drawing was a better escape from grim reality than drink or mindless fornication. Creating peaceful, empty landscapes was very soothing. After the horrifically bloody seige of Badajoz, he'd done a series of Spanish flowers in watercolor. Waterloo had been the spark for some rather decent pastel sketches of children at play.
He went for his sketchbook and drawing supplies, which were concealed in the back of his wardrobe. As he felt behind the hanging garments, he touched a smooth, metallic object wedged down into a crack. A sharp tug freed a handsome silver card case. Inside, the top card read, "Thomas J. Morley."
Perfect; he'd wanted an excuse to call on Tom Morley so he could discreetly probe for information. Now he had it.
Taking the find as a good omen, he brought out his drawing materials and settled into a chair. A moment's thought gave him a good subject. A few days earlier, Beth had forwarded a letter from his friends Michael and Catherine. They had announced the birth of a son and invited him to a week-long christening party to be held on an island off Cornwall. A pity he could not afford the time or money to attend; he could not even afford a proper christening gift. A picture would have to do.
He set to work, using pencil to lightly block in a family group standing beside a baptismal font. In the center was Michael, delighted and a little nervous to be holding his infant son in his arms. To his left was Catherine, her head inclined toward her husband as she made a gentle maternal adjustment to the sweeping folds of the christening gown. On the right Catherine's daughter Amy was beaming at her new brother. Amy must be all of thirteen now. Kenneth hadn't seen her since before Waterloo, so he would have to guess at how much she had grown. She was almost a young lady and must look even more like her beautiful mother.
The final drawing was laid in with pen and India ink. Sometimes his fingers seemed divinely guided, and this was one of those occasions. Ink was unforgiving of errors, but every stroke went in exactly right. He took particular care with the expressions, wanting to portray the love that had created a new life. Since he did not know the actual setting, he made several vague,curved strokes in the background to imply churchly arches.
The picture pleased him, and he thought it would please Michael and Catherine as well. Yet when he set it aside, he felt sadness. For years, he had dreamed of his return to Sutterton. Eventual marriage had been part of the dream. He had never imagined that he would be too poor to support a wife and family. Even if Lord Bowden cleared the mortgages, years of struggle lay ahead. Capital would have to be invested in Sutterton, and whatever money could be spared must go to provide for Beth.
Forcibly he reminded himself that his situation was far brighter than before Bowden had entered his life. It might take ten years before he would be in a position to many, but with luck and hard work, the time would come.
He glanced at the drawing, and for an instant he saw the figures of himself and Rebecca instead of Michael and Catherine.
Rubbish! Rebecca might be intriguing, but she was the least wifely female he'd ever met. If and when he settled down, it would be with a warm, loving woman like Catherine, not a sharp-edged spinster who preferred painting to people.
Feeling depressed, he set his sketchbook aside. Outside, the sun was creeping above the horizon. Perhaps taking Sir Anthony's horse out for exercise would improve his mood.
Kenneth spent a moment studying the young man working diligently inside the small office. Thin, neatly dressed, an intelligent face, and a faint but unmistakable air of self-importance. Here was someone who looked like a private and personal secretary.
A rap on the door frame brought the young man's head up. "Come in, sir," he said politely. "I'm Thomas Morley, Sir Wilford's secretary. He is not available, but may I help you?"
Kenneth advanced into
He went for his sketchbook and drawing supplies, which were concealed in the back of his wardrobe. As he felt behind the hanging garments, he touched a smooth, metallic object wedged down into a crack. A sharp tug freed a handsome silver card case. Inside, the top card read, "Thomas J. Morley."
Perfect; he'd wanted an excuse to call on Tom Morley so he could discreetly probe for information. Now he had it.
Taking the find as a good omen, he brought out his drawing materials and settled into a chair. A moment's thought gave him a good subject. A few days earlier, Beth had forwarded a letter from his friends Michael and Catherine. They had announced the birth of a son and invited him to a week-long christening party to be held on an island off Cornwall. A pity he could not afford the time or money to attend; he could not even afford a proper christening gift. A picture would have to do.
He set to work, using pencil to lightly block in a family group standing beside a baptismal font. In the center was Michael, delighted and a little nervous to be holding his infant son in his arms. To his left was Catherine, her head inclined toward her husband as she made a gentle maternal adjustment to the sweeping folds of the christening gown. On the right Catherine's daughter Amy was beaming at her new brother. Amy must be all of thirteen now. Kenneth hadn't seen her since before Waterloo, so he would have to guess at how much she had grown. She was almost a young lady and must look even more like her beautiful mother.
The final drawing was laid in with pen and India ink. Sometimes his fingers seemed divinely guided, and this was one of those occasions. Ink was unforgiving of errors, but every stroke went in exactly right. He took particular care with the expressions, wanting to portray the love that had created a new life. Since he did not know the actual setting, he made several vague,curved strokes in the background to imply churchly arches.
The picture pleased him, and he thought it would please Michael and Catherine as well. Yet when he set it aside, he felt sadness. For years, he had dreamed of his return to Sutterton. Eventual marriage had been part of the dream. He had never imagined that he would be too poor to support a wife and family. Even if Lord Bowden cleared the mortgages, years of struggle lay ahead. Capital would have to be invested in Sutterton, and whatever money could be spared must go to provide for Beth.
Forcibly he reminded himself that his situation was far brighter than before Bowden had entered his life. It might take ten years before he would be in a position to many, but with luck and hard work, the time would come.
He glanced at the drawing, and for an instant he saw the figures of himself and Rebecca instead of Michael and Catherine.
Rubbish! Rebecca might be intriguing, but she was the least wifely female he'd ever met. If and when he settled down, it would be with a warm, loving woman like Catherine, not a sharp-edged spinster who preferred painting to people.
Feeling depressed, he set his sketchbook aside. Outside, the sun was creeping above the horizon. Perhaps taking Sir Anthony's horse out for exercise would improve his mood.
Kenneth spent a moment studying the young man working diligently inside the small office. Thin, neatly dressed, an intelligent face, and a faint but unmistakable air of self-importance. Here was someone who looked like a private and personal secretary.
A rap on the door frame brought the young man's head up. "Come in, sir," he said politely. "I'm Thomas Morley, Sir Wilford's secretary. He is not available, but may I help you?"
Kenneth advanced into
Similar Books
