Laurie's Painter (sweet Regency romance) (12 page)

He was interrupted by the
appearance of a tall, grand, statuesque woman breezing into the room.

"Ah, Laurence. I see
your guests have arrived."

Jenny realised that she
was holding her breath, that she wanted to shrink. Here stood a woman—Laurie's
mother—so far outside Jenny's rank that the grandly attired woman could surely
only look down her long, aristocratic nose at Jenny and scorn her.

Laurie never made one feel
lesser, or poor. He was so very welcoming and kind. But his mother looked the
sort of woman who wouldn't have wished to talk with the Wilkenson family even
before they lost all their money.

Jenny very much hoped she
was wrong and that this wouldn't be dreadfully awkward.

"My mother, Mrs. Joysey,"
said Laurie. "Mother, this is Miss Jenny Wilkenson and Mr. Henry Wilkenson."

"Charmed," said Mrs.
Joysey, inclining her head a fraction.

Jenny curtsied deeply, and
Henry bowed. Jenny realised that Henry was unsteady, and Laurie had
unobtrusively taken his elbow to keep him from falling. Her heart warmed. Good
old Laurie!

Jenny's back tingled with
nervousness as she found herself under Mrs. Joysey's intense scrutiny. The
woman had a cool grey-blue gaze, very piercing, but she met it with equanimity
now, certain of Laurie's kindness, if not his mother's.

Then Mrs. Joysey's gaze
flicked over Henry, and she said at once, "Please see them to their rooms,
Beech. I will look forward to getting to know you better during this visit,
Miss Wilkenson, Mr. Wilkenson."

She gave them a fraction
of a smile, an incline of the head, and swept away. Jenny let out her breath,
flooded with gratitude.

"Come on, Henny! Last
leg of the journey. I'll help you," said Laurie in a bracing tone.

"Don't need help,"
grumbled Henry. "And don't call me 'Henny.'" But he sounded faint and
breathless. He stumbled and would have fallen but for Laurie's support.

Jenny gave him a look of
quiet gratitude, and the three of them walked down the hall together. Jenny
followed a servant to her room, and went inside, leaving Laurie and Henry to go
on without her. She looked around, eyes widening at the sight of one of the
most beautiful rooms she'd ever seen—larger than their sitting room at home,
and exquisitely decorated.

The four-poster canopy bed
looked big as a boat, and utterly inviting after such a long trip. There was
fresh, warm water, a basin and a towel. She hurried over to wash so she could
lie down for a few minutes for a much-needed rest. Though she wasn't anywhere
near as tired as her brother, she felt the beginning of a headache hurting
behind her eyes and would welcome a brief respite.

There was a discreet knock
at the door, and she paused in undressing. "Yes? Who is it?" She
suddenly thought of Laurie and felt horribly self-conscious. What had he
thought of her in this bedraggled clothing, weary and frazzled from the road?

"I'm Mary, ma'am. I'm
to be your servant. May I come in and help you undress?"

Jenny let out her breath. "Yes,
please come in." How kind of them to send a maid to help her after the
long journey! She hadn't been tended by a servant since she was eleven years
old. It was likely far more help than the sister of a hired painter should
receive, but very welcome all the same.

She relaxed under the
competent hands that helped her let down her hair. Mary was a little younger
than Jenny and a head shorter, but she seemed to know exactly what she was
doing. Competence was very relaxing after that trip. Even better, Mary acted as
if Jenny really belonged here, with this giant room all to herself.

Shortly, she rested on the
bed, and Mary closed the door quietly behind her. Jenny stared up at the canopy
for a moment before her eyes flickered closed. Her last feeling was of
gratitude, her last thought how this was all like a beautiful dream.

~*~

Bloody hell, the girl had
class! Even rumpled and tired from travel when she first arrived, she'd looked
marvellous, with a bloom in her cheeks and a smile on her face. Her eyes,
sometimes so solemn, could smile at him and light up as though she had whole
worlds inside her.

Laurie had known Jenny was
pretty, if only to him. But he hadn't known how well she'd look in a new dress
that fit her smooth curves properly, without that awful, paint-flecked apron. She
looked bloody gorgeous. Her dress was robin's-egg blue, her hair neatly
coiffed.

And when he had lifted her
down from the coach—

Laurie smiled again at the
remembrance of how his hands felt at her waist. How could such a girl—sweet,
beautiful, and perfect—have gone unclaimed even in such reduced circumstances? It
was more luck than he deserved, to have his Jenny not already married to
someone else.

Now, a few hours later, Laurie
sat proudly through the evening meal with his mother and Jenny. Unfortunately, Henry
wasn't feeling well enough to join them.

Jenny looked elegant and
beautiful in one of her new dresses, and her manners were just what they ought
to be. Mother watched her carefully, but even she couldn't have found anything
to criticise about how ladylike Jenny was. She handled herself admirably, her
talk with his mother classy, and her attire elegant and, not to put too fine a
point on it, gorgeous.

Their talk was
unexceptional, but he could almost feel his mother thawing toward the idea of
Jenny in the family. She wouldn't embarrass them or make them look bad. And if
her fortune was not regular, her birth was unexceptional.

When Laurie took his leave
from Mother and Jenny after the meal, he bowed over each of their hands, low
and pompous. He glimpsed an answering twinkle in Jenny's gaze as she tried to
stay serious. She curtsied politely. For a moment, he didn't want to tear his
gaze away from hers.

Could this be the woman I
want to marry? And could she feel the same way about me?

Oh, if only he could be
certain love didn't act like a kind of mad blindness; if only he knew for sure!

When he bowed over Mother's
hand, he was almost certain he saw amusement in her gaze, and something else he
rarely saw—approbation.

Does she truly approve of
Jenny? Well, who wouldn't? She's... perfect!

~*~

After the meal, Laurie led
her to the library and ushered her in grandly, bowing.

Eating in that setting with
Laurie and his mother had been stressful, but it had gone well despite her
worries; the Joyseys soon set her at ease. They were so very kind, and the food
tasted absolutely delicious. With Jenny's early training and the kindness of
Laurie and his mother, she'd soon felt equal to all their conversation.

Now she stood beside her
host and gasped in delight at the walls surrounding them. Books! The walls were
covered in bookshelves and books! Everywhere, nothing but books!

"Please read anything
you wish," he offered, smiling at her.

Comfortable chairs sat
around the large, quiet room, inviting the pleasure of their seat and a good
book. The room was well-lit, and also held a writing-desk. It was the most
beautiful place Jenny had ever seen indoors, she was certain of it.

"So many books."
She walked into the room tentatively, keeping her hands clasped in front of her
as if afraid she would simply go wild and begin touching and picking up all the
books. "How...?"

"Well I inherited
some of them, but I bought most of them," he admitted. "A lot of good
money spent. I admit it: I'm proud of my library. I do love a good book, and I've
had various topics of interest over the years. You'll find books on forestry,
Shakespeare, and English royalty over here." He pointed to one large shelf
with a plethora of leather-bound volumes. "Fiction and humour are here. Some
plays on this shelf—and mathematics and astronomy here. Not such a good
selection, I'm afraid. I'm hopeless with the technical aspects of astronomy. And
over here," he finished with relish, "are the naturalism books."
He stroked the spines as if they were dear pets, and his face looked fond with
reminisces.

For a few moments, Jenny
could not speak. She struggled to get the lump in her throat under control, to
keep her unseemly emotion intact.

"I have always loved
books," said Jenny quietly. "Thank you—for sharing them with me
whilst I'm here."

He looked up at her
suddenly, his mouth opening as if he wished to say something more. But then he
didn't. She turned away, feeling embarrassed for some reason.

"I'm too tired to
improve my mind tonight, so I'll choose a novel." She spoke brightly to
cover the sudden awkwardness between them. "That will no doubt lower your
opinion of me dreadfully, won't it?" So saying, she moved toward the
fiction shelf, her skirts rustling.

He laughed, sounding a bit
constrained, but beginning to regain his normal equanimity. "No, how could
it? I bought these books. I wouldn't keep them here if I thought them
worthless."

"Yes, but for a young
lady—" began Jenny in teasing, pompous tones that he might himself have
used another time.

Laurie laughed out loud.

~*~

"What beautiful
grounds you have." Jenny walked next to Laurie, her hand resting on his
arm. He moved at a slow pace, not rushing her, and looked pleased whenever she
stopped to admire a bed of flowers or a statue.

After a night's sleep
sorely needed, Jenny had awakened with the feeling that her short, fairytale
life had just begun. That feeling continued whilst she ate a wonderful, fresh,
and generous breakfast. It continued now, as she and Laurie strode through the
grounds together.

"Thank you,"
said Laurie. "But I'm afraid I've very little to do with it. My mother and
the gardeners make most decisions here. I believe the most I've ever
contributed was a statue I erroneously thought my mother would like. It's
hidden somewhere in the back, behind some very tall shrubbery she suddenly
acquired."

"What a shame!"
Jenny tried and failed to suppress a giggle. "I'd love to see it!"

He shook his head sadly.
"You only wish to mock my poor artistic taste! You should have mercy on an
inept patron of the arts."

She squeezed his arm
lightly. "No, I'm certain you could never be inept." Then she fell
abruptly silent, appalled at what she had nearly added:
dear Laurie.
She
glanced at him quickly, but he was smiling in the distance and didn't appear to
have noticed anything amiss. She let out her breath slowly, relieved.

Jenny felt happier than
she could remember being in some time. A very long time. She must be careful,
even now—perhaps especially now that she felt so comfortable around him here.

She glanced over at Laurie
and smiled. "I can't thank you enough for this, you know. For everything
you're doing for my brother."

He glanced at her and
blinked. For a moment, he looked oddly vulnerable. "Can't you?"

She shook her head. "I
know you brought us here so he could rest and have clean air to breathe and
good food to eat, and even brought me along to put his mind at ease. It's—it's
simply wonderful of you."

"Oh," said
Laurie. "You needn't mention it."

He looked troubled for a
moment. She wondered why.

They finished their walk
talking easily of other subjects, but she could not explain to herself why he'd
seemed unhappy with her thanks. Perhaps he was embarrassed? But how could she
not thank him, when he'd done so much for them?

~*~

Joysey had been all that
was kind. He'd given Henry a well-tended, well-appointed, well-aired room with
a bed so soft her brother slept long and deep in it. The fresh air and the view
of the gardens from his window refreshed Henry. When he felt strong enough, he'd
moved to sit on a bench in the gardens, enjoying the view, with a servant
always within calling distance if he needed anything.

As the days passed, one
after the other in a kind of blissful haze, there was no serious talk yet of
the painting. In fact, when Henry tried to bring it up in good conscience,
Laurie twisted the subject away, sometimes teasingly, sometimes with something
that legitimately needed attention—but always, away from the subject of Henry
working just yet.

Jenny thought Henry seemed
frustrated but secretly relieved. He had been so dreadfully weak lately, this
winter and through the trip, that Jenny was glad to see him rest, with nothing
he need do but eat. She could see the clean air and good food and rest were
good for him. His face had less of a grey, pinched look about it.

After that first day, they'd
both dined every evening with Laurie and Mrs. Joysey, who were polite: Laurie
friendlier, his mother a bit more formal, but both kind and considerate hosts. Henry
held up his end of the conversation and didn't lose his temper once.

The food was always
spectacular and Jenny didn't know how she could possibly get through this visit
without doubling in size. Her brother ate, and ate, and always found something
irresistible, and that made it even more wonderful.