“I would, thank you,” she said. She even remembered to smile.
“Excellent,” the earl boomed. “And then while we drink, you can tell us how you have bewitched my son.”
Chapter Twenty
Jackson bristled ashis father began a not-so-subtle inquisition of Gwen. They’d barely arrived and already his father had made decisions about his money, Gwen, and her so-called influence on Jackson, all without the benefit of a single fact. Jackson was already angry, but to hear his father demand to know how she’d “bewitched” him, set his blood to boiling.
If his father said one thing to upset Gwen, Jackson was prepared to remove them both to Albury Castle several miles away. There were still a few habitable rooms in the crumbling edifice. She wouldn’t mind the quiet, and he used to love spending nights there as a boy. It was great fun there in the summer when it wasn’t quite so bloody cold at night.
He winced. It might not be the best place for Gwen.
Fortunately, she didn’t seem upset at his father’s initial question so much as confused. “I don’t believe I have bewitched anyone ever,” she said. Her head was tilted slightly to the side in the way she had when she was thinking hard about something. As if his father merited study for some reason. The man was being obnoxious.
“How did the two of you meet?” Lady Albury asked.
“I was a guest at his masquerade party,” she answered.
“Oh yes! The masquerade!” said Abigail with a clap of her hands. “Tell me everything about it! What was the best costume?”
Jackson was all too happy to change the conversation, but before he could speak, Beatrix cut in. “I think you have a point, Gwen. Art should strive to be both correct and evocative. An anatomically correct daffodil can still suggest the sun.”
No one responded to that. Beatrix was often in her own world when it came to art. In fact, Abigail drew breath to say something else, but she was forestalled by Gwen.
“I can help with the anatomy. I cannot help with the sun.”
Beatrix smiled. “I would like that.”
It was a simple exchange. A shared interest, an offer of help, and an acceptance for a later time. Except Gwen, apparently, didn’t realize that most people would allow the conversation to wander to other topics. She immediately scooted her chair closer to Bea’s and began discussing one flower after another. His sister, naturally, was beyond thrilled that someone took an interest in her art. Very soon, Bea was pulling flowers off her clothing. She grabbed a pair of scissors in one hand and a charcoal in another while making changes right there.
Camile tried to distract them. Abigail too, and Gwen would obediently lift her head, answer whatever question was posed to her before once again returning to Bea’s flowers.
“It would seem that Beatrix has found a kindred spirit,” his stepmother commented. And though he had never thought of Gwen as being obsessively artistic like his sister, he did see similarities in temperament. They both tended to focus on details to the exclusion of all else. And Bea could certainly seem very awkward at times. And yet he smiled when he looked at them both, his heart filling with tenderness.
The conversation moved on. Abigail wanted to know all the on-dits from London and his step-mother inquired about several of her school friends. Camile brought more substantial fare from the kitchen, and everyone had a delightful evening. Especially Jackson. Because he could see that Bea and Gwen had become fast friends, and even better, his father could not fail to see that Gwen hadn’t the deceit to lead anyone astray, much less Jackson. She was forthright, brilliant, and supremely honest, a quality so rare he valued it beyond the others. He couldn’t love her more if she were his wife.
He was in the middle of sending his father a pointed look when he processed his own thoughts.He couldn’t love her more if she were his wife. Good God, he couldn’t possibly have developed a tendre for her. Well, certainly he had affection toward her. And yet, the word “affection” was so pale compared to what he felt. “Lust” wasn’t even strong enough, nor “passion.” He delighted to hear her speak, not just her words, but her voice. He loved the way she thought, so straightforward without the normal byways and distractions that constantly plagued his mind. She often made him laugh, and for a man who rarely even chuckled, outright belly laughs were a miracle. She filled him with lust even when she was distracted and messy. Especially when charcoal smudged her cheek and her hair slipped free from its restraints. He had fantasized about that as much as he had relived how she’d seemed to dance bare-breasted in the moonlight.
Was that love? Was hein love? He rejected the very idea. He’d had absolutely no thoughts to court or marry her. In fact, he’d told her brother exactly that. Even Aaron had said it. And yet after all of that, the only word that fit his feelings waslove.True, pure love like the feelings he had for his family, only so much stronger and more intimate.
Love. It boggled his mind.
“Jackson? Are you listening to me?” Abigail demanded.
“Of course not,” he returned immediately. “You have found my limit to discussions of this year’s fashions.” He hoped she’d been talking about that. He wasn’t at all sure.
“Idiot,” she groused, though she smiled as she spoke. “I’d moved on to handsome gentlemen.”
“Well, they bore me even more.”
“Perhaps,” inserted his stepmother, “we should talk of how long you intend to stay. Your letter indicated it would be a very short time.”
He nodded. “Just long enough to fit out the daffodils for shipment and…” He turned to Gwen, but he couldn’t manage to speak to her just yet. Not until he understood his feelings toward her. So his gaze landed on his sister. “Bea, why exactly are you wearing all those painted flowers?”
“Because of your letter,” she said as she looked up from her sketchbook which was always by her side and was now spread out half on her lap, half on Gwen’s.
Jackson frowned. “I’m sure I never asked you to wear flowers in my letter.”
“You said, quote ‘I should like to see how the daffodils would best interest ladies of theton.’ Close quote.”