Simply Love

“There aren’t any at the school,” he said. “Mr. Upton says that only watercolors are suitable for ladies. I am the only boy there.”

“Watercolors are fine for gentlemen too,” Mr. Butler said. “And oils are fine for ladies. Some artists use one or the other. Some use both in different circumstances. But there are some artists who need to paint with oils. I believe you may be one of them. Oil paints help to create texture. They help the artist bring the painting off the canvas. They also help one paint with passion, if you are old enough to understand what that means. Perhaps your mama can have a talk with Mr. Upton when you return to school to see if there is any chance he can teach you to paint with oils. However, this watercolor is very, very good. Thank you for letting me see it.”

David turned toward Anne, his face beaming.

“Do you think Mr. Upton will, Mama?” he asked.

“We will have to talk with him,” she said, smiling down at him and pushing the lock of hair off his forehead again before glancing up to see Mr. Butler looking steadily at her.

He took his leave then. He bade them all a good morning, put his hat back on, and touched his hand to the brim.

“Oh, Syd,” Lady Rosthorn said as he made his way back to the path, “I do wish you could come and paint with us someday.”

He looked back.

“I don’t think, Morg,” he said, his tone light, “Wulfric would be too delighted if I so misused the time for which he is paying me.”

For a few moments as she watched him walk away, Anne wondered what he had done to hurt himself. He was limping. But even as she thought it he adjusted his stride and walked normally.

“Mr. Butler,” David said excitedly when he was only just out of earshot, “is the monster.”

“David!” Anne cried.

The countess set a hand on his shoulder.

“The monster?” she said.

“That is what Alexander calls him,” David told her. “He says he is monstrously ugly and lies in wait for children on stormy nights to eat out their liver.”

“David,” Anne said sharply. “Mr. Butler is the Duke of Bewcastle’s steward. He was a brave soldier in the wars against Napoleon Bonaparte that you have learned of in your history lessons, and he was horribly wounded while fighting. He is a man to be admired, not someone to be turned into a monster.”

“I am only saying what Alexander said,” David protested. “It was stupid and I will tell him so.”

“I grew up at Lindsey Hall, David,” the countess said as she washed her brushes and tidied up her painting things. “My brothers and sister and I used to play with the Butler boys from the neighboring estate. I was very much the youngest in my family, and they were usually impatient with me and would have left me behind if they could when they went to play. Kit Butler was my hero because he would usually take me up on his shoulders so that I could keep up with them all. But it was Sydnam who was always most kind to me and most willing to talk to me and listen to me as if I were a real person. He was the one who encouraged me to paint as I wished to paint. When he was brought home from the wars deathly ill and dreadfully maimed, I felt as if a little part of me had died. I thought he would never be the same again, and indeed I was right. He made himself into a new person and came here. Those who did not know him before and those who do not take the time to get to know him now will perhaps always look at him and see a monster. But you and I are artists. We know that the real meaning of things lies deep down and that the real meaning of things is always beautiful because it is simply love.”

“He knows about painting,” David said. “I wish he could show me how to use oil paints. But he cannot, can he? He doesn’t have his arm.”

“No, he does not,” the countess said sadly. “And, oh, dear, we must have been here far too long. Here come Gervase and Joshua to drag us home.”

…the real meaning of things is always beautiful because it is simply love.

Could that possibly be right? Anne wondered. Was it true?

“Well, cherie,” the earl called as he came within earshot, “did you do it this time?” He stepped up to the countess’s easel and set one hand on her shoulder.

“Not quite.” She laughed ruefully. “But I will never stop trying, Gervase.”

She tipped her head sideways and touched her cheek to his hand.

It was a brief gesture and quite unostentatious. But it smote Anne with its suggestion of a close marital relationship.

Joshua meanwhile was complimenting David on his painting and squeezing the back of his neck affectionately.

He walked beside Anne on the way back to the house, carrying David’s easel and painting while the boy ran on ahead through the trees and then across the lawn, his arms stretched to the sides, pretending to be a kite in the breeze.

“He says you are going to make him into a formidable bowler at cricket,” she said.

Joshua laughed. “He will be tolerably competent if he works hard at it,” he said. “Are you going to join in the game this afternoon, Anne, or are you going to play coward as you did yesterday and hide out on the beach again?”

“I have promised to go walking,” she said.

“Have you, by Jove?” he said. “With another truant? It cannot be allowed. Give me her name and I will set to work on her.”

“I am going walking with Mr. Butler,” she said. “The duke’s steward.” Her cheeks felt hot. She hoped it would not be obvious that she was blushing. And why was she blushing?

“Indeed?” He looked down at her and kept looking as they walked on in silence.

“Joshua,” she said at last, “I am merely going for a walk with him. I met him on the beach yesterday and we strolled together for a while. He asked if I wished to do it again today.”

He was smiling at her.

“I wondered why you stayed down on the beach,” he said. “You had a clandestine tryst there, did you?”

“Nonsense!” She laughed. But she sobered almost immediately. “I wish you would not encourage David to call you Cousin Joshua.”

“You would prefer sir or my lord, then?” he asked her. “He is my cousin.”

“He is not,” she protested.

“Anne,” he said, “Albert was a black-hearted villain. I am glad for your sake and David’s and Prue’s that he is dead. But he was my first cousin, and David is his son. I am David’s relative, not just any man who has taken an interest in him. Prue and Constance and Chastity are his aunts and are very ready to acknowledge the fact. And he needs all the relatives he can get. He has none on your side, has he-none you will allow him to know anyway.”

“Because they do not wish to know him,” she cried.

He sighed. “I have upset you,” he said. “I am sorry. I truly am. Freyja assures me that she knows exactly how you must feel and has advised me to respect your wish to raise David alone. But let the child call me Cousin, Anne. All the other children here have someone to call Papa-or Uncle, in Davy’s case, since Aidan and Eve have always actively encouraged him to remember his own dead father.”

She might have argued further even though she recognized the sense of what he said-and his kindness in accepting an illegitimate child as a relative. It was just that she could not bear to acknowledge that relationship herself. But the Countess of Rosthorn turned her head at that moment to make some remark to them, and they proceeded the rest of the way as a group of four.

Anne watched the cricket game for a few minutes before slipping away to walk down the driveway in the direction of the thatched cottage she had noticed on the day of her arrival. She was not after all, she was relieved to notice, the only one not playing. The duchess was playing a circle game with the infants a little