The Art of Love

by Lacey, Lilac

Leo had to admit to himself that that was what irked him the most. To be seen by Tara as beneath a displaced French aristocrat - if indeed that was what La Monte really was, Leo had his doubts - when, empty though the title was of lands and income, Leo himself was a lord. He wished for the first time that he hadn’t been so reticent about using his title. He suspected that half his friends did not know he possessed it, but it had seemed so meaningless when he had first come to London, and whenever he had used it it had led to awkward questions about why a lord had to paint for a living. But now he wanted Tara to know he was a gentleman by birth while at the same time he was loathe to tell her himself. The last thing he wanted was to put himself on the same level as La Monte, trading on the status of a position which to all intents and purposes no longer existed.

  As the scrambled eggs and toast took effect, Leo found his thoughts becoming more optimistic. He would not tell Tara himself, he resolved, but would simply hope that one of the other guests would mention his title in passing during the course of the week. There seemed to be a good chance of that happening, he thought, and found himself willing to leave it to fate.

  The door to the breakfast room swung open and Leo’s musings were interrupted by the arrival of Rodney and Freddie.

  ‘Good morning,’ Rodney said cheerfully. ‘You said you’d arrive late, but I had no idea how late. It must have been midnight when you got here.’

  ‘It was,’ Leo said. Tara had been looking out of her window for him at midnight, that said something.

  ‘You look very smug about it,’ Freddie grumbled. ‘But you must have had even less sleep than I did. I’m not usually up at this hour, but young Hulme is very keen for us all to try out some horses this morning.’

  ‘Father recently acquired two new mares and a stallion,’ Rodney said through a mouthful of toast. ‘He doesn’t ride anymore himself, but he’s longing to know how they go. There wasn’t time yesterday and this afternoon I’m planning a little croquet tournament. But this morning is the perfect time to ride.

  It was. Glancing out the window which looked east up through the rolling pasture and patches of woodland beyond the house, Leo remembered anew why he was so desperate to paint landscapes. The countryside glowed in the morning sunlight, a myriad of greens counterpointed by the gold of wheat and the blue, blue sky. He suddenly longed to be outside and could see at once why Rodney was so impatient to ride. After three or four months of city life the open spaces and freedom of the country called irresistibly.

  ‘Have you two finished then?’ Rodney asked. Leo glanced at the door, wondering when it was going to admit Tara. The he glanced at Freddie. It seemed unlikely that Freddie was ready to ride; he was just at that moment making himself a very weak cup of milky tea and had eaten nothing.

  ‘Soon,’ Leo said placatingly. He could afford to be sympathetic, by the time Freddie had finished the breakfast he hadn’t yet started Tara would surely have appeared. But Freddie let him down.

  ‘A minute, old chap,’ he said. ‘Just let me drink this down. I never have anything more demanding than tea or wine before midday. It doesn’t agree with my constitution.’

  Glancing down at his empty plate, the knife and fork neatly together in the middle, Leo’s heart fell.

  ‘Good, good,’ Rodney said, cramming a last piece of toast into his mouth and rising from the table. ‘This way.’

  ‘I’m not exactly dressed for riding,’ Freddie demurred. Leo wished he could say the same, but in his plain cut jacket and breeches, he was ready for anything. All he needed to do was put on his boots.

  ‘I’ll wait for you here,’ Rodney said, his hand on the handle of the double French doors leading from the breakfast room out into the garden with its gravelled walks and the fading the spring roses, which even at that moment were being dead-headed by a diligent gardener.

  Leo found he had no choice but to go and change his boots, he could only hope that Freddie, who did not seem to be a natural early riser, would keep them waiting and meanwhile Tara would come down to breakfast. He was back before Freddie, but only just and Tara was still not there. Leo’s heart sank when Freddie came in. He might lead a foppish lifestyle revolving around parties and gambling, only ever seeing the sunrise from the wrong side, but Freddie was no dandy when it came to his appearance and getting dressed to ride had been but work of the moment.

  Rodney pushed the double French doors open wide and the light, warm breeze brought in the faint sounds of birds and bees and the metallic clip-clip of the gardener’s shears. ‘This way to the stables,’ he said.

  ‘Breakfast is in here, my lady.’ The butler’s voice floated into the room just as Leo stepped out, the door from the corridor opened and there was Tara, at last. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders, and her muslin day dress, while perfectly respectable, was low cut enough to give the impression that as soon as she had a moment of privacy she would spring free of its confines and throw herself into his embrace. But as usual it was her face that held him. She was smiling at him, as if daring him to voice his outrageous thoughts, and, all thoughts of her disdain for his position forgotten, Leo found himself smiling back.

  ‘The stables are this way. Are you coming, Fosse?’ Rodney drew him abruptly back to reality.

  ‘A moment,’ Leo said, not taking his eyes off Tara. ‘I’ll meet you there.’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rodney shrug and heard the crunching of the gravel as he and Freddie headed for the stables. He stepped back inside and he and Tara were alone in the dining room.

  ‘You were about to go for a ride,’ she observed, her voice low and musical.

  ‘It can wait,’ Leo said briefly. He wanted to broach the subject of last night, but it seemed too abrupt to say Was it you leaning out the window looking for me at midnight? ‘You’re looking very… fetching this morning,’ he said instead.

  Tara looked at him and started laughing. ‘I’ve never been called fetching before,’ she said, ‘It sounds far too decorous.’

  Leo felt his eyes crinkle with his cat’s grin. ‘A more accurate description is not suitable for mixed company so early in the morning,’ he said softly and saw Tara halt herself in the act of serving scrambled egg to really look at him. The laughter, but not the pleasure, flowed from her face and he knew, despite her reservations about his position, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He was across the breakfast room in two strides, gently relieving her of plate and serving spoon, intent only on taking her in his arms and kissing her.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. I was sent to take you to the stable. Sir Rodney says you’ve got to choose a horse.’

  Leo whirled, all ready to send the serving man who had so rudely interrupted them soundly packing with a flea in his ear, but he felt his anger turn to resignation when he saw that the messenger was a stable boy of no more than ten. ‘All right, lad,’ he said and turned back to Tara. ‘By your leave?’ he said, taking her hand in his.

  ‘Horseflesh is a serious business,’ she said and he could feel her amusement at their untimely interruption; she did not seem as frustrated as he was, it was as if she was sure there would be plenty more opportunities for them in the week ahead. Perhaps she was right. Leo smiled at the warm, surprisingly firm hand in his, then he raised it to his lips and for the first time, he kissed her. Just for that brief moment all that existed were his lips and the back of her hand, she was his, that was all that mattered. Then he relinquished his hold on her and followed the stable boy out into the clear, bright morning.

  Tara watched as Leo strode down the path, her heart singing. Leo wanted her, it was very clear. She couldn’t at that point in time see any way to make such a relationship work, but here they were, together in Rodney’s house for a week. It might be all the time they ever had, so she would make the most of it and not worry about the future. The future could wait, she could not.

  ‘Luncheon is served,’ the senior footman announced to the occupants of the green drawing room. Tara threw down her hand of cards with some relief.
She had whiled away the morning trying to make conversation with Susannah and Antonia and had ended up playing whist with Rodney’s aunt Phyllis. But it had been clear from the start that Susannah and Antonia were quite wrapped up in their newfound friendship and that Phyllis had only suggested a game in an attempt to entertain her. Privately Tara resolved not to spend a morning this way again. If she found herself thrown back exclusively on the company of the ladies she would take herself off for a walk, Wallington Manor was certainly surrounded by enough beautiful countryside to keep her quite happy. Or better still she would go down to the stables and beg a mount. Phyllis must possess a side-saddle she could borrow.

  But that morning she had not been able to bear to tear herself away from the house in case Leo returned. She should have known better, she chided herself as she followed the footman down to lunch. Once men got engrossed in something such as horses they tended to stay that way until something indisputable such as hunger or failing light, or in this case the lunch bell, summoned them.

  When Tara entered the dining room Leo was already there, looking invigorated and lively after his morning ride. It was all she could do not to go straight over to him, but she was aware, with so many eyes upon her, it would not be correct. Instead she turned her attentions to their host. ‘I hear you have been riding,’ she said to Rodney.

  ‘Yes,’ he said as they were seated, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘Father has bought a wonderful new stallion.’ Directly across the table from Tara, Leo slid into place.

  ‘Did you enjoy your ride, Mr Fosse?’ Tara asked. If she stretched out her legs she was sure she would be able to reach Leo’s feet with her own, but she couldn’t possibly do that, what would he think of her?

  ‘It’s not -’ Rodney started to say, but then seemed to get distracted by a word from Susannah.

  Leo smiled at her and Tara felt her heart beat faster. ‘Greatly,’ he said. ‘The countryside is very scenic around here and I don’t get the opportunity to ride much in town.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you do,’ Tara said impulsively and then thought that perhaps she should not talk horses. In his straitened circumstances Leo had presumably never owned a horse or even ridden much at all, unless he had worked as a stable boy at some time. She wondered how she could find out if he had, tactfully, of course. ‘Have you had much to do with animals?’ she asked.

  An odd look came over Leo’s face and a horrid thought struck Tara. What if his family had been very poor when he was a child? What if Leo had been a poacher? Poachers certainly had plenty to do with animals; he might think she meant that. She knew he had lived in the country, in Wiltshire, her own county. Suddenly a background in poaching seemed all too possible, after all, Leo had refused to be drawn when she had enquired about his family, and she wondered how on earth to change the subject.

  Fortunately Freddie came to her rescue. ‘We’re to play croquet this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Will you be my partner, Tara? I fancy you’ve a stronger swing than any of the other ladies.’

  ‘Oh. Won’t we be drawing for partners?’ Tara asked, flustered and quite unable to think of a polite way to refuse Freddie and claim Leo.

  ‘We’re far too small a group for that,’ Freddie said easily. ‘One would be bound to end up with one’s cousin, and where’s the fun in that?’

  Glancing across the table at Antonia, Tara thought she looked a little hurt. Leo must have noticed too for he immediately said ‘Lady Antonia, if you would consent to partner me, I am sure we can make a good showing.’ Tara had to admit she was impressed by Leo’s tactful handling of the situation, Antonia was looking quite flattered and he had neatly left the way clear for Rodney to partner Susannah. But at the same time she was just the tiniest bit irked that he had not by look or word indicated that he would have preferred to play with her. Then she told herself not to be so silly, there were only the six of them playing, they would all be together and it did not matter in the slightest whom partnered who.

  As she changed her slippers for her summer outdoor boots Tara wondered if Leo had ever played croquet before. She suspected that even if he hadn’t it would not pose a problem. With his powerfully built frame he looked like a natural athlete even if he didn’t know the rules of the game. It was a pity they weren’t partners, she thought wistfully, she could have whispered the rules discreetly in his ear and none of the others would ever have been the wiser about his insalubrious past. But on her arrival on the croquet lawn she immediately saw Leo taking a practice shot. Demonstrating considerable strength and fine aim he hit the ball through the first hoop and straight on through the second. He probably had played before. Well, she thought, there would be no need for Antonia to whisper the rules in his ear either. She seized a mallet and strode onto the lawn to make a few practice shots of her own.

  To her embarrassment her first few shots went wide of the hoop and Tara remembered that she hadn’t played croquet for many years, not since the last time she was at Wallingford, in fact. That had been the last time she had been away from home in the summer. After that, after her father had died, it had taken the combined efforts of both herself and her mother to organise the harvest each summer and keep the estate going. Her brother Richard had only been ten that first year, and even now, at fifteen, he was still too young to take much responsibility, although he had pitched in and done his best, labouring alongside the men without complaint during the threshing and fruit picking. There hadn’t been time to set up the lawn for croquet, even if she had had the inclination. But home had been about survival, not a place to play in the last few years. That was why she spent as much time as possible in London.

  ‘You’re swinging too high and then expecting the sheer weight of the mallet to do all the work,’ Leo said, stepping up beside her and Tara realized she had been lost in thought. With an effort she wrenched her mind back to the present, to this lovely sunny day and the croquet lawn, with her friends gathered here, ready to play.

  ‘I’m a little out of practice,’ she said, her voice sounding odd even to herself. Leo looked at her sharply, but did not comment.

  ‘Try again,’ he said instead. ‘Don’t raise your mallet so high, but follow the ball with it after it has struck.’ Obediently Tara carried out his instructions, but the ball went wide of the hoop again, although it rolled much further than before. ‘That’s better,’ Leo said, although she could not see that it was. Apparently without thinking he took her arm in his and they strolled across the grass to where the ball lay. ‘Aim for that hoop there,’ he said, pointing to the furthermost hoop on the lawn.

  Tara positioned herself and raised her mallet, but before she could begin the swing she felt Leo’s hand on her bare arm. His hand was warm and firm and she longed to have him run it down her arm. ‘You’re too tense,’ he said quietly. ‘You need to relax, croquet is not about fighting the ball. Stand up straight, like you would chatting at a party.’ Hesitantly Tara complied. ‘Keep your shoulders down,’ Leo added and the next thing she knew he had placed his other hand on her shoulder, the strength of his fingers easily detectable through her light muslin dress. ‘Now swing at the ball,’ he said so softly she would not have heard it if his lips had not been practically touching her ear. His breath was warm and it was all too easy to imagine him taking her earlobe between his lips and nibbling it gently. Tara felt a shiver run through her at the very thought. Feeling heady with Leo’s nearness Tara did as she was told and swung at the ball. To her surprise it rolled straight through the hoop and then came obediently to a stop.

  ‘Well done!’ Leo said. ‘Bravo.’ He squeezed her shoulder, making the muslin slide over her skin in a caress and Tara felt desire surge through her. But this was no London party, with quiet curtained alcoves where she might let a man steal a kiss, they were standing in the garden on a sunny afternoon, in the company of friends and there was nothing she could do.

  ‘Are you two ready to begin?’ Rodney called.

  Tara felt a laugh escape her, she was more tha
n ready, but not for croquet. ‘I think we are,’ Leo said lazily from beside her and Tara could not shake the feeling that he too was thinking of something entirely different.

  They played three rounds, adding the points together to calculate the overall scores. In the first game the pace was fast and furious but by the third they had tempered their pace to match the heat of the summer afternoon. Except Leo, Tara thought, watching him from under the temporary shade of an oak tree. He and Antonia had won the first game easily but now, when everyone else was horsing around, he was still playing with the same level of concentration that he had had from the start. He had moderated his stride around the lawn to a casual walk, matching the mood of the others, but his shots showed the same strength and precision as at the beginning of the afternoon. It was obvious he took his leisure as seriously as his work and she wondered where he had come by such a trait.

  ‘Antonia and Fosse are the clear winners,’ Freddie announced, after having been busy with pencil and paper for some moments and they all clapped. ‘But Tara was the lady with the best score.’ The others applauded politely.

  ‘It was entirely due to the excellent coaching I received,’ she demurred and was rewarded with Leo’s hastily hidden smirk. ‘Thank you for the game,’ she added to Freddie. It was not so hot now, in fact the sun was tipping the row of poplar trees sheltering the lawn from the west wind and Tara realized it was time to dress for dinner. She caught Susannah’s eye and saw that she and Antonia had come to the same conclusion. ‘Please excuse us, gentlemen,’ she said primly, and led the way back to the house.

  Leo watched Tara all the way as she walked purposefully back to the house, until she was out of sight, the two younger women in her wake like little muslin covered ducklings. Tara was the leader here, whether she knew it or not, despite the likelihood of Susannah ending up as the lady of the house. He smiled, her strength of personality drew him quite as much as her stunning looks.