think we should inform my nephew?"
"He does seem rather proud of himself."
"I suppose you're right. It won't do to discourage him from heroic acts." A shadow crossed the older woman's face. "Though maybe we should," she said more quietly.
Intrigued, Caroline slowed their pace. "What do you mean?"
Gladys drew a breath. "Oh, he has it in his head that he wants to join Wellington on the Peninsula."
That explained his desire for a portrait of himself in military uniform. "He is the third brother, is he not?"
"Yes, he is. But—" Lady Gladys broke off. "It's a very long story, and not one meant for today. We should probably fetch the smelling salts."
With those intriguing words echoing about in her mind, Caroline led the way to one of the servants' closets and found the right bottle. So Zachary wanted to join the army, and at least one member of his family didn't want him to.
From his comments about his brothers' reactions to seeing him in a military uniform, several members of his family were against his decision.
Well, she could certainly sympathize with him wanting to do something his family didn't understand or appreciate. But that didn't make them alike. After all, she was taking steps to follow her dreams. Lord Zachary didn't appear to be doing anything but escorting his aunt on holiday and raising the level of chaos in her already unruly home.
What was it about him, then, that intrigued her so much? Yes, he had beautiful eyes and a handsome face and a lean, athletic frame. And yes, he seemed to have the ability to make her laugh when she meant to be serious, and banter when she knew she should be quiet. Caroline closed her eyes for a moment as her mother's maid appeared to administer the smelling salts. She had no control over what he did or who he was or what he wanted. All she knew was what she wanted—and that was to paint his portrait and submit it to Vienna before the deadline. Nothing else mattered. Not even his kisses.
Zachary stepped out of the way as the herd of females rushed in to administer aid to their mama. Personally he thought they were overreacting; on the way up to her bedchamber Mrs. Witfeld had adjusted the drape of her skirt twice.
Aunt Tremaine was obviously fond of Sally Witfeld, but from Zachary's perspective the Witfeld matriarch wasn't doing her daughters any favors. Some gentlemen of his acquaintance preferred delicate, fainting females, but he couldn't think of one soul who would voluntarily ally himself in marriage with a chit prone to scenes and hysterics.
He took another step backward, toward the edge of the room. All the daughters had gathered and were busily expressing varying degrees of concern over their apparently unconscious mother. The twins, Joanna and Julia, both waved fans over her face. Violet, the youngest, held her limp hand, while Susan and Grace argued over whether Mary Gorman should be permitted to dance with him at the ball. Closest to the door and furthest from the chaos Anne looked amused, while beside her Caroline's expression was more difficult to read.
As he watched, she turned her head and caught his gaze. At first he thought she must be embarrassed, but that was wrong, he realized. It was resignation he saw in her eyes. She'd probably lived through this same scene a hundred times, and she knew all the lines and had played all the parts. Yes, he enjoyed chaos, but obviously she at least on occasion found it troublesome. And that bothered him, despite her skepticism over his ability to train Harold.
Moving quietly so he wouldn't attract any of the female attention, he made his way over beside her. "So I looked at the Mona Lisa for nearly an hour," he said in a low tone, "and I finally realized what it was that kept my attention."
"And what was that?" she whispered, edging closer.
The hair on his arms lifted. "She knew something," he made himself continue in the same easy tone. "Some sort of secret. I could see it in her eyes, and I just had this feeling
"He does seem rather proud of himself."
"I suppose you're right. It won't do to discourage him from heroic acts." A shadow crossed the older woman's face. "Though maybe we should," she said more quietly.
Intrigued, Caroline slowed their pace. "What do you mean?"
Gladys drew a breath. "Oh, he has it in his head that he wants to join Wellington on the Peninsula."
That explained his desire for a portrait of himself in military uniform. "He is the third brother, is he not?"
"Yes, he is. But—" Lady Gladys broke off. "It's a very long story, and not one meant for today. We should probably fetch the smelling salts."
With those intriguing words echoing about in her mind, Caroline led the way to one of the servants' closets and found the right bottle. So Zachary wanted to join the army, and at least one member of his family didn't want him to.
From his comments about his brothers' reactions to seeing him in a military uniform, several members of his family were against his decision.
Well, she could certainly sympathize with him wanting to do something his family didn't understand or appreciate. But that didn't make them alike. After all, she was taking steps to follow her dreams. Lord Zachary didn't appear to be doing anything but escorting his aunt on holiday and raising the level of chaos in her already unruly home.
What was it about him, then, that intrigued her so much? Yes, he had beautiful eyes and a handsome face and a lean, athletic frame. And yes, he seemed to have the ability to make her laugh when she meant to be serious, and banter when she knew she should be quiet. Caroline closed her eyes for a moment as her mother's maid appeared to administer the smelling salts. She had no control over what he did or who he was or what he wanted. All she knew was what she wanted—and that was to paint his portrait and submit it to Vienna before the deadline. Nothing else mattered. Not even his kisses.
Zachary stepped out of the way as the herd of females rushed in to administer aid to their mama. Personally he thought they were overreacting; on the way up to her bedchamber Mrs. Witfeld had adjusted the drape of her skirt twice.
Aunt Tremaine was obviously fond of Sally Witfeld, but from Zachary's perspective the Witfeld matriarch wasn't doing her daughters any favors. Some gentlemen of his acquaintance preferred delicate, fainting females, but he couldn't think of one soul who would voluntarily ally himself in marriage with a chit prone to scenes and hysterics.
He took another step backward, toward the edge of the room. All the daughters had gathered and were busily expressing varying degrees of concern over their apparently unconscious mother. The twins, Joanna and Julia, both waved fans over her face. Violet, the youngest, held her limp hand, while Susan and Grace argued over whether Mary Gorman should be permitted to dance with him at the ball. Closest to the door and furthest from the chaos Anne looked amused, while beside her Caroline's expression was more difficult to read.
As he watched, she turned her head and caught his gaze. At first he thought she must be embarrassed, but that was wrong, he realized. It was resignation he saw in her eyes. She'd probably lived through this same scene a hundred times, and she knew all the lines and had played all the parts. Yes, he enjoyed chaos, but obviously she at least on occasion found it troublesome. And that bothered him, despite her skepticism over his ability to train Harold.
Moving quietly so he wouldn't attract any of the female attention, he made his way over beside her. "So I looked at the Mona Lisa for nearly an hour," he said in a low tone, "and I finally realized what it was that kept my attention."
"And what was that?" she whispered, edging closer.
The hair on his arms lifted. "She knew something," he made himself continue in the same easy tone. "Some sort of secret. I could see it in her eyes, and I just had this feeling
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