Eye of the Beholder by Emma Jay Page A

appearance wasn’t the only thing that
made him stand out. No, rumor had it that he was in trade, and had
already made more money than his brother’s inheritance was worth.
That scandalized most of the young women and their mothers, but
intrigued Sarah. What did he do, exactly? And how did he have the
nerve to buck convention to do it?
    He turned and met her gaze. Her heart tripped
when he cocked his head and smiled before stepping into the
room.
    She watched as he greeted other guests,
though she was aware of other young women giving him a wide berth.
He was aware, as well. Before she realized what she was doing,
she’d moved from the wall into his path.
    She stopped some distance away. They had not
been properly introduced, and she respected society’s rules enough
to wait. Also, he was an intimidating man, at least twelve years
her senior, and worldly.
    Her mother appeared at her side. “Is there
someone here you’d like to meet?”
    Sarah turned to her mother, who must have
been paying close attention to notice. Her mother would never
accept Grayson Adams. Even if he was the youngest son of a duke,
the rumors of him being in trade would have her mother in fits.
    “No, Mother.” But her gaze followed
Grayson.
    Her mother noticed and drew herself up. “I’m
not feeling quite the thing. Would you like to go?”
    Any other time, Sarah would have jumped at
the chance to leave. Why did her mother wait until Grayson had
arrived? Did she suspect Sarah’s improper attraction?
    She looked from Grayson to her mother and
nodded resignedly. One day she’d have the courage to do something
she wanted.
    Today was not that day.
     
    ***
     
    Sarah didn’t sleep well after a dream of
being swept around the room in Grayson Adams’s arms, only to have
him turn her over for a younger woman with a larger fortune, so she
was at the dining room table before the servants had finished
cooking breakfast. The travel periodical she subscribed to had
arrived, however. Just as well, she didn’t want her mother to see
it, and she could enjoy it over a leisurely breakfast.
    Her mother didn’t understand her desire to
see other places. Well, maybe it wasn’t a desire so much as a
longing, since she would likely never travel out of England. Still,
she liked indulging the fantasies.
    She was nibbling on a piece of toast when an
advertisement caught her eye.
    “Artist model?” she read aloud. No experience
necessary, three hours a day for a week. That would be something
daring, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t have to know who she was, that she
was in society, and whatever money she earned would be hers. If she
was brave enough to do this, perhaps she could find the courage to
travel.
    She heard her mother on the stairs and
quickly tucked the paper beneath the folds of her skirt. Her pulse
pounded in excitement. What did an artist model do? Sit still for
long periods, no doubt. What else? Did the artist talk? Had he been
to many places? Perhaps she could speak to him of her longing to
travel.
    The advertisement didn’t say what time to
call. Were artists late risers? She made a note to visit just after
noon. She would tell her mother she was shopping, and take her maid
Lily with her.
    A plan in mind, she greeted her mother with a
smile.
    Her mother appeared taken aback by the
welcome, and regarded her warily as she moved to the sideboard to
serve her own breakfast, toast and tea, a far cry from Sarah’s more
ambitious meal.
    “You look rather like the cat with the
canary,” her mother remarked, sitting beside her.
    “I’ve just decided I must have new gloves
like Miss Winstead had last night,” Sarah lied smoothly. “Lily and
I will go out after lunch to see if I can procure a pair.”
    “Perhaps you might call on Miss Winstead,”
her mother said hopefully. “And she can direct you where to go.
Perhaps she’d even accompany you.”
    As much as her mother wanted her to find a
husband, she also wanted Sarah to find a friend. Miss