Two of a Kind

by Sasha Cottman

  “Your James is a good man,” said Sir Geoffrey.

  Leah found herself not wishing to correct her grandfather’s take on the current state of hers and James’s relationship. “I am grateful for everything he has done. He has gone beyond the call in helping me to reach you safely.”

  “You know your father won’t let this matter rest. If he doesn’t come here himself, he will write and demand that I give you up if I am harboring you,” he said.

  “Yes. I expect it will only be a matter of time before his gaze turns this way,” she replied.

  The trail of breadcrumbs she had left behind in London pointed to her fleeing to another part of the country, but her father was no fool. Once he had exhausted the obvious places that she could be, his attention would no doubt focus on Mopus Manor.

  “We shall deal with your father when the time comes. But what are you going to do about that young man? I expect he has burned a few bridges in bringing you here,” he said.

  James was a very large question in Leah’s mind. Helping her to escape from marrying Guy Dannon would likely have cost him that once close friendship. There was also the question of his career as a painter. As far as she was concerned, being her hero had already cost James more than enough.

  “He was headed to Derbyshire before he found himself following me out of London. His father has given him six months to create a series of artworks and sell them. I expect he will be keen to resume that journey now that I am here,” she replied.

  Sir Geoffrey slowly shook his head. “I have seen the way he looks at you. And I think you and I both know that he will not be going anywhere anytime soon.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “How did you sleep?” Leah asked.

  “Well. A proper bed was a nice change from a thin mattress on the hard floor. How about yourself?”

  James was sitting outside in the garden on a large stone step. He liked this particular step; it afforded him an uninterrupted view of the Tresillian River which lay far below. The warm morning sunshine was a balm for his tired body.

  The trip from London had been mentally draining for him. The horse and carriage he had hired, had been easy to manage. But the fear that Tobias Shepherd was lying in wait for them just around the next bend had made every day of travel long and stressful. The constant rain had not helped. He was grateful for the clear skies of Cornwall.

  He sipped at his tea, his gaze fixed on the blue and grey waters down below. Farther to the right, he could see a constant swirling of water where the Tresillian and Truro rivers met. The sun danced across the water, sparkles of light reflecting off its surface.

  Leah came and sat by his side. She held a half-eaten piece of toast in her hand. It was good to be someplace where the hard and fast rules of London society could be set aside. They could sit and spend time together without those worries.

  “I slept well enough; it was nice to sleep in a proper bedroom. Though I missed hearing your breathing in the room during the night. I kept waking up and wondering where you were,” said Leah.

  The tea in his mouth caught in his throat at her words, and he fought to keep from choking. If only she knew how many times, he had looked over at the bed in whatever inn they were staying at and smiled as he lay listening to her breathing as she slept. It was nice to think that they had both experienced the same feelings of comfort from knowing the other was close by.

  She nodded toward the rivers. “It is so beautiful here. My greatest wish is that my father decides I am too much of a bother and having me stay far away from London suits his purposes. If I have any say in it, I will never go back to London,” she added.

  More than once James had thought the very same thing about never going back. Mopus Manor was an oasis of calm. “I can see why. The view from here is stunning. I was actually thinking of making the trek along the river and seeing what other places of interest there are so I could get some more sketches finished.”

  James had already made several drawings of the river landscape. They would be a welcome addition to his portfolio once he started working in earnest on his paintings. His plans to return to Derbyshire had been quietly shelved for the moment. In the meantime, he would have to rely on his sketches and memory to begin work on the Derbyshire Twins.

  His father would not be happy with the change in plans. Hugh Radley was a man of habit and structure. He didn’t like people making sudden alterations and disturbing his world.

  He would be especially disappointed when he discovered that James had not only not gone to Derbyshire, but that he had fled to Cornwall with Leah. But James would deal with his father when the time came. Right now, he had other priorities which concentrated his mind. Winning Leah’s heart was what truly mattered.

  “Why do you have to make sketches?” she said.

  He turned and gave her a shy smile. Many people assumed that painters just started working on a blank canvas without any preliminary work. Sketches were an integral part of the process. “It helps to have drawings to refer to when you are creating a piece. Especially landscapes. I struggle with getting things into the right perspective and composition when I am first creating a new piece of work.”

  “Have you always wanted to be a painter?” she asked.

  “In my heart of hearts, yes. I undertook some art classes at school, but never got to work under a true master. Most of what I know I have learned from books or watching other painters,” he replied.

  “But your father wants you to follow him into the church? Claire told me that there had been some ongoing tension between the two of you,” she replied.

  James hesitated. He did not want to say unkind things about his father. Hugh had relented on his demands and agreed to support James in his efforts, but it had not been an easy task. “I understand my father’s point of view. He wants me to be able to make my way in the world. To have a profession that will enable me to support a family. He worries that painting will not allow that,” he replied.

  “I see. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  Leah turned to him; quiet determination showed on her face. “But what if you could? There have been plenty of painters and artists in the world who have made a living from their work. What is the worst that could happen if you didn’t sell enough paintings? You may have to find paid employment. But at least you would have tried,” she replied.

  He reached out and placed a hand over one of hers before giving it a gentle squeeze. Her support of his work meant the world to him. “Thank you. Very few people understand the passion of wanting to be an artist. I have tried to explain what it feels like to hold a brush in my hand and set paint to canvas, but most people just give me an odd look.”

  Leah pointed toward a collection of neat buildings which sat at the front of the estate. One small building stood apart from the others, close to where the path from the steps ran. “If you wish to paint while you are here, I could speak to my grandfather and see if he will allow you to use the old cottage which overlooks the water. It has a better view than from here and you would be able have your things with you and work without being disturbed. I don’t think anyone has used it since my grandmother died.”

  The idea of being able to set himself up and paint caught James’s full attention. If he was able to complete some works before the inevitable journey home to London, he would be in a stronger position with his father. And if he could secure a buyer for those paintings, it would finally put paid to the notion of his going back to university. “That sounds wonderful. Could we please take a look at the cottage, and then go and talk to Sir Geoffrey?”

  Leah got to her feet. “Of course. And if you think it would suit, I know a shop in Truro that sells artist supplies. I take it you will need some canvases.”

  The cottage proved perfect for James’s needs and Sir Geoffrey readily agreed to allow him to make use of it. Sir Geoffrey also confessed to a long-abandoned painting pastime, after which he showed James the two large easels which had been store
d away in the attic.

  The easels were soon moved and set up in the cottage. A quick trip in the barouche into the nearby town of Truro saw James returning with new pieces of canvas, frames, and some linseed oil.

  He was almost beside himself with excitement at the prospect of having a small, though temporary, painting studio at his disposal. It also added weight to his decision to remain at Mopus Manor for as long as possible. James was biding his time before he would speak to Leah about any plans for the future.

  When Leah came and called him for supper later that evening, James was standing, grinning at the fresh canvas he had set up on the easel.

  “You look like the cat who has got the cream,” she said.

  He laughed. “I feel like all the cats who have got the cream. I can’t believe I have a painting studio.”

  Leah stood beside him in front of the blank canvas, a hand held under her chin. She tilted her head, as if inspecting an artwork. “So, what are you going to call this piece? ‘Blank canvas without paint?’” she teased.

  He loved it when she was playful. It took all his strength not to haul her into his arms and kiss her stupid.

  Picking up a brush, he quickly mixed a little dry paint and oil together, then handed the brush to Leah. “Here. You make the first stroke.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Leah set the brush to the canvas where James directed; she began to make small strokes up and down. When she looked at him, he nodded.

  “That is good. Keep going.”

  He watched as she added the first patch of dark blue to the painting.

  Then, picking up a fine brush, he mixed in a little white paint and after following the outline of where Leah had painted, a wave began to appear on the canvas.

  “Oh, James,” she murmured.

  It was some time before they finally headed in for supper.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Each morning when she drew back the bedroom curtains, Leah could see that James was already down in the cottage, hard at work. She suspected that if he could fit a bed in the room, he would sleep in the stone building which had once been her grandmother’s favorite place to sit and watch the boats come up river from the North Sea.

  Having had James all to herself on the journey down from London, she now found herself missing his company during the day. He ate breakfast long before she rose most mornings. His noon meal was taken down to him at the cottage, and by suppertime, he was usually so tired that he took himself off to bed after staying with her and Sir Geoffrey only as long as was polite. Twice, he had fallen asleep at the supper table.

  By the end of the fourth day, Leah was feeling a tad jealous of the paint and canvas. She poked her head inside the doorway of the cottage. “Are you busy?”

  James was kneeling in the corner, mixing a new batch of paint. He greeted her with a grin. “Come in. Mind where you step. I have some pieces laying out to dry on the floor. Oh, and watch out for the linseed oil rags. They will stain your gown.”

  The smell of oil and paint in the room was strong enough that Leah felt her head spin. How James could stand to work in among the fumes was hard to fathom.

  “You should open a window or two. You don’t want to faint from the tainted air,” she said.

  James frowned, then took in a deep breath. His face registered surprise. “I hadn’t noticed the odor until you mentioned it. And now that you have its all I can smell. It is rather strong.” He got to his feet, swaying just a little. “Perhaps I need to go and get some fresh air. I will open some windows when I return.”

  It was the opening she needed. She yearned for them to spend some precious time together. To be able to prize him away from his paintings. To simply walk and talk. She found herself thinking about him a lot of the time. She wanted to know whether his thoughts ever turned to her.

  “There are some old sea caves I could show you a little way along the coast. They might make a good subject for one of your paintings. It would get you out into the fresh air. I could ask cook to pack up a small picnic and we could eat it while we are out,” she said.

  His eyes lit up. “That sounds like a perfect idea. Let’s do it.”

  The caves were farther along the beach than Leah had remembered, and it took close to two hours before she was able to find them. As they walked, she worried constantly that James would call a halt to their march and ask that they return to the manor. She was pleased when he did not.

  The unexpected comfort she found in being in his presence had her mind mulling over a number of issues. Foremost being, how long did James plan to stay at Mopus Manor? He had set himself up nicely within the cottage, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he announced his intentions to leave.

  The prospect of watching him climb into his carriage and drive away filled her with a sense of dread. She didn’t want him to leave, fearing she would never see him again.

  While James picked up stones from the beach and tossed them way out to sea, she stood with hands tightly held together. She dared not ask him to remain, fearful that if her father did finally come to Cornwall, his wrath would come crashing down on the man who had tried to save her.

  Yet she knew that if she said nothing and simply let James go, she may never get the chance to be alone with him again. Her father would make certain of that.

  James picked up the picnic basket and pointed to a small patch of dry sand a little way along the beach. It would make the ideal place for them to sit and eat.

  “Did you want to eat first and then explore the caves? That looks a good spot,” said James.

  “Yes, that way we can leave the basket at the mouth of the sea cave and not have to carry it with us. The rocks can be slippery, and you will need to steady yourself,” she replied.

  To her delight, James held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment but took it. The warm feeling as she slipped her fingers into his gentle grasp had her turning her head away.

  She had missed his touch over the past few days. The brush of his hand on hers as he passed her bread when they sat and ate supper in their lodgings. His steady, protective hold whenever they rounded a bend in the road, and she shifted in her seat.

  And those special moments whenever she tried to climb into the carriage. James standing behind her with his hands placed about her waist to lift her up into the driver’s seat. A moment which was always followed by him having to put his hands firmly on her backside and push, all the while both of them giggled like small children. James would then climb up beside her and grace her with that silly lopsided smile of his.

  That was the best moment of them all.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  He had missed her. Missed the simple pleasure of being alone with Leah. The instant she suggested the walk to the sea cave, James had silently scolded himself for having spent much of the past days in the painting studio. After having been together on the journey from London, he had wanted to give Leah some space. But in his eagerness to set brush to canvas, he worried now that she may have felt neglected.

  There was an unmistakable note of longing in her voice that only a fool would have failed to hear. He could only hope he was not a fool in love.

  They took up a spot on the dry sandy beach away from the rocks. Leah smoothed her skirts, then she dropped down beside him. James’s spirits lifted. There was a whole beach on which she could choose a place to sit, but Leah had decided to sit within touching distance of him.

  Not that he expected her to be touching him. But still, a man never knew when his luck might change. From the stories he had heard of courtship and love within the Radley family, he knew Cupid was good at rewarding those who took a chance at helping love spark and grow. He shifted a few inches closer to her.

  He looked inside the picnic basket, smiling when he saw its contents. There were freshly baked scones wrapped up in a clean cloth, along with pots of fresh Cornish cream and strawberry jam. When he unwrapped the still warm scones, a heady aro
ma filled his senses with delight. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tasted scones.

  He broke one of them open and, taking a spoon from the basket, scooped up some of the clotted cream. He was about to put it on the scone when Leah gasped and took hold of his wrist.

  “James Radley, don’t you dare! This is Cornwall; jam goes on first, then the cream. Don’t you be bringing any of those odd Devonshire habits into this county. My grandfather will have you drummed out of the village,” she said.

  She took a knife from the basket and quickly added strawberry jam to the scone. When she was done, she nodded to James and he contritely placed a dollop of cream on top before handing half to her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the depth of my crime,” he said.

  Leah gave a tsk. She grinned at him before biting into the soft dough.

  Taking that as his having been forgiven, James set to work on eating his piece.

  “Hmm, these are the best. You can have all the scones you like in London, but nothing is like having them baked here in Cornwall and being able have a large dollop of fresh clotted cream heaped on top.” Leah turned and looked at him. “You have some jam on your face.”

  James put a finger up to his cheek, searching for the errant spread but failing.

  With a soft smile, Leah reached out and wiped at a spot on the corner of his mouth with her finger. “There, that got it,” she said.

  James swallowed deep as he watched Leah lick the jam from her finger. If she had any idea of the effect it had on him, she hid it well. If in fact she had the slightest notion of what being near her at any time did to James and his heated blood, she was keeping it to herself.

  He was constantly looking for the signs that she might be harboring feelings for him. He had put the kiss Leah had given him before he’d set off to find Sir Geoffrey down to nerves.

  He turned his attention back to the picnic hamper. A bottle of Sir Geoffrey’s home-made ginger ale sat invitingly at the bottom of the basket, along with two small cups. After pulling the cork from the bottle, he poured them both a drink and handed one to Leah.