Simply Love by Mary Balogh Page A

Morg,” he said, his tone light, “Wulfric would be too delighted if I so misused the time for which he is paying me.”
    For a few moments as she watched him walk away, Anne wondered what he had done to hurt himself. He was limping. But even as she thought it he adjusted his stride and walked normally.
    â€œMr. Butler,” David said excitedly when he was only just out of earshot, “is the monster.”
    â€œDavid!” Anne cried.
    The countess set a hand on his shoulder.
    â€œThe monster?” she said.
    â€œThat is what Alexander calls him,” David told her. “He says he is monstrously ugly and lies in wait for children on stormy nights to eat out their liver.”
    â€œDavid,” Anne said sharply. “Mr. Butler is the Duke of Bewcastle’s steward. He was a brave soldier in the wars against Napoléon Bonaparte that you have learned of in your history lessons, and he was horribly wounded while fighting. He is a man to be admired, not someone to be turned into a monster.”
    â€œI am only saying what Alexander said,” David protested. “It was stupid and I will tell him so.”
    â€œI grew up at Lindsey Hall, David,” the countess said as she washed her brushes and tidied up her painting things. “My brothers and sister and I used to play with the Butler boys from the neighboring estate. I was very much the youngest in my family, and they were usually impatient with me and would have left me behind if they could when they went to play. Kit Butler was my hero because he would usually take me up on his shoulders so that I could keep up with them all. But it was Sydnam who was always most kind to me and most willing to talk to me and listen to me as if I were a real person. He was the one who encouraged me to paint as I wished to paint. When he was brought home from the wars deathly ill and dreadfully maimed, I felt as if a little part of me had died. I thought he would never be the same again, and indeed I was right. He made himself into a new person and came here. Those who did not know him before and those who do not take the time to get to know him now will perhaps always look at him and see a monster. But you and I are artists. We know that the real meaning of things lies deep down and that the real meaning of things is always beautiful because it is simply love.”
    â€œHe knows about painting,” David said. “I wish
he
could show me how to use oil paints. But he cannot, can he? He doesn’t have his arm.”
    â€œNo, he does not,” the countess said sadly. “And, oh, dear, we must have been here far too long. Here come Gervase and Joshua to drag us home.”
    â€¦the real meaning of things is always beautiful because it is simply love.
    Could that possibly be right? Anne wondered. Was it true?
    â€œWell,
chérie,
” the earl called as he came within earshot, “did you do it this time?” He stepped up to the countess’s easel and set one hand on her shoulder.
    â€œNot quite.” She laughed ruefully. “But I will never stop trying, Gervase.”
    She tipped her head sideways and touched her cheek to his hand.
    It was a brief gesture and quite unostentatious. But it smote Anne with its suggestion of a close marital relationship.
    Joshua meanwhile was complimenting David on his painting and squeezing the back of his neck affectionately.
    He walked beside Anne on the way back to the house, carrying David’s easel and painting while the boy ran on ahead through the trees and then across the lawn, his arms stretched to the sides, pretending to be a kite in the breeze.
    â€œHe says you are going to make him into a formidable bowler at cricket,” she said.
    Joshua laughed. “He will be tolerably competent if he works hard at it,” he said. “Are you going to join in the game this afternoon, Anne, or are you going to play coward as you did yesterday and hide out on the