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Sindal’s people had come from the North, as was evident in his height, blue eyes, and the intrepid courage with which he’d taken on marriage to Sophie Windham. Je
“Children are sometimes more themselves when parents are not in evidence,” Je
Another look passed between Sindal and his lady, reminding Je
“Good morning, my ladies, Sindal.”
Elijah Harrison stood in the doorway in informal morning attire. At the sight of him, Je
“So, Harrison, any last wishes before you take on the Vandal horde?” Sindal pushed the teapot down the table as he spoke. His smile was friendly, though Je
“Tell my brother Joshua not to put up with any of his lordship’s nonsense, and never to underestimate her ladyship.” Elijah poured for himself and passed the pot to Je
They were—also complete hellions.
“Je
An alarm sounded through the fog created in Je
“She has. Papa has decreed that we’re all to gather for Christmas at Morelands this year. Her Grace is vexed because Papa will not remove to the country yet, and such a large house party will require significant preparation.”
Sindal winked at his wife. “His Grace is not done with his holiday shopping.”
Mr. Harrison stirred cream into his tea, apparently used to marital glances and winks over breakfast. “I thought shopping was the province of the ladies. I have six sisters whose letters—when they bother to write—are filled with dispatches about this and that shopping sortie. Even the two youngest like shopping for books.”
He stirred his tea counterclockwise then clockwise, a slow dragging of the spoon along the bottom of the teacup. Je
“Papa must find Mama the perfect Christmas present every year,” Je
Mr. Harrison rose, aiming a smile at Je
Sophie came to her feet. “I am quite finished, thank you. I’ll have the boys brought up to you in an hour, Mr. Harrison. Sindal, come along. A paternal lecture about decorum wouldn’t go amiss.”
Sindal was on his feet in an instant. “Of course, my love. The children can always use practice ignoring their father’s advice.”
And thus, Je
“Do you mind if I sit beside you?” Mr. Harrison asked. “The sun is in my eyes on the other side of the table.”
He didn’t wait for her reply, but took a seat to Je
“You’re going to eat all of that, Mr. Harrison?”
He glanced at his plate, which held steaming eggs, ham, bacon, and toast. “I’ll have some oranges and stollen on the next pass. What can you tell me about your nephews? And please be honest. Once Rothgreb joins us, diplomacy will be the order of the day, unless I miss my guess.”
“His lordship is a late riser, but he’d be the first to tell you the boys are very active little fellows.”
Mr. Harrison grimaced and tucked into his eggs. “I thought one was yet a baby.”
“He’s fifteen months. He walks, he talks after a fashion.” He also put all ma
The disappearing pile of eggs suffered another grimace. “And the other boy?”
“About twice as old. He runs everywhere, yells everything, and is a prodigious good climber.” Kit was also very gentle with Timothy, who’d been known to take a swipe at Sindal on a bad day.
The grimace became a scowl, the first Je
“Siblings generally do.” To wit, sisters abandoned one with handsome, interesting men at the breakfast table. Sophie had either failed to note Mr. Harrison’s abundant charms, or she trusted that all in her ambit were as virtuous as she.
The wages of successfully appearing virtuous were constant temptation to behave at variance with those appearances.
Mr. Harrison sat back, his hands braced on the arms of his chair as if he’d rise and leave.
“Is there a problem with your meal, Mr. Harrison?”
“Yes.” He reached for his teacup then dropped his hand without taking a sip. “No… there is a problem with my digestion.”
Gracious heavens. “Is it the company? I would not impose on Sophie and Sindal above stairs, but I have correspondence—”
He shook his head and glanced at his plate, then at the plaster molding of disporting cupids above them, then at Sindal’s vacant place at the head of the table. “I’ve never done a juvenile portrait.”
His tone was a blank page. Je
“Painting is painting, Mr. Harrison. Shapes, colors, light—the process doesn’t change based on the subject. As children go, these two are attractive, and Rothgreb will be pleased with any reasonable effort.”
He shifted to focus on her, his expression fierce the way a raptor was fierce. “I will not be pleased with any reasonable effort.”
The conversation became more and more fraught, and Je
And what might the regent give now to have that likeness of his late daughter?
“This portrait will determine whether I gain acceptance to the Royal Academy. Nobody puts it in such blunt terms, because there’s always a vote involved, but ever since Reynolds made painting children so popular, it’s like a tacit requirement. One must paint royalty and near-royalty, academic subjects, and even the occasional landscape, but one must also paint children.”
“You do not like children?”
Something flickered through his eyes, something sad and bewildered. “I was a child once. That is the extent of my understanding when it comes to children.”
Je