bring any ermine, and I left my satin breeches at home, but I do own a rather fine sapphire stickpin. Do you think that will be sufficient to impress the neighbors?"
Eden laughed. "I suppose it will have to do. You would not happen to have a coronet tucked in your luggage, would you?"
She reflected that Mr. Lindow scarcely needed external embellishment in order to command respect. His height, his rather forbidding features, and above all that assured stare combined to convey the certainty that here was a man to be reckoned with.
Seth joined in her laughter, and the thought occurred to him that his brief period of ruralization might not be so onerous after all. He observed that Miss Beckett had tucked away her equipment and was now preparing to mount her little mare.
"I hope I'm not driving you away from your work," he said diffidently. "I'll be leaving now."
"Oh, no. It's high time I returned home. In fact, it's a good thing you happened by. As so often occurs when I'm out here by myself, I tend to lose track of time."
Seth assisted her with the satchel, easel and stool, then, cupping his hands, tossed her lightly into her saddle. Astride his own horse, he accompanied Miss Beckett back to the house.
They conversed easily and companionably on the way, and when they reached the stable yard, Seth asked, "May I see your paintings now?"
Eden turned to him, startled. "Now? Oh, no. That is, I am promised to the vicar's wife for a meeting on an upcoming church fete. After luncheon perhaps."
"Very well, or—no, I'll be off then for a spot of fishing with your papa. When I return, perhaps?"
"That will be fine." Dismounting, Eden collected her paraphernalia and, with a smiling nod, returned to the house.
Her mood oddly unsettled, Eden went about the routine of her day in a fog of abstraction. She had been prepared to dislike Mr. Seth Lindow, sure that he was somehow up to no good with his clearly meretricious story of a horse-buying outing in the country. Yet, he seemed harmless enough, although harmless was the last word she would use to describe him. He could be charming, she mused. She had watched the hard gaze soften and the harsh features crinkle into laughter. And he liked her painting—certainly a point in his favor. Or perhaps he was merely trying to turn her up sweet. But why? Lord knew she had little influence with Zoë, or with her parents for that matter. Of course, even if he genuinely respected her art, that did not make his motives any less suspicious—but it certainly made it more difficult to keep her guard up.
After her visit with Mrs. Genther, the vicar's wife, Eden returned home to pursue another favorite hobby, gardening. She was inordinately proud of her roses, and, although at this time of year, her rose garden was bare, there was still much work to be done to assure future blooms of acceptable quality. She did not enter the house again until much later in the day, thus did not see Mr. Lindow until his return from the fishing expedition.
"Yes, we were reasonably successful," replied Seth in answer to her question. "Your papa owns every kind of fly known to man, and he was most generous. When the Jock Coachman failed to produce results, he provided me with a Black-tail Viper and a Wee Grubbie after that. How could I miss? Your cook promised us a fine feast of trout for dinner. Good God, where is this studio of yours? We seem to have been climbing forever."
Eden, hurrying to the drawing room after being summoned by a footman, had led Seth to the rear of the house and then up three flights of stairs to a warren of corridors, each more dark and deserted than the one before. At last, she paused before a door and threw it open. Seth blinked in the sudden shaft of light that assaulted him. The room lay across the back of the house, facing north, and it smelled of oil and turpentine. A large easel was set up in the center, catching light from the windows that spread across the chamber. Along the walls
Eden laughed. "I suppose it will have to do. You would not happen to have a coronet tucked in your luggage, would you?"
She reflected that Mr. Lindow scarcely needed external embellishment in order to command respect. His height, his rather forbidding features, and above all that assured stare combined to convey the certainty that here was a man to be reckoned with.
Seth joined in her laughter, and the thought occurred to him that his brief period of ruralization might not be so onerous after all. He observed that Miss Beckett had tucked away her equipment and was now preparing to mount her little mare.
"I hope I'm not driving you away from your work," he said diffidently. "I'll be leaving now."
"Oh, no. It's high time I returned home. In fact, it's a good thing you happened by. As so often occurs when I'm out here by myself, I tend to lose track of time."
Seth assisted her with the satchel, easel and stool, then, cupping his hands, tossed her lightly into her saddle. Astride his own horse, he accompanied Miss Beckett back to the house.
They conversed easily and companionably on the way, and when they reached the stable yard, Seth asked, "May I see your paintings now?"
Eden turned to him, startled. "Now? Oh, no. That is, I am promised to the vicar's wife for a meeting on an upcoming church fete. After luncheon perhaps."
"Very well, or—no, I'll be off then for a spot of fishing with your papa. When I return, perhaps?"
"That will be fine." Dismounting, Eden collected her paraphernalia and, with a smiling nod, returned to the house.
Her mood oddly unsettled, Eden went about the routine of her day in a fog of abstraction. She had been prepared to dislike Mr. Seth Lindow, sure that he was somehow up to no good with his clearly meretricious story of a horse-buying outing in the country. Yet, he seemed harmless enough, although harmless was the last word she would use to describe him. He could be charming, she mused. She had watched the hard gaze soften and the harsh features crinkle into laughter. And he liked her painting—certainly a point in his favor. Or perhaps he was merely trying to turn her up sweet. But why? Lord knew she had little influence with Zoë, or with her parents for that matter. Of course, even if he genuinely respected her art, that did not make his motives any less suspicious—but it certainly made it more difficult to keep her guard up.
After her visit with Mrs. Genther, the vicar's wife, Eden returned home to pursue another favorite hobby, gardening. She was inordinately proud of her roses, and, although at this time of year, her rose garden was bare, there was still much work to be done to assure future blooms of acceptable quality. She did not enter the house again until much later in the day, thus did not see Mr. Lindow until his return from the fishing expedition.
"Yes, we were reasonably successful," replied Seth in answer to her question. "Your papa owns every kind of fly known to man, and he was most generous. When the Jock Coachman failed to produce results, he provided me with a Black-tail Viper and a Wee Grubbie after that. How could I miss? Your cook promised us a fine feast of trout for dinner. Good God, where is this studio of yours? We seem to have been climbing forever."
Eden, hurrying to the drawing room after being summoned by a footman, had led Seth to the rear of the house and then up three flights of stairs to a warren of corridors, each more dark and deserted than the one before. At last, she paused before a door and threw it open. Seth blinked in the sudden shaft of light that assaulted him. The room lay across the back of the house, facing north, and it smelled of oil and turpentine. A large easel was set up in the center, catching light from the windows that spread across the chamber. Along the walls
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