turning the pages.
As the silence stretched out, Jack began to feel absurdly nervous.
"You are very, very, good," she finally announced in a solemn voice.
"Thank you," he replied with equal gravity. "But my teacher says I have much to improve on—"
"Isabella!" Alessandra's agitated voice interrupted the exchange. "Please remember that you are not to converse with strangers—"
Jack looked around.
"Oh." The marchesa stopped in her tracks. "I didn't realize it was you, sir."
He unfolded his legs and rose. "Your daughter is a very talented artist, Lady Giamatti."
"Praise from your lips?" She quirked a tentative smile. "I may swoon from shock."
"You don't strike me as the sort of female who faints very often," he replied. "Though you did appear on the verge of it last night."
Alessandra paled for an instant before recovering her composure. "I was tired from traveling," she said curtly.
Jack had a feeling there was more to the story than that. However, he accepted the explanation with a polite nod. "I trust you are feeling more rested today."
"Yes. Thank you," she murmured, dropping her gaze and taking a seat on the ground cloth beside her daughter.
Jack sat down again, too, earning a slight frown.
"Mama, look at these drawings." Isabella held out his sketchbook before her mother could go on. "Lord James is a corking good artist, is he not?"
"You must not say 'corking,' tesoro," said Alessandra. "It is not considered ladylike language."
"I don't like being a lady." Isabella snorted a sigh. "Ladies aren't allowed to have any fun."
Jack couldn't help but smile. "What would you rather be?" he asked.
The little girl thought for a moment "A pirate! Sailing the seas in search of buried treasure."
"So you like ships?"
"I—I am not sure," admitted Isabella. "I have only been on board one once, when we crossed from Calais to Dover."
He wasn't quite sure what prompted him to speak, save that the little girl seemed lonely. "My eldest brother keeps his yacht anchored at Bristol. If you would like to test the waters, so to speak, I would be happy to arrange for a day cruise. There are quite a number of interesting views of the coast to sketch."
"Oh, what a cork—that is, what a very nice offer, sir." She fixed her mother with a pleading look. "May we, Mama?"
"It is a generous offer, indeed," said Alessandra slowly.
Jack saw her take a cursory look at his book—but only because her daughter had angled the pages right under her nose.
"However, I cannot make any promises, Isa," she continued. "The excavation will require a great deal of work over the next few weeks. I will be very busy. And so will Lord James. I am not sure how much free time we will have for excursions."
The little girl's shoulders sagged but she said nothing as she carefully closed his sketchbook and placed it back in his lap.
Alessandra bit her lip. "It is nearly time for tea, tesoro. Shall we stop for strawberry ices on the way home?"
"I'm not very hungry," replied Isabella in a small voice.
Jack hadn't meant to make waves. But no doubt the lady thought that he had deliberately stirred up a squall.
However, when she looked up, there was no accusation in her lovely eyes. Just raw vulnerability. At that moment, Alessandra della Giamatti wasn't the worldly, self-assured scholar. Her mask had slipped, showing a glimpse of her inner feelings. Regrets, shaded by recrimination.
Jack felt a sudden stab of sympathy. Hell, her life must not be easy—a widow, far away from friends, trying to raise a child on her own. He wondered why she had chosen to leave all that was familiar for a foreign land...
"Then we shall go straight home, and Cook will make you a cup of hot chocolate " said Alessandra, smoothing the curls from her daughter's brow. "The ground is damp and you look a little chilled." She hurriedly packed up Isabella's painting supplies. "Good day, Lord James."
The message was clear as a ship's bell—she meant to weather the storm alone.
Any
As the silence stretched out, Jack began to feel absurdly nervous.
"You are very, very, good," she finally announced in a solemn voice.
"Thank you," he replied with equal gravity. "But my teacher says I have much to improve on—"
"Isabella!" Alessandra's agitated voice interrupted the exchange. "Please remember that you are not to converse with strangers—"
Jack looked around.
"Oh." The marchesa stopped in her tracks. "I didn't realize it was you, sir."
He unfolded his legs and rose. "Your daughter is a very talented artist, Lady Giamatti."
"Praise from your lips?" She quirked a tentative smile. "I may swoon from shock."
"You don't strike me as the sort of female who faints very often," he replied. "Though you did appear on the verge of it last night."
Alessandra paled for an instant before recovering her composure. "I was tired from traveling," she said curtly.
Jack had a feeling there was more to the story than that. However, he accepted the explanation with a polite nod. "I trust you are feeling more rested today."
"Yes. Thank you," she murmured, dropping her gaze and taking a seat on the ground cloth beside her daughter.
Jack sat down again, too, earning a slight frown.
"Mama, look at these drawings." Isabella held out his sketchbook before her mother could go on. "Lord James is a corking good artist, is he not?"
"You must not say 'corking,' tesoro," said Alessandra. "It is not considered ladylike language."
"I don't like being a lady." Isabella snorted a sigh. "Ladies aren't allowed to have any fun."
Jack couldn't help but smile. "What would you rather be?" he asked.
The little girl thought for a moment "A pirate! Sailing the seas in search of buried treasure."
"So you like ships?"
"I—I am not sure," admitted Isabella. "I have only been on board one once, when we crossed from Calais to Dover."
He wasn't quite sure what prompted him to speak, save that the little girl seemed lonely. "My eldest brother keeps his yacht anchored at Bristol. If you would like to test the waters, so to speak, I would be happy to arrange for a day cruise. There are quite a number of interesting views of the coast to sketch."
"Oh, what a cork—that is, what a very nice offer, sir." She fixed her mother with a pleading look. "May we, Mama?"
"It is a generous offer, indeed," said Alessandra slowly.
Jack saw her take a cursory look at his book—but only because her daughter had angled the pages right under her nose.
"However, I cannot make any promises, Isa," she continued. "The excavation will require a great deal of work over the next few weeks. I will be very busy. And so will Lord James. I am not sure how much free time we will have for excursions."
The little girl's shoulders sagged but she said nothing as she carefully closed his sketchbook and placed it back in his lap.
Alessandra bit her lip. "It is nearly time for tea, tesoro. Shall we stop for strawberry ices on the way home?"
"I'm not very hungry," replied Isabella in a small voice.
Jack hadn't meant to make waves. But no doubt the lady thought that he had deliberately stirred up a squall.
However, when she looked up, there was no accusation in her lovely eyes. Just raw vulnerability. At that moment, Alessandra della Giamatti wasn't the worldly, self-assured scholar. Her mask had slipped, showing a glimpse of her inner feelings. Regrets, shaded by recrimination.
Jack felt a sudden stab of sympathy. Hell, her life must not be easy—a widow, far away from friends, trying to raise a child on her own. He wondered why she had chosen to leave all that was familiar for a foreign land...
"Then we shall go straight home, and Cook will make you a cup of hot chocolate " said Alessandra, smoothing the curls from her daughter's brow. "The ground is damp and you look a little chilled." She hurriedly packed up Isabella's painting supplies. "Good day, Lord James."
The message was clear as a ship's bell—she meant to weather the storm alone.
Any
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