hallway wearing a lovely dress of lavender, with a modest décolletage, and a skirt with a train that flowed behind her. It wasn’t the gown she’d worn to the ball earlier in the week.
The same couldn’t be said of the gown that Louisa was presently wearing. It was the one she wore for all her evening entertainments. “No,” Louisa said. “I am not planning to wear it. Rather I am wearing it.”
“But you’ve already worn it once this week.”
“Miss Rose—”
“Jenny. We really must do away with this formality.”
“Miss Jenny, then. That’s as far as I’ll go toward informality. However, regarding my gown, I fear it is the only evening wear I possess.”
“I don’t understand you English girls. How can you catch and hold a man’s attention when every time he sees you, you’re dressed exactly the same?”
“I’ll admit to not understanding you American girls and your extravagances. I daresay I’ve not seen you wear the same clothing once since I walked through your door.”
“And I daresay that you won’t.” She angled her head. “You’re not quite as…robust as Kate, but you’re almost as tall as she. And while your hair is not nearly as outlandish as hers, I can see hints of red when the light catches yours just right. And your skin tone is more in line with hers. Come along. Let’s see what we can find of hers for you to wear. Most of hers are unused while mine are not.”
Louisa laughed lightly. “Don’t be ridiculous. Hawkhurst will be here any moment—”
“Let him wait.”
Louisa stared at her, deciding another tactic was in order. “I’m not going to wear your sister’s clothing.”
“Why not? Afraid a gentleman might actually take notice of you?”
Louisa felt her mouth drop, her eyes widen. “I beg your pardon?”
“You dress dowdily, like a spinster aunt who has given up on ever finding passion.”
Striving not to feel the sting of that sentiment, which struck just a little too close to home, Louisa lifted her chin. “I’ll have you know that this gown was quite the rage three years ago.”
“Yes, well”—Jenny took Louisa’s arm—“let’s find something for you that’s quite the rage now.”
Louisa dug her slippered feet into the carpet. “Jenny, I’m not going to wear one of Kate’s gowns.”
“Have you ever worn a Worth?”
“Have you never wanted to?”
“Of course, I’ve wanted to, but they are notoriously expensive. Besides, if I were to wear it tonight, and then she wore it to a ball, people would know that I had borrowed it—”
Jenny laughed before Louisa could finish explaining the mortification of people knowing that she was borrowing clothes.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Kate has a hundred gowns. We’ll select one, and you may borrow it for the entire Season.”
“Your mother won’t like it at all.”
“We won’t tell her.”
“You don’t think she’ll notice—”
“No. She pays scant attention to our gowns, too busy with her own wardrobe. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“Jenny, seriously, the duke—”
“Can wait.” She leaned forward, and whispered conspiratorially, “A lady should never give the impression that she is too eager to be in a gentleman’s company. Now, come along. While we don’t want to appear too eager, neither do we want to appear as though we have no interest at all.”
She opened the door to her sister’s bedchamber. “Kate, help me find a gown that Lady Louisa can wear this evening.”
Kate was sitting on a divan. She looked up from the book she was reading. “What?”
“She wore this gown to the ball. She can’t wear it to the opera.”
“She’s the chaperone. What does it matter?”
“It matters,” Jenny said, as she opened a set of doors that led into a small room where gowns were hanging.
So this is what true wealth is like, Louisa couldn’t help but think. A room filled with evening gowns. A sitting area. Mirrors placed in such a way that a lady would be able to view her front, sides, and back—all at the same time, by simply looking in one mirror.
Louisa had heard the rumors that American heiresses owned hundreds of gowns, but she’d never believed it…until now. Until the evidence surrounded her. And such beautiful, exquisite gowns, with pearls and beads, velvet and lace.
“Her coloring isn’t anything like mine,” Kate said.
“No one’s coloring is like yours. Honestly, sometimes I can’t decide if your hair is red or orange,” Jenny said distractedly as she began moving gowns aside.
“I can’t decide if yours is red or brown,” Kate said.
Duke of Her Own, A Page 8
