‘So, you and my nephew are merely friends, are you, Miss Fairchild?
Natalya looked in dismay at the portrait. It was the best likeness she had ever achieved, quite recognisable as Freddie Erwin although it was far from perfect. The face was too lean, the bone structure well defined with a strong jawline and nose and the mouth sensuous but firm.
‘You draw the man you want to see,’ Monsieur Cordonnier, her drawing master had said, more than once, when he had studied her portraits. ‘The man of your dreams, perhaps, mademoiselle?’
Her heart sank. She had made Freddie look far more mature and handsome than he really was. A lucky accident that had delighted Freddie, but his uncle was clearly not so pleased. She tried to explain.
‘We were at the Grishams’ house, it was a sketching party. Freddie asked if he could sit for me. Ask Jane, she will tell you!’
She hated to sound so defensive. So guilty. Lord Dalmorren was studying the pencil sketch and made no effort to call across for her friend to corroborate her story.
‘It may be crude, madam, but it is clearly recognisable. It is very flattering, too, and much better than any of the others in here. I would say you have had plenty of practice with your subject.’
‘No! It was mere chance that I managed to draw him so well!’
‘You expect me to believe that? You have captured his likeness unmistakably.’ He flicked quickly through the rest of the sheets. ‘You have sketched half-a-dozen ladies, but not one other gentleman. That tells its own tale.’
‘It tells you nothing!’ she retorted, snatching the pad from his hands. ‘If you look closely you will see where I have torn out several pages. Those were portraits that were too unsatisfactory to keep! You are determined to think the worst of me.’
‘On the contrary, I came here today determined to think well of you.’
‘I do not care a jot for your opinion!’ She scrambled to her feet and hastily gathered up her pencils and shawl. ‘I shall bid you good day, Lord Dalmorren, and would be obliged if you would go away now!’
Natalya turned on her heel and hurried across to Jane, who had been resolutely concentrating on her sketchpad. However, when Natalya plumped down beside her she looked up.
‘Good heavens, Lya, you look positively murderous! What has Lord Dalmorren said to you?’ She leaned closer, her face alight with curiosity. ‘Did he flirt with you?’
‘Hush!’ Natalya glanced anxiously towards the maid, as much to gain time as to make sure the servant was still slumbering peacefully.
She would dearly have liked to pour out her indignation to her friend, but that would not be wise. Jane was a year younger than Natalya and a poor confidante. She had always envied Jane her close friendship with her mother, but she knew her young friend was likely to blurt out any secrets to Mrs Grisham, and if the Pridhams should learn of her encounter with Lord Dalmorren, who knew what they might do? Instead she allowed her anger another outlet.
‘He could have been forgiven for thinking that was my purpose in coming here,’ she retorted. ‘Really, Jane, you should not have moved away and left me alone with him!’
‘But I thought that is what you wanted me to do!’ replied Jane, looking mystified.
‘No! I merely wanted to be able to...to converse with him without my aunt and uncle present to scrutinise our every syllable!’
‘Well, you have now had the opportunity. And by the way Lord Dalmorren stormed off I should say you have quarrelled right royally.’ She sighed and put her hand on Natalya’s arm. ‘Oh, do tell, Lya,’ she begged. ‘What happened?’
Natalya bit her lip. ‘He was...insulting.’
‘Ooh.’ Jane’s wide eyes grew even rounder. ‘What did he say?’
‘It...it was not so much what he said.’ Natalya was floundering. ‘He...he did not admire my drawing.’
It was a poor excuse and she waited for her friend to question her further, but Jane accepted it without demur.
‘How unchivalrous of him! And unjust, too. Why, you are the most accomplished artist of anyone I know, Lya. No doubt he thinks himself quite above his company!’
‘No, no!’ Natalya began to regret that she had said anything. ‘I think he was merely being honest.’ She tried to pass it off with a laugh. ‘I am so used to people praising my work that I have grown quite conceited! Come, let us not give it another thought. We should make the most of this lovely day to finish our drawings.’
Tristan did not return to the city via the steps, but followed the longer, gentler slope that descended to the river. It was a pleasant walk with extensive views over the countryside, but it was lost on him. All he could see was the portrait of Freddie. Natalya had made him impossibly handsome. He strode on, swiping at the long grasses with his cane. Damnation, if that was how she saw Freddie, how she thought of him, then she must be very much in love. But if that was the case, why the devil could she not admit it?
He went back over his meeting with Freddie. He had almost written off the boy’s protestations as youthful infatuation, but if the lady returned his regard then matters were more serious than he had first thought. His nephew might not have control of his fortune for the next four years, but he would be free to marry as he chose, once he was one-and-twenty in October. Freddie had mentioned that one of Bath’s highest sticklers was friendly with Miss Fairchild—now what was her name? Ancrum, that was it. Perhaps he should make efforts to become acquainted with the lady. If Freddie was determined to marry Natalya, he needed to learn as much about her as possible. And quickly.
With that intention Tristan took himself to the Pump Room the following morning, his eyes raking the little groups of the old and infirm until he saw his quarry. With
