“And I’ll play the role of timekeeper,” Miles said. “I’ve only ever seen Rory draw engineering plans, so this should be fun!”
“Actually, I’ve never drawn a person before, only wild animals,” Rory said. “I suspect in your case, Miss Fiona, it amounts to the same thing.”
“Don’t tease me. I don’t bite.”
“I heard a rumor to the contrary.”
“I’ve been defanged.”
He regarded her appraisingly. “You do seem tamer than usual today, but I take nothing for granted.”
“Good.” She winked. “A lady should always keep a gentleman guessing.”
Throughout the rest of the picnic, the conversation between Fiona and Rory was light and convivial. She realized she was flirting outrageously, but she had no wish to curb herself. In fact, her mother’s advice had buoyed her so much that she felt unfettered and effervescent. If her manners made Rory uncomfortable, let him return to London. In fact, she’d already given him a ready excuse he could use at any time. If you should happen to receive an urgent message from your father, I think no one would look askance at your departure. Until then, she’d encourage his interest as much as possible. Perhaps Mrs. Rory Braithwaite didn’t sound quite as grand as Lady Wren, but Fiona suddenly didn’t care a jot. Her feelings toward Rory already far outstripped anything she could ever muster toward Sir Harry—despite all the older man’s wealth, power, and prestige. If Rory should ever declare his love for her, Fiona suspected she would float away with happiness, joining the glorious white clouds suspended in the sky overhead.
Chapter Ten
Urgent Business
AS FIONA PUT PENCIL TO PAPER in her quest to capture Rory’s image after dinner that night, a sense of joy was unleashed. Not only was she engaged in one of her favorite activities, but she could stare at the man all she liked without fear of censure or embarrassment. What a shame the contest would last only twenty minutes! She drank in the shape of his blue eyes, nearly flawless nose, and well-shaped lips that most women would die to possess—or kiss. Once she’d finished sketching his square jaw, she moved onto replicating his fair hair, admiring the way it curled at the nape of his neck and swept back from his brow in a regal fashion reminiscent of a lion’s mane.
Miles tapped the hourglass. “Time.”
So soon? When Fiona tore her gaze away from her subject, she felt somewhat bereft. After glancing at her sketch, however, a pleasurable sensation ensued. With more time, she would have sketched more fully the top of Rory’s broad shoulders, crisp white shirt, black evening jacket and bow tie. Nevertheless, the rest of the sketch reflected his masculine qualities rather well, in her opinion.
Miles gestured. “Can you turn your easels toward me so I can judge?”
“Oh, have our dueling artists finished?” Mrs. Robinson put down her embroidery hoop and rose from her chair. “I’d love to have a look.”
Mr. Robinson glanced up from his novel. “I’d like to form an opinion as well.”
As the Robinsons hastened over, Fiona came to stand next to Miles so she could better view the sketches. Her jaw dropped slightly at the idealized version of herself gazing out from the paper. Rory had drawn her as a far more beautiful woman than she could ever be in real life. The woman in his sketch was warm, self-possessed, and desirable—nothing whatsoever like the somewhat unremarkable girl she truly was. Her insides melted, and something nudged her into strange, unfamiliar, wondrous territory. A few moments before she was just a girl, and now she was a girl…in love.
Mrs. Robinson made a sound of admiration when she saw Fiona’s sketch, but gasped when she glanced at the drawing of her daughter. “Isn’t that lovely! Mr. Braithwaite, I had no idea you were so talented.”
“By Jove, that’s Fiona to a tittle.” Mr. Robinson bent to have a closer look. “And that’s Mr. Braithwaite, as if he were standing right in front of me.”
While Fiona’s parents and Miles discussed the two sketches, Fiona joined Rory off to one side. “It’s a beautiful drawing of me, Mr. Braithwaite, but not faithful at all.”
“I sketched what I saw.” He nodded toward her sketch. “I daresay you were far too kind in your depiction of me.”
“As you say, I sketched what I saw. However, I do believe you’ve bested me tonight. I bow to your superior skill.”
“No, my skills were enhanced by my subject, Miss Fiona. I was feeling inspired.”
“You’re quite the gallant.” She touched Miles on the shoulder. “You needn’t pronounce the winner. I concede to Mr. Braithwaite.” Unspoken was the realization she’d also surrendered her heart.
“I was about to say both sketches are extremely praiseworthy. I believe them both to be winners.”
Fiona laughed. “Very diplomatic, I must say.”
“I don’t have a vote, but I agree,” Mr. Robinson said.
Mrs. Robinson nodded. “I couldn’t decide between them, even if I tried.”
As the Robinsons returned to their former fireside activities, Rory gave Fiona a bow. “We are—I believe—well matched, Miss Fiona.”
Her eyes widened at his turn of phrase. Was he referring only to their artistic abilities or was there a deeper meaning to his words? Her stomach fluttered, and she became breathless.
“Well…that’s settled then. And now, Miles, it’s your turn to sit for me.”
Miles held up his hands to ward off the suggestion. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly!”
“Nonsense. I daresay Lara would treasure your likeness very much. Perhaps you’ll join me in the effort, Mr. Braithwaite. I’d enjoy seeing more of your skill.”
“If you wish, but I’m not certain Miles will provide the same inspiration.”
“Ha!” Miles settled himself in his chair. “I want you to know I’m only agreeing to sit because of the jolly nice picnic Fiona brought to the church today. Good deeds deserve a reward.”
She frowned. “I can’t bring you lunch tomorrow, unfortunately, but I will send along servants with a hamper. It seems Mama and I have been invited to dine with Mrs. Wren.”
“Never mind me,” Mr. Robinson murmured from several yards away. “I’m fine by myself.”
Mrs. Robinson clucked her tongue. “Oh, Wilfred, you wouldn’t want to have lunch with us anyway. It’ll just be ladies.”
Fiona and Rory sketched in silence for a little while.
“Mrs. Wren is Sir Harry’s mother, I take it?” Rory asked finally.
“Yes, and she’s a good friend of Mama’s.”
“When will we have the pleasure of Sir Harry’s company again?”
Fiona shook her head. “He mentioned being gone only a few days.”
“Let’s hope the man finds something so absorbing in London that he cannot tear himself away for several weeks.”
Although she couldn’t say so aloud, Fiona agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. Now that she’d decided to refuse Sir Harry, she wasn’t looking forward to delivering the news. He was a forceful man, and she suspected he wouldn’t accept her decision gracefully. As long as Rory was nearby, however, her courage would rise to the task. In addition, when she announced her refusal, she fervently hoped Rory would be encouraged enough to make a proposal of his own.
Miles’s eyes slid toward the timer. “How much longer?”
“No talking!” Fiona admonished.
Miles resumed his pose. “I was just going to suggest Rory play the piano for us after this.”
“What a delightful suggestion,” Fiona said. “In fact, I’d love it if you would, Mr. Braithwaite.”
Rory winced. “I’m rather rusty, but if you promise not to judge, I’ll be glad to play. Actually, ever since I saw that piano in the music room, I’ve wanted to hear how it sounds.”
Fiona smiled. “Your fingertips will coax only the loveliest of music from its keys, I’m certain.”
“Good night, Colleen.” Iris sat on her bed, clad in nightdress and wrapper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Very
good, Miss Braithwaite. Sleep well.”
As soon as the maid left, Iris sprang into action. First came the farewell letter she’d leave for her father. She’d been composing it all afternoon in her head, but hadn’t dared commit the words to paper lest the letter be discovered too early. After she’d written it, she was surprised at its short length…but what else was there to say? The letter ended with her promising to write once she and Moordale had married, with the expectation her father would invite them to return to London. Once confronted with the reality of the situation, her father couldn’t fail to welcome the newlyweds with open arms. In addition, Rory would be forced to be gracious because as the wife of a peer, she’d outrank him!
After sealing the envelope, Iris arranged it on her pillow for Colleen to find the following morning. Next, she stripped off her nightclothes and dressed herself in two pairs of everything wherever possible. Until Moordale took her shopping, she’d have to look presentable in what she could smuggle out of the house. Although she was rather warm bundled up, it couldn’t be helped. Her carpetbag was stuffed to bursting with her belongings—purloined and otherwise—and couldn’t hold anything else.
At the appointed hour, Iris snuffed out her oil lamp, opened her door, and felt her way down the hall in the dark. When she was nearly to the stairs, however, she heard a creak on the floorboard overhead. Frozen with fear, she flattened herself against the wall and held her breath. If caught, how could she possibly explain being fully dressed and clutching a carpetbag full of valuables? Her heart hammered against her chest as she waited to see if she’d been found out. Fortunately, whoever was stirring at that time of night didn’t come down the staircase.
She sucked air into her lungs and crept down the stairs once more, praying she didn’t trip and break her neck. When she reached the entryway, she was glad that the streetlights shining through the glass in the door gave her a little illumination. Wincing at every little noise she made, Iris teased open the hidden drawer in the calling-card table where a spare key to the front door was kept. She was also pleased to discover the butler’s purse—a small leather envelope contained cash used to pay messengers, deliverymen, and cabs. Glade would be vexed to find it missing, but her need was greater. She pocketed the money, unlocked the door, and eased out into the night.
Moordale, looking as dashing as ever, was waiting for her next to a grand carriage. Without a word, he whisked her and her bag into the cab and signaled the driver to drive on.
Iris giggled as she threw her arms around his neck. “This is so exciting!”
He patted her back. “Yes, it is.”
“Well, kiss me!”
The rushed peck on the cheek wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but she supposed a speeding carriage wasn’t conducive to amorousness. She sat back, smoothed her skirts, and tried to relax. Eloping was extremely trying on her nerves.
“Er…did you have any trouble getting away?” he asked.
“No, although I was certain I’d be caught any moment. Where are we going?”
“It’s too late to catch a train, so I thought we’d spend the night at Lady Quarterbury’s house and start our journey tomorrow. You won’t be missed until then.”
“Oh, Iggy, I do love you so.” She rested her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes, and breathed in his cologne. “Have you a special license so we can be wed?”
He cleared his throat. “No worries, my dear. I’m taking care of everything.”
Harry ate breakfast at his London townhouse, and then asked the butler summon a cab to take him to the Braithwaite residence. After asking the driver to wait, he stepped down from the cab, lifted the brass knocker on the shiny red door and gave the plate several sharp raps.
His knock was answered almost immediately by the butler. “Are you Sir Harry Wren?”
“Why, yes.”
“We’ve been expecting you. Please come in. Mr. Braithwaite will see you right away.”
The butler took Harry’s hat and coat and showed him into a study where a gentleman was pacing. Harry could see the man’s resemblance to his son immediately, although Mr. Braithwaite’s face was creased with anguish and worry. Harry pretended not to notice.
“Sir Harry Wren at your service.” He extended his hand for a handshake.
“Peyton Braithwaite.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please forgive the early hour of my visit, but I’m just on my way to catch a train north, and I wanted to meet you before I left town. As I said in my message, I dined recently with your son and found him quite charming.”
“I apologize, sir, but you find me exceedingly preoccupied this morning. I must ask you to do me a small favor, if you will.” Mr. Braithwaite retrieved a letter from his desk. “Could you take this message to Rory? He must return to London immediately on a matter of extreme urgency.”
Harry feigned concern as he took the letter. “Of course I’m happy to oblige, but is there anything I can do?”
“I’m afraid not, but I’ll be greatly in your debt if you deliver the message without delay.”
“Count on me, Mr. Braithwaite. I hope when next we meet, the circumstances will be far more favorable.”
“As do I, Sir Harry. As do I.”
Mr. Braithwaite rang for the butler to show Harry out. Moments later, Harry emerged from the house with a broad smile on his face. He tucked Mr. Braithwaite’s letter into his coat pocket and gave it a pat. “I love it when a plan unfolds.”
All morning, workers had been busy with spades and shovels, digging shallow trenches to channel rainwater away from the foundations of St. James church and toward a narrow creek downslope. Pleased with the progress so far, Rory was conferring with the construction foreman when Miles appeared.
“Excuse me, Rory, but there seems to be a huge boulder embedded underneath the topsoil across the easternmost trench. Do you want to reroute, or should the workers use pickaxes?”
The foreman grimaced. “Cutting through rock will slow us down something awful, Mr. Braithwaite.”
“I expect we’ll have to reroute, then,” Rory said. “Let’s go have a look and see what we’re up against.”
Just as they’d finished plotting a workaround, a cab stopped in front of the church. When Sir Harry emerged, Rory exchanged a dismayed glance with Miles.
“Rotten luck. I was hoping I’d seen the last of him for a while.”
“Why is he here of all places?” Miles muttered.
“Probably wants to tell us what we’re doing wrong.”
As the older man approached, Rory forced a smile. “To what do we owe the honor, Sir Harry? I thought you were in London.”
“I’ve just this moment returned. I stopped by your father’s house this morning to introduce myself before I left. He was in a bad way, I’m afraid.”
Although it was a warm summer day, Rory suddenly felt cold. “Is he ill?”
“He seemed to be in excellent health, although exceedingly preoccupied.” Sir Harry produced an envelope. “He sent a letter along, and asked you to return home immediately.”
“Did he mention what this is about?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to pry, of course, but whatever it is, your father requests your assistance.”
With bloodless fingers, Rory tore open the letter and read his father’s scrawling hand. A muttered imprecation wasn’t enough to vent his feelings afterward.
“What is it?” Miles asked. “What has happened?”
Despite his ill feelings toward Iris, Rory was unwilling to blacken her name in front of Sir Harry. “The less said here the better, but indeed I must leave immediately.”
“Can I do anything to help?” Sir Harry asked.
“No, but thank you for delivering my father’s letter so faithfully.” Rory checked his timepiece. “It’s just noon. If I hurry, I can probably catch the one o’clock.”
Concern creased Miles’s brow. “May I come with you?”
“Actually
, I was hoping you would. Let me have a quick word with the foreman and we’ll be off.”
“After the cab drops me at home, I’ll send it over to Blythe Manor for you,” Sir Harry said. “That way, you won’t experience any delay getting to the station.”
“Thank you again.” Rory shook his hand. “I’m more grateful than I can say.”
After Sir Harry climbed into his cab and was out of earshot, Rory gave Miles a grim glance. “Iris has run off with Moordale, and I’m returning to London to track them down.”
His friend looked shocked. “I’ll help you, of course, but I’m so sorry! Does he mean to marry her?”
“How? By all accounts, he has no money for a special license.”
“Perhaps he borrowed money from a friend?”
“Who would lend it to him except someone who didn’t wish to be paid back? He could take Iris to Gretna Green, of course, but there’s a three week residency requirement for marriage. Surely he’d know I’d find them by then. No, I suspect he won’t marry her until my father pays him a huge sum of money.”
“How dastardly!”
“You understand what this means for Iris?”
“I think I comprehend the situation perfectly.”
“You can’t tell anyone anything right now—not even Lara. If society catches wind of this, my sister will be ruined. I doubt she’d be able to escape the scandal, not even across the ocean in America.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
“You’ve no idea what this will do to my father. After my mother died, he wasn’t the same.” He shook his head. “He’d just begun to show interest in life again, but this will set him back immeasurably. I can’t believe Iris could be so bloody selfish!”
“Give the foreman instructions and I’ll bring the horses around.”
“Thank you, Miles.” He frowned. “There’s something else. We must be exceedingly casual about our departure from Blythe Manor or awkward questions will arise.”
“Mr. Robinson left on business this morning, so the entire family is out for the day. A casual departure shouldn’t be difficult.”
A Gift for Fiona (The Love Letters Series Book 2) Page 11