he’d wanted to arrange their first outing sooner. And he spoke of her love of art within the very first breaths of his conversation.
Her hand was stil warm from his touch.
Her cameraman lumbered back from the gardens, hoisted his camera, and aimed at Chloe.
“Miss Parker? Miss Parker?!” It was Mrs. Crescent cal ing from the rose garden. “You won’t score any points kicking about in the leaves, I’m sure!”
The cameraman, bored with their chatter about books and architecture, had left in search of more dramatic footage. Their charcoal sticks made swooshing noises on the thick drawing paper as they roughed out the features of the building.
Chloe, trying not to think too much about, or too much of, the encounter with Sebastian, imagined this was what it must’ve been like for the ladies of quality who had no work to do in the nineteenth century. They had time to pursue their passion for the arts. Some of the girls at Bridesbridge seemed quite bored with this free time, but Chloe and Imogene took advantage of the opportunity, and even talked of the place as being like their own artists’ retreat, for after al , everything, including the cooking, the laundry, the cleaning, was done for them.
Chloe noticed that Imogene’s drawing style was looser, more abstract than her own. Chloe’s was more romanticized.
They’d been comparing notes on Grace.
“She tries to psych everyone out, not just you,” Imogene said.
As they sat under the green bower on a stone bench, Imogene confided her suspicions about Grace quickly, before another camera-person appeared. According to Imogene, Grace wanted to win not just the money and Mr. Wrightman, but the land the Wrightmans owned as wel . Imogene had overheard several conversations between Grace and her chaperone. From what she could piece together, Grace’s great-great-grandfather had lost significant tracts of land on a drunken gambling bet, and much of that lost land was now owned by the Wrightman family. The castle ruins stood on part of that land. Grace wanted to stake her family’s claim. The Wrightmans and Grace’s family were distant relations and both members of the peerage at one point in time, but now only the Wrightmans retained their status.
To pursue a man for his land seemed so—nineteenth century to Chloe. Then again, were her reasons any less mercenary? No doubt most of the women had their eye on the $100,000 prize money, too. Chloe wanted to talk more, but when Imogene’s chaperone, Mrs. Hatterbee, settled down with her needlework nearby, their conversation had to turn.
Just as Chloe was putting the finishing touches on her sketch, she felt someone peering down on her work.
“You’ve forgotten the stone urns on the cornices of the house.”
Henry’s voice startled her, and his breath smacked of crushed mint leaves. She dropped her charcoal stick, and without a word, he picked it up and handed it back.
She composed herself and looked up at Bridesbridge’s facade. He was right, she had forgotten the urns. “It’s only a sketch,” she said.
Imogene looked over at Chloe’s sketchbook.
“Yes, but details make al the difference.” Henry scrutinized Imogene’s sketch. “Details can help you make that leap of faith that Aristotle spoke of in the dramatic arts. Don’t you agree, Miss Wel s?”
Imogene smiled. “I do.”
“I like both of your drawing styles,” Henry said. “I’l be curious to see how the final drawings work out, ladies.” He bowed.
Chloe frowned at her sketch. What did she care about his opinion?
“Good evening, Mrs. Hatterbee.” Henry bowed to Imogene’s chaperone and moved toward Bridesbridge’s front entrance.
“And just what are you doing here at Bridesbridge at this late hour, good sir?” Mrs. Hatterbee asked.
“A footman arrived to tel me Miss Harrington has fal en il .” Henry held up his medicine bag.
Kate’s al ergies ensured Henry of frequent visits to Bridesbridge.
“Ah. Poor girl.” Mrs. Hatterbee went back to her needlework. Chloe watched Henry take the stairs two at a time.
Imogene whispered, “I honestly don’t know which of those two brothers I like more.”
“What?” Chloe asked.
“Sebastian’s an enigma and very attractive, but I find Henry just as intriguing.”
“You do?” None of the other women ever even mentioned Henry, but then again, none of the other women were like Imogene.
“Absolutely. He has a bril iant personality and he looks real y good without those glasses.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow.
“Last week we watched Henry and Sebastian fencing.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Chloe leaned in toward Imogene and whispered, “Henry’s great. But I’m al about Sebastian, myself. Of course, I know George better than I know Sebastian at this point. It’s too soon to tel about Sebastian, real y. You’re going to laugh, but I have to admit, there is something about George that I like, too.”
“George? You can’t be serious,” Imogene whispered back.
