Laurie's Painter (sweet Regency romance) (11 page)

~*~

When Laurie was expecting
to see his coach-and-four coming down the road with his guests any moment, it
came as a severe shock to see instead one lone, mud-flecked horse (Satan),
being ridden down the lane by the coachman.

Laurie strode out and
caught the bridle, and looked up at Coachman John. "Well? And where are
your charges? Set upon by footpads, were you?"

"No sir. They're up
the lane, sir." He nodded toward the direction from whence he'd come. "The
mud, sir."

"Say no more,"
said Laurie. He turned to the groom who'd emerged. "Standish, fetch them
at once. Gently, please. The young gentleman is sickly and the young woman is a
lady." Catching the coachman's frank, sceptical look, Laurie's gaze
narrowed. "Yes, John, she is, and I expect to see her treated as such."

"Yes sir," said
Standish and John, at nearly the same instant.

Laurie had been expecting
them all day. He knew the wet spring weather and mud must have kept them from
arriving on schedule, and was glad they hadn't pushed through too quickly when Henry
needed to stop and rest up at the coach-houses. However, the wait had given
Laurie a surprising amount of time to brood and worry. He'd begun to wish he'd
driven here with them instead of going ahead to prepare at each stop and his
home for their arrival.

Even with the extra
effort, had he provided enough for their comforts? Had something gone wrong on
the road? Was the travel too much for Henry, even in spring?

Then there were his other
worries. Could he make them feel welcome? Were the house and the staff ready
for them, ready for their comforts and to make them feel both welcomed and at
ease, not like poor relations dumped on him? And was his mother ready?

The siblings were, of
course, ostensibly there so that Henry could paint for him. He hoped they would
be able to paint. But even if a brush wasn't lifted once, he wanted them to be
welcome here. He wanted the visit to go particularly well.

In his bravest moments, he
could nearly admit to himself why. In his more cowardly ones, he told himself
he wished his friends to be comfortable. Sometimes even his
particular
friends. But he could almost never admit to himself
the woman I love
.

And, while his feelings
grew ever stronger and less deniable the longer he knew her, he felt less and
less certain of hers. She treated him as a dear friend, but never more. Naturally
that was only proper, but... surely he should be able to spot a hint of warmer
feelings, if she cherished any toward him?

It would be dreadful to
humiliate himself by asking a second woman to marry him, if he had mistaken
Jenny's feelings just as badly as he'd mistaken Althea's. One would think a man
could not be such a fool twice in his life. But the question kept him awake at
night, wondering.

Still, he'd gone so far as
to get a beautiful ruby ring for Jenny. Every time he looked at it, his palms
broke out in a cold sweat. He didn't even know if she liked rubies! But when he
thought of what jewel would look best for her colouring, he'd been lost to the
ruby ring.

If she consented to marry
him, he could buy her as many baubles and jewels as he wished. She would look
beautiful decked in finery. Indeed, she looked beautiful even in her worn
dresses and old gloves, her tresses escaping their confines. How beautiful she
would look in the proper setting, the cares erased permanently, not just
partially with a joke or a friendly visit.

But once again, he was assuming
too much. His Jenny, his beautiful Jenny—he didn't even know how she felt.

To many people, it wouldn't
matter a whit how she felt. A young woman would marry a wealthy man if he
offered for her, especially if her own circumstances were reduced and
dowry-less.

Nothing in Jenny's
demeanour had ever indicated to Laurie, even for a moment, that she was one of
those girls.

Sometimes Laurie felt he
was a coward for not broaching the subject earlier. But his courage always
failed him at the last moment. And, getting to know the brother and sister had
seemed of paramount importance, letting friendship and trust bloom into
something more in a natural progression that would allow her to gladly accept
his proposal as a welcome thing and not a shocking surprise.

Perhaps he'd been too
circumspect. Perhaps he should've taken a more direct route. But if he asked
too quickly and she turned him down...well it did not bear thinking about. When
Laurie lost his heart, it seemed he became entirely vulnerable.

Right now, he was
vulnerable to Jenny.

How could love be a sort
of torment, as well as a joy? It wasn't the sort of thing he could easily ask
anyone. His friends would probably laugh at him, most of them being more
experienced in the ways of love than Laurie. He hadn't thought to ask such a
thing when he was young. Now, when he needed to know, it was perhaps too late
to learn except through experience.

Pacing back and forth, he
saw Standish emerge with a little cart; he sprang toward it. "I'll drive,"
he said shortly.

~*~

Jenny shaded her eyes with
one gloved hand and frowned darkly toward the manor. That beautiful house
looked more and more like a mirage in the distance. What was taking so long? Henry
should
not
be kept kicking his heels in the coach this way. He'd
suffered enough already on the long trip here.

Ah! Now she saw it: a
small wagon driven with purpose down the mud road toward their stalled
conveyance. It had wider wheels and wasn't nearly so heavy as the coach. Perhaps
it wouldn't sink in the mud.

Two men sat in it and a
third drove. No doubt the extra men were to dig the carriage out of the mud and
deliver it home once the passengers were delivered.

Jenny sat back and
smoothed her skirt, adjusted her hat. If her brother was worse for wear from
the journey, she was at the very least highly rumpled. Frowning, she cast
another concerned look at Henry. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back and
to the side, so very pale. She did not even contemplate awakening him. Let him
sleep every moment he could until their ride arrived.

"Ho, the carriage!"
called a familiar voice, and Jenny felt herself sit up straighter and begin to
smile at the sound of it. Laurie! He'd come to fetch them himself. Even as she
remonstrated with herself for thinking of him in such informal terms (Laurie,
instead of Mr. Joysey, indeed!), she couldn't conceal the smile that sprang
unbidden to her mouth—and her heart.

She reached for her
brother, gave his knee a gentle shake. "They are here for us, Henry,"
she said softly.

He awoke with a jerk and a
snort, and looked blearily around, blinking. "Go away. It's not morning."
He promptly shut his eyes again.

Jenny bit her lip to keep
from laughing. He couldn't help it, really. She shook his knee again, and then
Laurie was there. He leapt down from the wagon into the mud, mindless of his
clothing and boots, and swung open the door and smiled up at her. How dashing
he looked standing there, confident and friendly, with mischief sparkling in
his eyes.

"I shall need to lift
you down." He stretched his hands out toward her. Jenny felt her cheeks
warm. How like him, to play the flirt! She knew he didn't mean anything by it,
despite the warm laughter in his eyes, but it did embarrass her. She could not but
be affected by that smile and warmth. Up close, he was so very masculine it
nearly took her breath away. Perhaps he didn't realise how his presence
affected a young woman, even a poor painter's sister.

She smoothed her skirt
with quick, repetitive brushes, then rose, averting her gaze. "Very well. But
I haven't awakened Henry properly and I cannot answer for the consequences or
the trouble you will have with him."

"I'll handle your
brother," said Laurie. "And now I shall handle you."

She flushed scarlet at
these provocative words, but allowed him to place his large, strong hands
around her waist and lift her down. He swung her easily into the cart. She
swayed a moment and tried to catch her breath; he'd left her breathless, and
not just from his strength or the speedy transfer.

He gave her a very warm smile,
which seemed somehow so personal, as if it were just the two of them in the
world together, alone. The pale blue sky shone clear and bright behind him,
framing his perfection, and his smile. For a moment, she could only stare back
at him, flushed and awed and still tingling from his touch. Then he touched his
hat to her and leapt up into the carriage after Henry.

She sat down on the seat,
and stared with concern at the conveyance, hands tightening in her lap. It
would never do for a half asleep and pugnacious Henry to land a facer on their kind
host! She imagined Laurie looking pained and annoyed, holding a bloody nose,
and Henry growling that one shouldn't wake him suddenly. He could be dreadful
when awakened from a deep sleep; nothing of the gentleman about him at those
times!

The carriage rocked,
despite the mud miring it firmly in place. Jenny's eyes widened with
foreboding.

"Remember the old
school!" called Laurie in just his way that was half serious and half
silly.

"I'll give you the
old school!" growled Henry's exhausted voice.

Then they emerged from the
conveyance. Laurie climbed down carefully with Henry slung over his shoulder. Henry
looked ruffled, tired, and annoyed, but embarrassed as well. She hoped he hadn't
hit Laurie very hard. At least neither man seemed to be bleeding. She smoothed
her skirt again from nervous habit and smiled at the two as they approached. Laurie
slogged his way through the mud and then slung Henry down onto the cart.

"Such a ferocious
fighter! I promise you will sleep better in a real bed," said Laurie, who
was looking disarrayed and muddy. The other two men were busy digging the coach
out, leaving them alone.

Laurie clambered up onto
the wagon and gave Jenny another smile. It seemed to contain good humour and
laughter at himself. She found herself returning it gratefully, and settled
back happily to allow him to drive them to his home.

Somehow, one felt very
safe being driven by Laurence Joysey, even in a bone-rattler on a muddy road.

With Laurie's attention
taken up fully by the reins, she leaned toward her brother, who sat sulky and
half awake, his hair all askew, his best clothes crumpled and looking like his
worst.

"Did you hit him?"
she asked.

"Well, I tried,"
said Henry sulkily. "I can't really be sorry I missed. He's a fast devil! But—I
did try!"

Laurie slapped the reins
and raised his head. "All go, your brother! Try he did! I'm thinking of
entering him in a mill. I shall be sure to win a great deal of money betting on
him!"

"Come back here and
say that," growled Henry, with all the curmudgeonly strength of his
exhaustion.

Jenny cast him a reproving
look to silence him. "We are guests, Henry," she said as quietly as
she could, certain that Laurie wouldn't hear them over the horse's hooves, the
rattle of the harnesses, and the creak of the cart.

"Oh, don't let that
alter your behaviour, I beg of you! Do let us go on as we have," called
Laurie, a great deal of glee in his voice. "I wouldn't know how to act if
you were a proper guest, Henry!"

A wordless growl came from
Henry's throat, but at the same time he coloured up. He must be awakening
enough to realise the ridiculous situation he was in and how atrocious his
manners were.

"Please don't regard
him," said Jenny anxiously. "He's terrible when first awakened."

"Don't apologise for
me!" exclaimed Henry, his cheeks brightening again. At least his anger
seemed to have revived him a bit from the dreadful stupor of exhaustion the
trip had left him in.

"No, indeed,"
said Laurie with fake seriousness. "I assure you I'm used to his habits. It's
like having one of the family come to visit. We are from the same school, you
know."

"I shall punch you in
a moment, and I shan't regret it an instant!" proclaimed Henry, balling
one pale hand up. "If you mention the old school once more..."

"No! Spare me! I can't
stand the sight of blood!" said Laurie. "Brings me over faint. At
least it always did at the old sch—" He cut himself off as if appalled by
what he'd almost said, and Jenny was obliged to hide her face in her sleeve to
keep from laughing.

Chapter eight

The muddy wagon pulled up
in front of the large house, which was even larger and grander up close. Jenny felt
grubby next to it. A butler appeared, and several servants. Laurie hopped down
and helped her down (his sturdy hands seemed to tingle on her waist), and then
gave her brother a hand as well. Henry kept his lips firmly compressed
together, either because he was too tired to talk or because he realised how foolish
he'd been.

Laurie gave orders and
Jenny and her brother were ushered with great pomp inside, whilst someone went
back for their luggage. Laurie said something about having rooms for them, and wanting
them to meet his mother if they were rested enough before supper.