Her Secret Beau: A Touches 0f Austen Novel Bok 3

by Leenie Brown

  “In some cases, yes. But not in this one. Mr. Norman is not capable of harming anyone without great provocation. I assure you this is not the first time I have taunted him beyond what is either polite or reasonable, and the worst he does to me is badger me not to eat too many buns and to take some air for my health.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes!” Norman cried after giving an exasperated huff.

  “The point remains, however,” Walter said, “that he could have been, and you could have made an agreement with death. At the risk of sounding far too much like a stern old man, it is an ill-advised thing to be too secretive when you have only just met someone.” He smiled at her look of contrition. “That does not mean, however, that we cannot be somewhat secretive in how I call on you.”

  Her eyes grew wide as a smile spread across her face. “Do you really wish to?”

  He sighed. If she kept looking at him as she was, he’d do just about anything for her. Heavens but she was bewitching! “I do, for I am a very curious person, and you, my dear, fascinate me.”

  Chapter 7

  “No, do not turn your head,” Mr. Blakesley scolded as he once again sat in the drawing room at Erondale two days later — this time without Mr. Norman and with a screen and drawing paper in front of him.

  “But I wish to see what you are doing,” Grace replied.

  “I am taking your likeness, and I am not very accomplished. Therefore, I beg of you, stay still, or I shall not be responsible for your face looking more like an apple that has been trampled by a herd of pigs than the pretty shape that it is.”

  “Are you truly so bad?” Grace peeked around the screen.

  Truth be told, she did not care what the drawing on the paper looked like. She was far more interested in seeing his face while he sketched, and if that screen was not in the way, she could also see how his mouth moved and eyes narrowed as he shifted his head while studying her. The thought of a gentleman such as Mr. Blakesley studying her likeness so intently was both unsettling in a nervous sort of fashion and exhilarating in a rapid heartbeat that made one smile and sigh sort of fashion.

  “You have ruined it.” Mr. Blakesley favoured her with a scowl. She was certain she had never met a gentleman who looked so dashing when he scowled.

  “It does not look ruined at all,” Grace said. Of course, it could be a squiggly mess of knotted lines, and she would think it lovely merely because he had done it. “I shall just put my head back where it was.”

  She turned and sat as she had been. Or where she thought she had been.

  “That is not precisely where you were.”

  Grace jumped when he poked the back of her head, but thankfully, she did not squeal in fright. That would have been most embarrassing. As it was, Mr. Shelton, who had been designated the chaperone while his wife was resting, was finding the whole process excessively amusing. He rose from his seat and came to where Mr. Blakesley was.

  “It will work far better if you were to move her head with both your hands while I study the grid and guide you,” he said. “Pushing her head with one hand while trying to keep an eye on these lines will only make things worse.”

  Grace sucked in a breath as she waited for Mr. Blakesley to place one hand on each side of her head and guide it into position. She might have to peek around the screen again if this were to be the result. She had wondered what his hands must feel like, and until just now, she had not yet been able to discover the answer.

  She sucked in a second breath when that for which she had been waiting finally took place, and he actually held her head between his hands. His grip was firm and sure, much as she suspected. A gentleman who practiced boxing trees had to have hands which were as strong as the rest of his person. That is what she had thought, and that was what appeared to be true. If only he could just hold her head and Mr. Shelton could sketch her likeness.

  “Now, stay still,” he whispered next to her ear when Mr. Shelton had, at last, said she was in position.

  “I am not excessively patient,” she replied.

  “Do not look at me when you talk.” He once again straightened her head.

  “I will do my best, but I do like seeing to whom I am speaking.”

  “Especially when he is so handsome,” Mr. Shelton teased.

  Grace smiled as Mr. Blakesley muttered a less than polite rejoinder to Mr. Shelton. But, it was true. It was far more interesting to look at a handsome gentleman than a not so handsome one.

  Mr. Shelton looked out the window toward the drive. “I will return,” he said.

  “Is someone here?” Grace asked. Hopefully, it was not her father or her mother coming to call on her.

  “Mr. Norman,” Mr. Shelton said as he exited the room.

  “Why do you suppose Mr. Norman is here?”

  “Keep your head still,” Mr. Blakesley growled.

  “I apologize. It is just such a habit to turn my head when speaking. Do you wish to stop? I do not mind if you do.”

  He peeked around the screen at her and smiled. “No, I wish to have a likeness of you to put in a frame in my sitting room so that when I have callers and they ask me who that is, I can say it is the image of a mysterious angel whose name is known only to me.”

  Oh! That was lovely. Grace sighed. Being a mysterious angel was quite a wonderful thing to be.

  “And then, they shall beg me to reveal that name, but I shall deny them.”

  “Would you?”

  He nodded. “However, if you cannot remain still, I will not have the chance to refuse to tell them your name.”

  “Are you teasing me so that you might scold me into sitting still?” That would not be a nice thing to do at all.

  He shrugged. “Not entirely.”

  He ducked back behind the screen, taking away Grace’s lovely view and returning her to looking at the empty chair in the corner.

  “I do think it would be delightful to have something with which to taunt people. Such a thing likely reflects poorly on my character, but truth be told, I have few who visit me for a social call.”

  “Do you not have friends?” How did one not have many callers? When she was home, their sitting room was in use constantly for visits from this or that neighbour.

  “I have several friends, but I find most of my callers visit me regarding business matters, or to play a game of billiards or drink a bit of port. And none of that happens in my sitting room.”

  “But a game of billiards is still a social call,” Grace protested.

  “I suppose it is,” he agreed.

  “Where do you drink port with your friends?”

  “The same place I do business,” he replied, “in my study.”

  “Well, then, that is just where you should place my likeness.” She nearly turned her head to smile at him through the screen which would have been stupid since there was no way for him to see anything more than a shadow through the screen.

  “That is an excellent idea,” he agreed. “I have just your neck left, and I must say it is as lovely a neck as I have ever seen – neither too long, nor too short, and not at all too wide. Quite refined.”

  A refined neck? Grace stroked down her throat. It did not feel refined. It just felt normal to her. If she were to be honest, she had never thought a great deal about the appearance of one neck compared to another. She stroked her fingers down her neck again.

  “That is very distracting.” Mr. Blakesley’s voice sounded a bit strained.

  “You mean this?” She brushed her fingers down the length of her neck for a third time.

  “Yes.” He peeked around the screen at her. His eyes swept from her eyes to her neck and then upward to her mouth. “I am almost done,” he assured her. “Your lips are as lovely as your neck,” he said with a wink before ducking behind the screen once again.

  “Should I worry about you attempting to seduce me, Mr. Blakesley?”

  His head popped back around to look at her. “No. Not even if I should wish to. I am
not that sort of fellow.”

  “That is good to know.” Or, at least, she imagined it was a good thing. “Do you want to?”

  “I am quite certain that is not a proper thing to ask,” came the response from behind the screen.

  “Of that, I am fully aware,” Grace assured him. “And, though you cannot see them, I assure you my cheeks are burning at having done so. However, I was merely curious if you were refusing to seduce me only because your character is upstanding or if you were refusing because you do not find me…um…” She was not quite certain how to word what she wanted to say without being even more improper than she had already been.

  “You are beautiful,” he replied. “I am refusing just because seducing a young lady such as yourself would be wrong, not because you are not tempting.”

  “Then you are not rakish at all?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Have you ever been?”

  Mr. Blakesley chuckled. “Never. Believe it or not, I have never even called on anyone as a possible suitor before.”

  Grace’s brow furrowed and her mouth opened but then closed without making a sound. He had never called on a lady as a suitor before? A gentleman as handsome as he? “Are you teasing?”

  “No.” He moved his chair so he could see her. “I am done.” He held up his handiwork. “It is not as good as it could be, but then, it is my first attempt at doing this since I was a boy and forced to do it for my sisters.”

  “Truly?”

  He nodded.

  “I see I have confused you.”

  “Indeed, you have,” she admitted. “Surely, you must be popular at all the balls. Who would not wish to dance with you?”

  “Oh, I dance. I am never in want of a partner, and I do make the required calls afterward as is polite and all that. However, I have never singled out one lady on whom to call and become better acquainted.”

  The door to the drawing room opened, allowing Mr. Shelton and Mr. Norman to enter.

  “You look perplexed,” Mr. Shelton said to Grace.

  She was. “How old are you, Mr. Blakesley?”

  “Twenty-seven, nearly twenty-eight, much like Shelton.”

  Her eyes shifted to Mr. Shelton. “Did you attend college together?”

  Mr. Shelton nodded. “We did not always circulate together, but we were well-acquainted and good friends. Blakesley was more apt to be found studying than either Clayton or I were.”

  “I had a fortune to amass,” Mr. Blakesley explained. “Erondale is not a large property, and the estate in Surrey will go to my brother.”

  “Surrey?” He was not from here?

  “Yes, that is where I grew up. This was my mother’s father’s home.”

  “And you are here in Bath because of Erondale?”

  He nodded. “Mostly. It also seemed a good place to establish myself in property investments since it is a place where people are often looking for accommodations, and I prefer it to London.” He smiled and shrugged when her mouth popped open. “There are far fewer orchards in London, which would make my study of pugilism a trifle more challenging.”

  Well, that did make sense, and Grace had to admit that Bath and Erondale were both beautiful.

  “We have sat long enough,” he said, rising. “Would you accompany me on a stroll around the garden before I take my leave? If that is acceptable to Mr. Shelton, that is.”

  “May I?” Grace asked eagerly. She was in no hurry to have Mr. Blakesley leave. He was not only handsome. He was also interesting.

  “Mr. Norman, do you care for a turn of the garden?” Mr. Shelton asked.

  Mr. Norman shook his head. “No, I believe I shall wait to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Clayton.”

  Mr. Shelton leaned back in his chair. “I think I shall wait for Victoria to join me.” He chuckled. “Do not look so forlorn, Miss Grace. I shall not keep you from your walk. You may go without me.”

  Chapter 8

  “Which path shall we take today? There were a few flowers emerging from the soil in the side garden last week when I was here. Have you made an inspection of the beds there today?” Walter asked as he and Grace stepped out the garden door. They had made a short circuit of the garden each day when he had called – even yesterday when the clouds were heavy and a mist hung close.

  “There are crocuses about to set their blooms.”

  “Then you have inspected the side garden today?”

  Grace nodded. “This morning before breakfast.” She pulled in a breath and released it. It was a sound filled with contentment. Grace seemed to enjoy nature as much as he did.

  “Gardens are wonderful are they not?” she asked.

  “I could not agree more. About the side garden…” He watched as worry etched its way across her face, causing her to pull in her bottom lip and creating a furrow between her eyes. “It is too visible from the drive.” He was certain that was what she was thinking, and he was proven right when her head bobbed up and down.

  “I wish I could show you the blossoms I have seen, but if my mother should come to call.” She shrugged. “One cannot have a secret beau if everyone knows about him.”

  “This is true,” he agreed with a smile. “Then, the back garden it is, and this time we will pass through the gate and take one of the paths beyond the hedge.”

  Her face lit with excitement. In the short time he had known her, Walter had found that it was never terribly difficult to discover what Grace was feeling as her features were often painted with whatever emotion grasped her in a particular moment. He had seen her playful secret smile, her frustration in attempting to hide her intentions, and her delight, such as was displayed now, when a scheme met with her satisfaction. Those were but a few of her charming expressions.

  However, her most beguiling look, which would likely haunt him from today forward, was the look of longing she had worn when he had poked his head around the screen in the sitting room. It had matched his own feeling in that moment, though he sincerely doubted that she knew such a feeling had been on display to him, for she did not seem to be aware of those sorts of things — not that she did not have an understanding or knowledge of them. He suspected she had a general idea, as evidenced by her questions about whether he was rakish or not, but beyond that, he imagined she was relatively innocent. She was not the kind of lady to toy with a gentleman and lead him down a merry path. Where she led, she wished to travel with him, and he was feeling surprisingly content to follow.

  “You are very quiet,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “My apologies, Miss Love.”

  “Could you call me either Grace or Miss Grace? I find that Miss Love reminds me too much of my sister.”

  “Very well, I shall call you Grace when we are alone as we are now and Miss Grace when we are in company. Will that satisfy?” It would be no trial for him, for he had been thinking of her as Grace since first setting eyes on her in the garden almost a week ago.

  “That would be wonderful.” Her whole being seemed to relax into a place of great comfort, the peacefulness of which, in turn, spilled over onto him.

  “And will you insist upon calling me Mr. Blakesley or will you favor me with Blakesley or Walter?”

  They took three silent steps before she made her reply. “Is there one you prefer above another?”

  “No, I cannot say that there is,” Walter answered, “I shall leave the selection up to you.”

  “That is most unusual, is it not?”

  He held the gate open for her. “I am not certain I understand the question.”

  “Does not everyone have a preferred name they wish to be called?”

  He shook his head. “Not everyone. For I do not.” He secured the gate behind her. “Or perhaps I do, but since I have never played the part of a suitor before, I do not know what it is that I should like a pretty lady, such as yourself, to call me. However, I must say I do enjoy hearing you say Mr. Blakesley.” In truth, his name had never sounded so sweet as it did falling from he
r lips, which were currently tipped up in a small becoming smile that danced in her eyes.

  “That seems sensible. Therefore, I shall try them both, and we shall, together, see which seems best.”

  He extended his arm to her again. “I think that is a marvelous plan.”

  “You truly have never courted any other lady?”

  He shook his head. “Never.”

  “Did you wish to?”

  Again, he shook his head. “Not particularly. Most ladies I have met are… well… not to be impolite, but they have all been rather dull. Not a one of them has ever refused a dance in favour of my friend.” Her hand gripped his arm more tightly. “I understand your reasoning. There is no need to apologize.”

  “How did you know I was going to apologize?”

  He shrugged. “You have a caring heart. I do not think you could knowingly harm another person.”

  “But I have!” she cried. “I was dreadful to Bea when I was at Heathcote.”

  “Knowingly dreadful?”

  She nodded. “I felt it was not entirely right, and yet, I assisted Felicity in separating Bea from Mr. Everett Clayton.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you persist in behaving as you were despite your misgivings?”

  “Well, because Felicity assured me that I was being foolish to worry about such things, of course. She said it was how things were done, and that everyone understood that. That is exactly what she told me. That, and that she loved Mr. Everett Clayton most dearly – which she did not.”

  “You trusted your sister to guide you. There is nothing wrong in that.”

  Grace shook her head. “I will not allow it to be so. I should have listened to my heart and not my sister. I see that so clearly now.”

  “Seeing what has been is always easier than seeing what is.”

  Beside him, she sighed and very naturally, as if walking arm in arm with her closest friend, she squeezed his arm tight, which had the lovely effect of bringing a great deal more of her person in contact with him.