An Ideal Husband?

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Back to your home, but I want you to do something for me, Sophie.’

  ‘What is that?’ she whispered.

  ‘Give me a chance to prove that I am as far removed from the sort of creature that Cawburn is. I do understand the word no and that when a lady says it, she means it.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘Will you do that for me, Sophie? Judge me for me, rather than considering me to be like Cawburn?’

  ‘I … I will try.’

  The box of paints with its bright colours neatly arrayed stared up at her. She fingered the aquamarine and then the crimson red. Gorgeous rich colours which made her soul ache to use them. She pulled her hand away before the temptation overwhelmed her.

  ‘You have given me oil paints?’

  ‘They seemed more appropriate than watercolours. You are not some milk-sop miss content with a pastel-coloured life, but a vibrant being who requires true colour to match her view of the world,’ Richard replied. ‘Or that was my thought.’

  ‘I know how to paint with oils. I used to prefer them, but watercolours seem more ladylike.’ Sophie gently closed the wooden box, before she gave in to the urge to start painting there and then. Oil paints were for people who led reckless and chaotic lives, rather than ordered ones.

  ‘Sophie, you are a lady whether you paint in oil or water. It is how you act. Your stepmother will confirm it.’ He tilted his head. ‘Where is Mrs Ravel? I have a present of wax fruit for her.’

  ‘She has a dress fitting.’ Sophie gestured to the piles of old magazines, penny-dreadfuls and fashion plates. ‘I’m sorting through these and trying to decide which to keep and which to throw away. I hadn’t thought you would call. There is no At Home on a Friday.’

  Rather than living in hope of Richard calling, she had chosen to wear a faded rose-coloured gown with a high-necked collar and her loosest corset. Her hair was drawn back in a simple knot, rather than being artfully done. Sophie absurdly wished she was in the dark-blue gown which set off her eyes and that she had used curling tongs to make sure her ringlets framed her face.

  She squashed the thought. It did not matter what he thought of her looks. They were thrown together by circumstance. She was not going to act on any feelings of attraction towards him. He might have been the perfect gentleman yesterday, but could she trust him today?

  ‘Is there something wrong with a man calling on his fiancée?’ He glanced about the small sitting room which her stepmother and she used in the evenings when they were not entertaining. ‘This room is far more pleasant than the drawing room. Cosy and more you.’

  ‘No, nothing is wrong. And I like this room better with fewer china ornaments to knock.’ Sophie picked up a brush and toyed with it, twisting it about her fingers. ‘I will make sure my stepmother gets the fruit. It is good of you to remember her.’

  ‘I have brought some paper as well as a variety of pencils,’ Richard said, holding out another parcel. ‘In case you didn’t have any. I wasn’t sure about the size of canvas you might require, but the man at the shop will drop off a selection later today.’

  Sophie tilted her head to one side, eyeing the parcel with suspicion. ‘I don’t understand. Why are you giving me these things?’

  ‘Have you forgotten what we spoke about yesterday? You promised to try drawing again. As you said you stopped four years ago, I reckoned you would not have paints, pencils or drawing paper.’ His eyes glinted gold. ‘Finding excuses is a terrible thing.’

  ‘Spoken like someone who knows.’

  ‘There are things I avoided until I was forced to,’ he admitted with a studied shrug.

  Sophie caught her breath and waited.

  ‘I am not here to speak about my failings,’

  he said finally. ‘Know I have many. Are you going to draw?’

  ‘And I do intend to after I have finished with the magazines. But these are far too much, Richard.’ Sophie gave the paintbox a wistful stroke. The tubes were new and unclotted. When she had looked this morning at her old oil paints, she couldn’t even squeeze the tube, the paint was so old and cracked. Her brushes were matted and glued. The thought of going and buying more had been beyond her and she’d put it off for another day.

  ‘What is the harm in spoiling you? Do you like them?’

  ‘Very much,’ Sophie admitted. ‘I am puzzled why you have given me all this.’

  ‘Can’t a man give his fiancée a present?’

  ‘It is nothing that others will see,’ she explained. ‘I’m hardly likely to bring it up in conversation, either.’

  ‘And what of it? You will know I gave it to you. Sometimes it is not about creating an impression, Sophie, but doing the right thing.’ He shrugged. ‘After our conversation yesterday, I wanted to encourage you. To paint.’

  She knew he was talking about more than that. He wanted her to stop allowing The Incident to rule her life. Rather than fearing it, a sort of reckless excitement filled her. It was an unexpected challenge. ‘You are very kind.’

  ‘Some day you might get to the Alps and want to paint, but you won’t have practised for a long time. You need to practise now, so you are ready. The wax fruit are in case you need a subject. But I thought your stepmother was more the wax-fruit type.’

  ‘I will definitely go … one of these days.’ Privately Sophie vowed that she would go once they had ended. And she would paint meadows filled with flowers with snow-capped mountains towering over them. It would be a way to ease the pain in her heart. She froze and buried the thought. She liked Richard and enjoyed his company, but nothing more. They could never be real friends. There was far too much between them. After this false engagement ended, she’d never see him again. They would be strangers. The thought depressed her. ‘Yes, I will definitely go.’

  ‘Then you will accept the gift? I give it to you as a friend. I do consider you a friend, Sophie. I hope you will come to consider me as a friend.’

  A friend. Sophie’s heart thudded.

  ‘Can a man and a woman ever be friends?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘I like to think you are. We share a secret.’

  Friends for now, strangers in a few weeks. She’d miss him. ‘How could I refuse when it was given in the interests of friendship?’

  He stood there without moving and she wondered if he expected a kiss. She carefully placed the box down on the table with the drawing paper and pencils next to them, making a show of straightening them, but all the time watching him out of the corner of her eye.

  ‘I shall start a painting today to show you I’m serious,’ she said to cover the awkward silence. ‘You can see it tomorrow … I mean, whenever you next come to call.’

  ‘Tomorrow will be fine. There is a concert of Handel’s Water Music on at the Royal Theatre. I thought you and your stepmother might enjoy going. You did enjoy the theatre so much in Liverpool last March.’

  ‘I promise not to flirt with any strange men with my fan. I gave that up after I met you. Lesson learnt.’

  A tiny smile touched his lips. ‘You have our story down.’

  ‘It is important not to make a mistake.’ Sophie turned back to the paints. ‘I’ve no wish to come undone over it. I’ve told the story so many times now that I almost believe it myself.’

  ‘Do you have a subject in mind for this painting of yours or shall I pose for you?’

  Sophie examined the carpet of the small sitting room. If he posed for her, he’d have to stay. A large chunk of her wanted him here, but the more prudent side knew he should go. She had given up being reckless years ago. And while Richard might say he was different, she had no desire to put him to the test. Once bitten, twice shy as her nurse used to say.

  ‘It normally takes me an age to decide on the subject,’ she said. ‘I like to spend time arranging things and doing preliminary sketches. Paintings don’t happen like that. They need to be prepared.’

  ‘Do you draw people?’

  ‘I used to.’ Sophie gestured towards the pen-and-ink portrait of her step
mother that stood on a side table. ‘I did that one the spring before I made my début. My stepmother was a poor sitter. She kept moving her hands and changing expressions. Most aggravating—the drawing took twice as long as it should have done.’

  ‘You are very talented.’

  ‘You’re being kind.’

  ‘Kindness has nothing to do with it. I merely appreciated your talent.’ He nodded towards the paints. ‘Another time, then. When you are more confident at drawing people. I promise to sit very still and not move a muscle … no matter how much my nose itches.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘No perhaps. I shall look forward to sitting with anticipation.’

  Sophie’s mouth went dry. And she privately decided the time would never come. The risk to her resolve was far too great. There would be too many opportunities for seduction. Richard might proclaim to be different from Sebastian, but she didn’t want to tempt fate.

  She hugged the paintbox to her chest. ‘I will think about it, but your suggestion to paint the wax fruit is a good one. My stepmother has a silver bowl which will work admirably. Nothing too complicated to begin with.’

  ‘I am counting the hours.’ His mouth quirked upwards at her expression. Her cheeks burnt. ‘Until the theatre. It is your decision if you need a model. Know that I am a willing volunteer, if required.’

  ‘And I will let you know if you are ever required.’

  ‘We understand each other.’ He took the box from her nerveless fingers and placed it on the table. ‘Don’t worry, I shall show myself out. You get on with your painting.’

  Sophie stood in the middle of the sitting room, staring at the paints for a long time. Why did Richard Crawford have to turn out to be kind? He was right. He wasn’t like Sebastian at all. He was infinitely more dangerous.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘There you see, all done.’ Sophie held up the still life of wax fruit in a silver bowl for Richard’s inspection a few days later. Her eager expression lit the room with its glow.

  He’d done the right thing coming here, instead of going to the club or sitting and fuming about his mother’s spending habits. Somehow being with Sophie made all of this morning’s annoyances fade into insignificance.

  He took the painting from her and their fingertips brushed. A warm pulse shot up his arm. Demonstrating to Sophie that he was far removed from Cawburn was getting harder and harder when all he wanted to do was to take her into his arms and kiss her.

  Rather than having his desire for her diminish through seeing her, it had grown. But more than that he looked forward to pitting his wits against her and talking to her about things which had nothing to do with his family or the other demands on his time. When he was with her, everything faded into insignificance.

  ‘You are very talented.’ Richard concentrated on the painting and regained control of his body. Sophie was not the sort of woman one seduced; she was the sort of woman one married. ‘That painting is more than a simple bowl of fruit. It looks good enough to eat. And I love how the shapes complement each other.’

  ‘It is fine, but the apple gave me trouble. The red proved harder to get right than I thought it would.’

  Sophie moved closer to him and their shoulders accidentally touched. Richard kept his body rigid.

  ‘I could never do something like that. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.’

  ‘I had a strict drawing mistress. Do you know how many different colours a simple shadow can be? They are not dabs of black paint.’

  He shook his head. Even now, Sophie wanted to belittle her accomplishments. ‘It is more than simple-rote, schoolgirl painting. There is something indefinable here. You must learn how to take a compliment, Sophie, or I shall be forced to pay you them until you do.’

  Her eyes danced. ‘How do you take a compliment?’

  ‘You say thank you and don’t attempt to deflect it or apologise for it or make it seem less than it is. All it takes is a thank you and nothing more.’

  He put the painting down. Sophie needed to have her confidence grow. He could only keep making excuses to his mother about the need to ensure Hannah’s engagement for so long, before awkward questions would be asked, and Richard knew he wasn’t ready to share Sophie with his family. His relationship with Sophie had no bearing on his relationship with his mother or sister.

  ‘I shall try to remember that.’ Sophie gave a mocking curtsy. ‘Thank you for the compliment about the painting.’

  ‘Shall we practise to make sure you understand the concept? Your blue dress looks exceptionally charming today, Miss Ravel.’

  ‘This is hardly necessary. I do know how to take a compliment.’

  ‘I used to think your eyes were the colour of sapphires, like your ring, but now I see the colour depends on your mood. Midnight blue when you are angry right through the blue of a summer’s day when you are happy.’

  ‘You are being foolish. Cease this blather immediately.’

  He took a step closer. ‘I intend to keep paying you compliments until you show me that you know how to take them. I prefer your hair like this when it makes little ringlets of its own accord.’

  Sophie wet her suddenly aching lips. Her entire being trembled. Where did he intend taking this game? Her dreams had been full of him lately but ever since the carriage ride, he had made no attempt to kiss her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she gasped out as he took another step closer, so close her skirt brushed his leg. Another step, and she’d be in his arms. What was worse, she wanted to be in his arms. She wanted to taste his lips again and see if they matched her memory of them.

  ‘At last my fiancée shows some sense.’ His eyes danced with a thousand different lights. ‘Shall I continue?’

  ‘No.’

  He inclined his head and stepped backwards. ‘I bow to your no and stop immediately.’

  A tiny bubble of amazement burst through her. He’d obeyed her no. She hated that she wished she’d urged him to continue. She put her hand to her mouth, exploring the way it faintly tingled as if he had indeed kissed her. The trouble with Richard was that she liked him far too much.

  To cover her confusion, she grabbed the painting and held it out.

  ‘You may have the painting if you like it. I painted it with you in mind.’

  He tilted his head and she caught a sudden flaring in his eyes. ‘It is kind of you. I will treasure it. I don’t think anyone has ever done something like that for me before.’

  ‘A thank you for the paints and for getting me started on painting again.’ Sophie clasped her hands together and hoped he’d think the redness of her cheeks was from the fire, rather than the awkwardness she suddenly felt. ‘I hope you don’t consider it too forward.’

  ‘Forward?’ His eyes widened. ‘Perish the thought. I’m very touched and honoured.’

  ‘It is funny how you don’t realise you missed something until it comes back into your life and suddenly your life takes on a new meaning.’

  He stilled. ‘Have you decided to start painting people again?’

  Sophie put a hand on her stomach to stop the butterflies. Somehow she knew she had to get the answer right. Because if she got it wrong, he’d go and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

  ‘I have only ever done pen-and-ink drawings, but some day, I will start using oils for painting portraits. I promise.’

  ‘I live in hope, then.’

  Sophie let out a breath. She had passed the test.

  He reached for the painting and his fingers brushed hers, almost a caress. A little touch which could have been accidental, but she chose to consider it deliberate. ‘You will go with me tomorrow to the cricket? The match is an important one.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’ Sophie held her body utterly still.

  ‘Out with it, Sophie. What is wrong?’

  ‘How could you tell that something was wrong?’

  ‘You always develop a little frown between your brows. And you have glanced at the desk ten times since I a
rrived. What is on that desk?’

  He had noticed that! Sophie forced her features to relax. She walked over to the little desk she used for correspondence and withdrew the letter which had arrived in this morning’s post.

  ‘I have had a letter from my solicitors. You agreed to my terms for the settlement. No quibbling!’

  ‘Your terms were the same as I wish for any bride.’ He lifted an eyebrow as if daring her to say differently. ‘I thought you would have made them much more onerous and demanded a massive allowance or something outrageous. Having complete control over your own money makes common sense.’

  ‘My stepmother would have questioned it, particularly after I made the claim of undying devotion at the Assembly Rooms. She did look over the request I sent to the solicitors to make sure my interests were well looked after.’

  He lowered his voice. ‘When do you plan to tell her about it?’

  Sophie chose to assume he meant the letter about the settlement, rather than the bigger question of their false engagement. Her stepmother simply would not understand. And she would not understand why Sophie had to keep on seeing Richard and how precious these moments were becoming to her. She’d start on about a blossoming romance and what a shame it was that Sophie had not agreed to a true engagement when she was asked, instead of being mealy-mouthed.

  ‘About the settlement being agreed?’ Sophie tapped the letter against her hand. ‘I had to show her the letter.’

  ‘And is she insisting on that engagement party now the settlement is finalised?’

  ‘She has agreed to wait until Robert and Henri return. Robert should look over the settlement first was my excuse. My stepmother thinks I’m overly cautious. You know how she adores you and the fact you agreed so readily to the settlement has only enhanced your standing. She refuses to hear a word against you.’

  ‘Why did you tell her you wanted to wait?’

  Sophie turned away from his burning eyes. If she looked at him, she’d be tempted to blurt out the truth. She enjoyed his company and wanted to prolong the time they spent together, but she knew it had to end. There wasn’t a future for them. They were strangers, not friends and certainly not lovers.