‘If possible, like to take some sketches with me,’ Hal said, pointing to the book. ‘See prospective clients while in north.’
Did he only imagine the flash of dismay that passed over her countenance? ‘You are going away?’ she asked.
‘Soon,’ he confirmed, certain, to his immense gratification, that he had indeed detected a note of concern in her voice. ‘New canal project beginning. Must oversee.’
‘David and I will certainly miss you. But with your work on Everitt’s papers complete, I suppose we could not hope to monopolise your attention for ever. Will you be gone…long?’
Did she sound wistful? Hal wondered. ‘Fortnight or less.’
‘I hope you won’t desert us completely upon your return. After all, thanks to your kind offices, some of David’s inheritance will be invested in this new project and I shall wish an accounting of it!’ she said, waving a finger at him with mock severity.
She would miss him. She wanted to see him upon his return. Hal felt his spirit soar as if the hackney were rolling on clouds rather than cobblestones. ‘Give proper accounting upon return,’ he agreed. ‘May have new venture to propose.’
‘And what would that be?’
Too effervescent with happiness to be sure he could read her level of interest accurately, Hal asked, ‘Truly wish to know?’
‘Yes. If it intrigues you, it must be both innovative and lucrative. For too long, I’ve been painfully ignorant about management and finance. If I am to be a good guide to David—and to myself—I need to know more. Besides, the new machines that have driven the building of canals, the draining of marshes, the mining of coal—you see, I have begun reading about it—sound so intricate and fascinating. Rather like a painting, begun with a sketch and built up with layer upon layer of pigment until a whole emerges that is both unique from, yet part of, the many individual brush strokes which make it up.’
Though Hal’s mathematical mind had never conceived of the construction of a coal engine or mechanical loom as similar to the creation of artwork, he was struck by her observation. ‘Suppose it is similar! Latest possibility intriguing—might replace canals in moving goods. Been using engines on rails to move coal from mines. Now George Stephenson invented better engine. Can move itself, pull cars anywhere iron track is laid. Cheaper than digging canals.’
‘This new system could supplement canals, then?’
Hal nodded. ‘Go over uneven ground where canals impractical. From port landing cotton right to mill, then carry finished cloth to market. Coal, too. Stockton and Darlington Railway preparing bill for Parliament to convey coal from collieries to port. Maybe passengers later.’
‘So one might ride upon an engine of steel rather than gallop upon a fiery steed? Wouldn’t David just love that! What bold vision you possess, Mr Waterman! If you judge that investing our money in such a venture is sound, by all means do so.’
She thought him bold and forward-thinking. No longer questioning her sincerity, he simply revelled in the unaccustomed praise, giddy bubbles of delight rising to his head as if he’d been drinking fine champagne. She’d also referred to ‘our’ money…how Hal loved the sound of that!
Of course, she meant capital belonging to herself and her son. But the idea of her wanting to invest in the emerging enterprises that so fascinated him created a new sense of camaraderie between them, reinforcing the connection he’d always felt to her.
Having learned years ago not to expose himself to his mother’s scorn by discussing technological developments in her presence, Hal seldom introduced the topic to anyone beyond a small circle of similarly committed investors. Not even with Sally had he thought to find someone with real curiosity about the vast changes in commerce and technology he believed would soon overtake English society. Imagine discovering such an interest in a sheltered society beauty like Elizabeth Lowery! Her unexpected enthusiasm about the ventures in which he was so deeply embroiled both surprised and delighted him.
Still, he’d better curb his exuberance before he started nattering on like Ned with his farming. In any event, the hackney was pulling up before the art dealer’s establishment. Time to shift the focus of conversation from his great passion to hers.
Mister Christie, the proprietor, quickly ushered them into a showroom out of view of the main display area. For several minutes, the dealer listened with rapt interest as Elizabeth described her husband’s extensive collection of Roman sculpture and Italian Renaissance paintings, occasionally mentioning connoisseurs whom he would contact concerning specific works. Finally he looked inquiringly at the sketchbook Elizabeth kept tucked under her arm.
‘Do you have unframed works you wished me to see?’ Mr Christie asked.
Panic flaring in her eyes, hands clenched on her sketchbook, Elizabeth hesitated. Possessing no doubt whatsoever about the exceptional skill of her drawings, Hal sent her a reassuring look before turning to the dealer. ‘Yes. Also some works in oil based on sketches.’
‘I don’t normally handle sketches, but if some represent finished works, I should be happy to look over them.’
‘View other items while you do?’ Hal asked.
‘Of course. I’ve hung the watercolours you requested on the far wall. Please enjoy them while I review these in my office.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Hal reassured her as she stared after the retreating figure of the dealer, her expression as dismayed as if she’d sent her child off with a stranger. ‘Will love work. But now—best for last.’
Nerves humming with anticipation at offering her what he hoped would be a welcome surprise, he led her away.
‘You wanted me to see some—ooh!’ Elizabeth stopped short, her query ending in a gasp as she caught sight of the grouping of watercolours Hal had ordered.
‘More works by Mr Turner, artist admired at Royal Academy,’ Hal explained. ‘Does oils, but especially noted for watercolours like these. Rivers, cities, castles, landscapes, ships at sea.’
As she had at the Royal Academy, for several long moments Elizabeth said nothing. Standing in rapt contemplation, her eyes darted from one to another as she took in composition, colour, theme. ‘They are magnificent!’ she pronounced at last.
Hal had hoped she would enjoy seeing more examples of the artist’s work. Gratified to have been proven correct, he focused his gaze not on the extraordinary paintings of Mr Turner, but on the lady examining them.
How he loved seeing that joyous smile on her face, the glow of enthusiasm that made her already striking beauty even more luminous. ‘Glad you admire them,’ he said.
‘How could anyone with a shred of sensibility not admire them?’ she demanded. ‘See this one—the calm water, boats bobbing at anchor beneath the gold of the mountains and the soaring, swirling clouds of the sky! One almost expects the vapour to float off the image on to one’s hand! And this—the town, glowing with light, towering over the placid river, all of it overlooked by a restless, wind-driven sky. And the last—the group of workmen carrying their burdens in the foreground, the city in the distance so mysterious, veiled in mist and smoke. Extraordinary!’
No, you are extraordinary, Hal thought, smiling at her enthusiasm.
‘Thank you so much for bringing me! I’ve never been tempted by gowns or bonnets, but I must admit I’m regretting that we came here to sell rather than buy art. For the first time I can appreciate the fervour that drove Everitt to collect.’
‘You like the Turners, Mrs Lowery?’ Mr Christie’s voice interrupted them. So intent had she been on studying the art and Hal on studying her, they’d not noticed the dealer’s return.
‘Very much.’
‘Your late husband was a most astute investor. I shall have no trouble placing those pieces with which you are willing to part. Or if you would care to arrange a trade…’ He gestured to the Turner watercolours.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘Regretfully, no.’
The dealer nodded. ‘Though he has acquired several patrons, Lord Egremont among them, Mr Turner is a prolific art
ist. Perhaps another time.’
She nodded. ‘Perhaps.’
‘By the way, the sketches you brought were quite well done, particularly the portraits and the delightful drawings of dogs. If the paintings based on them are of similar quality, I shall have no trouble finding purchasers.’
Hal looked at her and raised his eyebrows, an ‘I-told-you-so’ expression on his face. ‘Appreciate your time,’ Hal told Mr Christie. ‘Contact you soon.’
The art dealer bowed. ‘I shall be at your disposal. Mrs Lowery, a pleasure.’
A few minutes later they re-entered the waiting hackney. After they seated themselves, Elizabeth turned to Hal, her face glowing with a look of such happiness and affection that his heart expanded in his chest. ‘Thank you again for today,’ she said softly. ‘Even if I can’t purchase a Turner landscape, I now have hope I might some day sell my own work.’
‘Told you would recognise your talent.’
‘Well, he hasn’t actually seen the oils, so I shall not count my commissions yet,’ she replied with a twinkle.
‘Value them when sees them. Possess great talent. Expert confirm it. Have only to decide how wish to utilise it. Still need not show work publicly if choose not to. But now know for sure you have choice.’
Her eyes lit, as if she were realising that fact for the first time. ‘I…I suppose I do. Elizabeth Lowery, artist.’ Hugging the sketchbook close, she threw back her head and laughed, the sound joyous and free.
He could almost see a sense of confidence and excitement growing in her as he watched. Tenderness curled in his chest—and pride, that he had been the one who’d led her to discover this new power within.
‘Can keep sketches of David, Max?’ he asked. ‘Show investors when travel north. Some hold dogs as dear as children.’
‘What unnatural beings,’ she replied, her quick smile fading as she asked, ‘Must you leave…soon?’
‘Within day or so.’
‘You will stop to say goodbye before you go?’
Had nodded, wishing once again he didn’t have to leave. He could sit here for ever in this hackney, watching Elizabeth Lowery smile at him. ‘Couldn’t go without seeing you.’
‘I shall miss you,’ she said softly, gazing up at him with a tenderness that made Hal’s heart thump in his chest. ‘You won’t…stay away too long, will you?’
‘Come back as soon as I can,’ he confirmed.
‘Good,’ she said, her eyes drifting shut on a sigh as she inclined her head toward him.
With her chin tilted up, her lips were so close that in the space of a heartbeat he could have bent down to capture them. Kissing her, tasting her, wrapping her in his arms was a vision that had possessed and tortured him for so long, he could scarcely imagine not living under her spell. But badly as he wanted to kiss her—and much as his no doubt fevered imagination tried to whisper that with her leaning toward him, her face upraised, she wanted him to kiss her—he didn’t dare believe the time was yet right.
He would rather die of frustrated desire than spoil the golden harmony of shared interest and affection that had bound them together so strongly all afternoon.
It was then he realised he could do it. He could wait for her. Though he wanted so much more, to laugh with her, to share moments like these with her, to have her gaze at him with trust and affection would be enough to hold him until she was ready to leave the past behind and embrace her future.
Whether or not that future would realise all his dreams for them, he refused to spoil the wonder of today worrying about.
In a sudden squeal of harness, the hackney braked to a halt. Elizabeth started, her eyes flying open, her cheeks pinking as she sat back, moving her tempting lips out of reach.
Hal sighed, not completely sure he’d done the right thing by refraining from kissing her. Before he could sort the matter out, her footman threw open the hackney door and helped her alight.
She turned to him after he’d followed her out. ‘Can you stay for tea?’
Regretfully he shook his head. ‘Sorry, must collect carriage and go. Appointment.’ One of the last in the series of consultations that preceded his departure to begin the project. A project he now intended to expedite so he might return with all speed.
She nodded. ‘Then I suppose nothing remains but for me to thank you again. And give you this.’ She offered him the sketchbook.
‘Will take good care of it,’ he assured her.
‘Good day, Mr Waterman. I hope I shall see you again soon.’
‘Count on it,’ he promised, savouring her rose scent as he bowed over her fingers.
He watched as she ascended the stairs, stopping as the front door opened to give him a little wave before disappearing into the house. Smiling to himself as he played over in his mind the events of the afternoon, he waited on the kerb while the groom brought his curricle.
A short time later, he whipped up his team and headed off to his meeting. Yes, he would have to leave London. But, he thought, excitement licking up his veins, when he’d completed what must be done, he would have Elizabeth to call on when he returned, Elizabeth with whom to discuss the new investment ventures he contemplated, Elizabeth—he glanced down at the sketchbook beside him—to consult about potential portrait commissions.
Elizabeth. His shout of exultation at that glorious fact caused his leader to shy. Laughing at himself, he brought the horse back under control and steered the vehicle toward Hyde Park. His meeting occurring at the town house of an investor on the opposite side of the park, since it was nearly past the fashionable hour, driving down the carriageways here would probably be faster than navigating through the busy London streets.
Some of that euphoria dimmed, however, when he reached the park and noticed a lady in a carriage approaching him, waving wilding, obviously trying to catch his attention. His delight died altogether when he recognised his mother.
Damn and blast. The last thing he wished was to have to stop and chat with her—and Lady Tryphena, whom he recognised beside her as the two vehicles converged.
But there was no way now he could pretend he’d not seen her. He would have to pull up and greet them.
Stifling a curse, as he halted his team and threw the reins to his tiger, he tried to tell himself it wasn’t such a bad thing. He would have to pay a call on his mother before leaving London to inform her of his plans anyway, at which time she would undoubtedly abuse him for deserting her, not honouring his promise to escort Lady Tryphena, and being generally the most unsatisfactory of sons. Here in the park, with Lady Tryphena at her side and perhaps some other friends as well, he might escape with a shorter version of the rebuke.
He paced to the carriage and leaned up to kiss the hand she offered. ‘Hello, Mama, Lady Tryphena.’
‘Well, if it isn’t my long-absent son! Having done your duty by Englemere’s widow, I trust you are now ready to assist your own mama. Lady Tryphena has also been awaiting your return with impatience, haven’t you, my dear?’ Mrs. Waterman asked, smiling at her protégée.
Brown curls bobbing, the young lady shook her head. ‘With the greatest impatience, I assure you, ma’am.’ Turning a brilliant smile on Hal, she said, ‘I do so hope we will now be privileged to share your company.’
Somewhat taken aback, Hal blinked at her. She continued to smile ardently at him, as if he were the answer to her maiden’s prayers.
Hal found himself wondering if for some reason she needed his mama’s approval—or the Waterford wealth—more than he’d thought.
At least she’d not begun by correcting his speech.
His mama patted the carriage seat beside her. ‘Take a turn around the park with us, my dear, and let us catch up on all your news. So much has happened! Why, just last night, the Layton chit—Lord Sidney’s youngest, and a paler, more tongue-tied girl you can hardly imagine—was caught tête-à-tête behind the potted plants at Lady Mansfield’s gala with that naughty Lord Montclare! Rogue that he is, I imagine he’ll manage to sl
ither out of having to offer for her. Shall you dine with us tonight?’
‘Can’t dine. No turn about park either. On my way to meeting. Just say hello.’
‘Another one of your dreary finance meetings, I suppose!’ she said with a moue of distaste. ‘Surely you can make time tomorrow, after so sadly neglecting us!’
‘Was going to call. Leaving London soon. More business in north.’
‘Again?’ she protested. ‘Why, you’ve only just returned! I declare, you use me monstrously. Lady Tryphena, tell my son what an unfeeling monster he is to his mama.’
‘We will both sorely miss you, Mr. Waterman,’ Lady Tryphena said. ‘How long do you expect to be gone?’
‘Not sure. A fortnight, perhaps longer.’ In truth, he now hoped to return within ten days. But with luck, if his Mama thought him still out of town, he might escape a summons from her for at least that long.
‘A fortnight!’ his mama echoed. ‘But the Season is already begun! There are any number of important events in the next two weeks. You cannot be so cruel to me—and Lady Tryphena—as to deny us your escort for all of them!’
‘Indeed, Mr Waterman, I shall be quite desperately disappointed if you abandon us for two whole weeks,’ Lady Tryphena cried.
She actually looked a bit desperate, gazing so earnestly at him. She really must be eager to start spending his blunt.
Maybe he should tell them he meant to be gone a month.
Not quite able to reconcile it with his conscience to tell that great a fib, Hal said, ‘Sorry to disappoint. Must go now. Send you note, call when return, Mama.’
‘Oh, please do, Mr Waterman! We shall be quite devastated until your return,’ Lady Tryphena declared.
‘Indeed we shall,’ his mother agreed, pouting as she offered him her fingers to kiss. ‘I should have expected you to display a stronger sense of duty towards your mama—but I shall say no more now. I’ll anticipate seeing you again in no longer than a fortnight!’
‘Perhaps even sooner,’ Lady Tryphena added.
Declining to comment on that, Hal bowed to them both. ‘Good day, ladies.’ With a huge sense of relief, he turned and moved off to catch up with his carriage…acutely aware of Lady Tryphena’s sharp gaze following him.
A Most Unconventional Match Page 21
