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comfort.
    “Why do we not plan a call on the carriage builder soon, if that is the case. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
    Victoria glanced down at her hands, unwilling he should see what might be in her eyes, for she could not always conceal her thoughts. It would hardly do to let the dratted man know that she found him fascinating, and that she really wished to see more of him—only so she might make a bust of him, of course. Raising her lashes, she returned his steady gaze. “That would be lovely. I must take my head to the foundry in the morning, but I should be free all afternoon.”
    “Take your head?” He gave her a quizzical, highly amused look that drew a chuckle from Victoria.
    “I just finished making the plaster cast for the head I sculptured while I was away.” Then she surprised herself by offering, “Would you like to see it?”
    He stood away from the desk. “Indeed. I have seen samples of your work, and find the idea of viewing a work in progress most captivating.”
    “Come with me, then,” she responded, wondering what had possessed her to invite this relative stranger into her most private place, where she worked at what she loved to do.
    * * * *
    Sir Edward paused on the threshold of the room, his eyes swiftly absorbing the contents.
    Victoria assessed it as well, trying to see it as he must. Whitewashed walls reflected bright morning light that streamed in through uncurtained windows, sharply revealing the tables and implements used by the women in their art. His turned to the large lump of plaster sitting on a wooden stand. “This is your head?”
    “You can be forgiven that tone of voice. It has a way to go as yet.’’ She slipped on the apron, then quickly tied the tapes, wishing to avoid his help.
    He followed her to the stand, watching her every move. “What next?”
    She deftly knocked off the mold, leaving the perfect cast sitting on the stand for him to admire. She tossed the waste mold into a bin, then picked up the tool she used to smooth off any roughness, gently stroking it across a spot on the head that needed finishing.
    “Admirable,” Edward breathed. “It is old Chatham to a tee, unless the man has a twin.”
    “You know the admiral?”
    “I see Chatham from time to time, usually at the war office. Nice old chap.”
    Victoria wondered at the speculative look she caught in Sir Edward’s eyes.
    “He is waiting patiently for this,” she said absently, returning her attention to the sculpture. “Fortunately, people seem to understand that the sculpturing process is not one to be done quickly. This is what I shall take with me in the morning.” She removed the apron, neatly hanging it up again, then waited for him to join her on a walk to the front door. She wanted to pin down the time for tomorrow, not to mention discover the carriage builder they would patronize, before Sir Edward left.
    He seemed in no rush to depart, strolling about the room, then over to the shelves Elizabeth had perused earlier. “Ah, I believe I see a few more friends. How diverting to find them all on the shelf.”
    He turned to share a quick grin with her, and Victoria felt her heart perform the oddest flip-flop. Struggling to maintain a cool voice, she replied, “I see what you mean. I confess I had never thought of it that way, for I believe they are all active people, are they not?”
    “Which makes this all the more amusing. You are very good, Miss Dancy. Every one of these is quite like the man it represents. Amazing.” At last he turned to join her on the walk to the front of the house.
    Evenson was there before them, standing by the door in expectation of assisting the gentleman to his carriage.
    “Shall we say two of the clock, then?”
    Victoria pursed her mouth, then nodded. “I ought to be home by then, surely. And where do we go?”
    He mentioned the name of one of the finest carriage builders in all of London, and Victoria looked up at him with increased respect. “Indeed?” she