Love Inspired Historical February 2016 Box Set

by Karen Kirst

  With a few broad strokes, she outlined the figure of a man, tall, broad-shouldered, with a square jaw. He was bareheaded, and his hair was ruffled by the wind. She roughed out his greatcoat, and with a few quick lines, added his hands. One hand protected a small puppy, cradling it against the shelter of his chest.

  She could no longer hear Jane playing, for her sketch commanded all her attention. She shaded carefully around the gentleman’s face, playing up the mysterious shadows around his eyes. For a man who made such a show of being a joker and a scamp, he had an enigmatic look about him that made one step back and search for more answers. She filled in the puppy, too, using short, fine marks to delineate her soft fur and delicate ears.

  “Why, it’s John!” Jane spoke up from behind Hannah’s shoulder.

  Hannah dropped her pencil.

  “What a lovely sketch,” Jane continued. “You’ve captured him, you know. He looks like he could speak at any moment.”

  “When did you stop playing?” Hannah took a deep breath, trying to calm the hammering of her heart in her chest. How long had Jane been sitting there? Not too long, surely. She never meant for anyone to see this sketch. In fact, she never really meant to sketch it herself. She was merely floating along to the music.

  How ridiculous that sounded, now that Jane’s song had ended.

  “A few moments ago. I saw how absorbed you were in your sketch and I came over to see what you were working on. You have the soul of a painter, you know. This is quite astonishing.” Jane turned her head slightly, examining the drawing more closely. “You could be a portrait artist.”

  “Oh, no.” Hannah gave a nervous laugh. No one knew about her sketches, because she kept them well hidden. Even her sisters never suspected that she could sketch anything beyond a bonnet or a gown. “It’s just a squiggle. I don’t really indulge myself. It’s not practical, you see.”

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s practical, but it certainly is beautiful,” Jane pronounced. “My brother will love it, I am sure.”

  “I shan’t show anyone else, and you mustn’t tell him.” Oh, mercy, the teasing that she would endure if John knew she’d been sketching him. She would never hear the end of it. To be caught sketching a handsome rogue—why, the humiliation would be unendurable. “My sketches are a mere hobby. I don’t wish anyone to know.”

  Jane nodded, her dark eyes kindled with a gentle light. “Of course. I understand. I don’t like to play violin in front of everyone.” She patted Hannah’s shoulder and then settled herself back in the window seat, drawing her chin up to her knees as she stared out the window.

  Hannah’s face burned as though she sat too close to the fire. With trembling fingers, she picked up her pencil. Control yourself, you fool. She turned over to a fresh page. There was no time for indulging herself in any kind of reverie. She was at Grant Park for one purpose only—to create lovely ensembles for Jane Reed. John Reed was not the kind of man who would like a plain girl like her, for that’s what she was. Her place in life had been ingrained in her as long as she could remember.

  With renewed dedication, she clenched her jaw and began roughing out a sketch for a riding habit. This was her purpose in life, and this was why she was here. Anything else was mere folly.

  *

  John held the puppy gently, feeding her with the bottle that Mrs. H had devised. He had been feeding the pup every few hours since bringing her home. Sometimes he could coerce his valet, Williams, into feeding her. Sometimes, he could ask Mrs. H for help. But for the most part, it had been him, every few hours over the past few days.

  He could fall asleep right now, if he could but close his eyes—

  A gentle knock at the door roused him. It must be Jane. She always knocked so quietly. Sometimes he could barely hear her.

  “Enter,” he said, stifling a yawn.

  Jane popped her head around the door frame. “Oh, you have the pup with you. How sweet.” She came over and sat beside him. “May I feed her?”

  “Please, do. I am like a man dead on my feet.” He shifted the puppy over to her. Jane held the pup with the same tender care as her prized violin. He stretched his limbs, giving way to a hearty yawn. Who knew taking care of a dog would be so much work?

  Jane smiled. “You are exhausted. Why don’t you let Hannah and me help? We can work together, taking turns. At least until she’s old enough to drink on her own.”

  “I daresay, that is a good thought.” John rubbed the stubble on his chin. Here he was, exhausted, rumpled, unshaven—as bad as the time he spent a week in the gambling halls, moving from game to game. Only this time, his exhaustion was the result of taking care of another, not in indulging his own whims. “Where is Hannah, anyway? I haven’t seen her. Of course, I’ve been rather occupied.”

  “She’s been working with me, you ridiculous man,” Jane replied with a soft laugh. “She is turning out sketch after sketch of gowns that should grace a princess. I will feel like a donkey passing herself off as a fine pony in those gowns. It’s really not for me, John. It’s really not.”

  “I know. I, too, feel like a fish out of water.” He did not fancy another round with Jane. She never screamed or fussed, but her tears and gentle squabbling were enough to make him lose his reason. “We must become what Father and Mother meant us to be, Jane. You know that as well as I.” Perhaps by reminding her that it wasn’t a mere Draconian decision on his part, he could stave off her weeping.

  Jane lapsed into silence. He rolled his head from side to side, trying to work the stiffness out of it. Should he bathe or eat first? Both were appealing at the moment. Or should he sleep? If only a man could find a way to do all three at once.

  The puppy made a mewling sound and Jane cradled her closer. “She really is talented, John.”

  “Who?” He looked at the puppy, drawing his brows together. The pup? Surely it was still too young to tell if it was going to be a good hunter or sheep-herder.

  “Hannah.” Jane chuckled and shook her head. “I’ve seen her sketches. You know, she could have a career as a portrait artist. She has that gift. Even her sketches of gowns look as though they have movement in them. I can’t imagine how she ended up as a milliner in a little country store. She could have royalty clamoring for her work.”

  “Well, as I understand it, the family was destitute. The millinery shop was their last stab at independence.” Everyone had their roles to play, whether they liked it or not. Of course, he had never been destitute, but he had been desperate. He ran and ran until he could run no longer. Had Hannah faced that same sort of hunted feeling? No, probably not. She was so eminently practical and well-grounded that she had plodded along as best as she could.

  “I want you to promise me something.” Jane shifted slightly so the last bit of the milk could drain out of the bottle. “No matter what happens with my debut, I want you to make sure that Hannah is all right. She should have every opportunity to make something of herself.”

  “Well, we’ve given her the chance now,” he replied. He rose, stretching once more. “This is better than toiling away at her country shop. Her competition will likely shut them down. She’s establishing independence now.”

  Jane fixed him with her soft, yet rebuking, glare. “You must promise.”

  “Oh, very well.” He was ready for bed, a bath and a meal. He would pledge anything to end this conversation, which, once more, was adding to his already sizeable pile of responsibilities. “I shall see to it that Miss Hannah Siddons has every chance to make something of herself.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hannah followed Jane into her brother’s wing of the house. It was rather abashing, not just because he was a gentleman, but also because he was her employer. Of course, this entire estate was his to govern. Every inch of space in the house belonged to him. There was just something—not really troubling, that wasn’t the emotion—just something more about seeing Reed’s part of the house. This was where he spent his time eating, sleeping and reading. This was whe
re he spent his intimate and quiet hours. Of course, she would never dream of setting one slipper in this side of the house, were it not for Jane’s insistence that they would all help with raising the puppy.

  In truth, she was glad of a little distraction. She had spent the past several days designing every kind of ensemble imaginable for Jane, and Jane had given her approval to everything. There was nothing more to do except begin the actual work. Provided, of course, she also had Reed’s approval. She tucked her sketch pad closer to her body as Jane opened a door and ushered her into a pleasant little sitting room.

  Reed was there, on a settee that was upholstered a deep shade of blue. The entire room was done in varying hues of blue, with heavy oak furniture, giving it a decidedly masculine feel. She curtsied briefly as Reed caught her glance.

  “Don’t stand on ceremony, Siddons. After all, you are seeing me at my absolute worst.” Reed’s voice sounded tired, and his smile was wan. “Here. Take her.”

  Hannah dropped her sketchbook on the settee and accepted the warm, furry bundle from Reed. The puppy had grown so much. In fact, she was fast becoming more than just a tiny little creature. At any time, her eyes would open, and then she’d be off, gaining independence with each day.

  “Have you named her?” Jane came over and stroked the puppy’s fur.

  “No,” John replied. He scrubbed his hand over his face.

  “What?” Both girls cried in unison.

  “I’ve been too busy keeping her alive,” Reed protested, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I don’t have time for that responsibility, too.”

  “Fine. Then we shall name her.” Jane shot her brother a scolding look. “What do you think, Hannah? What about Princess?”

  “I refuse, under any circumstances, to baby a dog named Princess,” Reed growled, his eyes tightly closed.

  Despite herself, Hannah’s mouth twisted in amusement. He was right. The dog was his, and it would be ridiculous for a young man to be calling for “Princess” while out hunting.

  “What about Jill?” She shrugged, gently stroking the pup’s fur with her forefinger. “It’s short and feminine and you shan’t worry about your masculinity if you call her when your hunting friends are out shooting with you.”

  Reed chuckled. “Too many J names in this house. Jane, John and then Jill. Somewhere someone would throw their hands up in horror at the alliteration.”

  Hannah smiled. “I suppose that’s true. Molly, then.”

  Reed nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. I like it.”

  Jane beamed. “Molly it is.”

  Molly had finished the last of the bottle and was now snoozing comfortably in the crook of Hannah’s arm. She hated to wake Molly, but it simply didn’t do to sit around in Reed’s study. She must show him her work and gain his approval. Then, when she journeyed to Tansley the next week, she could purchase the fabrics and begin the actual work of making the gowns.

  She handed Molly over to Jane, taking care not to jostle her too much. Molly stretched one paw lazily toward the ceiling, but remained sound asleep.

  “Reed, I have gotten Jane’s approval on her wardrobe, and now I feel I should have yours.” She scooped up the sketch pad and held it out to him. “Would you please look through my ideas?”

  “Come, sit.” He patted the seat beside him.

  Hannah hesitated. Sitting next to him? That seemed a trifle forward. On the other hand, his sister was standing right there, and he looked absolutely fatigued. Her virtue was certainly not in any danger, so there was no need to be missish.

  Even so, her pulse quickened as she took her place beside him. Could he see her heart racing or hear it pounding in her chest? She coughed loudly to cover the moment.

  “Are you quite all right? I can ring for tea.” John reached over and gave the bellpull a tug. “Now, let us see your work.”

  Hannah held her breath as he began examining each drawing with an interested, absorbed expression on his face. She had removed the sketch of him with Molly, so there was no need to worry about him stumbling across it. She had tried to throw it into the fire but couldn’t bring herself to go that far. It was a good sketch, even if the inspiration had been John Reed. So she had tucked it away in a drawer, safe from anyone’s sight.

  “As you can see, I kept all of the garments very modest,” she began hesitantly. It was easy enough to describe the gowns and her vision to Jane, but quite different to tell a gentleman about them. “The necklines are high but still accentuate Jane’s natural beauty. I also use a lot of pink. I feel pink sets off her complexion perfectly.”

  They were briefly interrupted by the butler, whom Reed asked to bring tea. When the butler had respectfully bowed out, he continued his perusal of the sketchbook.

  “Yes, of course, I can see how much you’ve tailored the dresses to my sister’s tastes.” Reed finished leafing through. “You’ve done excellent work. What do you need now?”

  Hannah blinked. Always she had to find everything on her own. Having someone offer to help was so unusual. “I suppose now I need to gather together the fabrics, the notions and so forth. I had planned to do so when I returned to Tansley.”

  “When do you go back?” He handed her the sketch pad.

  “On Monday. I decided that I would pack my trunk on Sunday after we attend church. Well, I assume we shall attend church services, as we seem to have missed them last week, and then I shall leave at first light.” She had made the plan in her mind without consulting him, and now it all sounded rather bold. “Provided, of course, that this is acceptable to you.”

  “Yes, I’ll provide you with the traveling coach,” Reed replied. “We don’t usually attend Sunday services. The church is in Crich, which is quite a drive, and I am not enough of a believer to make that journey every Sunday.” He gave a bitter little laugh.

  “My brother makes certain that any conversation about our Lord ends in ill feelings for all,” Jane added, her normally soft tone taking on a hard edge. “I apologize if he has offended you, Hannah.”

  “I don’t aim to make people uncomfortable.” Reed rose from the settee. He looked distinctively uncomfortable himself. “I just don’t have much use for a higher power.”

  The butler showed himself in, carrying a large tea tray. The moment was broken. Jane set Molly into her basket by the hearth and bustled about readying the tea. No more was said about church services or about Reed’s lack of faith. Like his sudden, deep-seated rage, this was a surprising development. Not so much that he had a lack of faith, for there were plenty of young bucks milling around the gaming halls of London who had surely lost their way. Just that, once again, he seemed to have more depth than she had ever expected. A typical young man might say he had no time or had forgotten God. What Reed implied is that he had made a deliberate decision to set aside his religion.

  Hannah accepted a cup of tea. Reed also took tea and a biscuit, and sat beside her. “Anyway, as we were saying, you shall travel on Monday. How long will you be gone?”

  “I had hoped a week, if that is quite all right with you,” she responded. She stirred her tea with the small silver spoon Jane had given her.

  “Yes.” He paused for a moment, taking a bite of the biscuit. “You’ll return, though. Won’t you?”

  She laughed. “Of course I shall. I will have a lot of work to do. Once I have purchased what I need from the village shops, I will spend all my time sewing.”

  “Don’t spend all your time working,” he admonished. He turned in his seat, eyeing her frankly. “Write down a list of everything you will need for the wardrobe. I have a man in London who can arrange to purchase everything and send it down. Once you return, the materials will be here. I will also ask our housekeeper, Mrs. Pierce, to press two maids into service for you. You can use them to help sew, trim, baste—whatever you need.”

  He had thought of everything, and she would have very little to do on her own. How nice it was to have some of the burden shouldered for her. “Thank you.”r />
  “No, thank you.” He leaned forward, his tired eyes kindled with a warm light. “Jane depends on you entirely, and I know you will help me in this endeavor. Anything you need, anything at all—you have only to ask.”

  For some ridiculous reason, the closeness of his person and the confidential tone in his voice caused a frisson of awareness down her spine. How absurd. She made a deliberate move to set herself away from him and capsized her teacup in the process. The commotion of cleaning her gown, setting the teacup to rights and apologizing for her clumsiness erased any illusions she was gaining about herself.

  She was no swan. She would always be the plodding and predictable Nan.

  *

  After the girls left and Molly lay snoozing peacefully in her basket, John made his way to the barn to check on the other pups. It was a good idea to see how the mother and babies were doing, though if anything had gone wrong, he was sure Davis would have told him. Too bad Hannah was gone. He would have asked her to accompany him. Her company was becoming most satisfactory to him.

  The barn was humming with activity as he drew near. A farrier was working with one of the draft horses, and several grooms were holding the Percheron steady. Stable lads were using the excellent weather as an excuse to muck out all the stalls and whitewash the stone walls. Davis was supervising their work, barking orders as the boys scattered to and fro.

  “Davis,” he called as he came close enough for his head groom to hear. Davis smiled and lifted his hand in greeting. John returned the wave. It felt strangely good to be near the barn, as if he had a purpose on this vast estate. Something more than that vague title of “Master,” which meant heavy lifting, but it often felt like no real work.

  “Madge and her pups are doing very well, sir,” Davis began, tugging at his cap. “And how’s the little one?”