my mouth, Haldiman!” she replied, but in a coquettish way that encouraged the notion and also lent an unaccustomed touch of flirtation to her manner.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Eventually, no doubt, but meanwhile Swithin and I look forward to seeing you this evening.”
Haldiman just shook his head in wonder.
Miss Harvey, observing their private tête-à-tête, found it every bit as annoying as having Peter moon after Miss Wood. It had not escaped her notice that Lord Haldiman, an earl and owner of a much more impressive estate than the Poplars, was a bachelor. He seemed so fond of her.
“I say, Rufus, get a hand on Beau, will you?” she called. “He’s chasing after that ugly old spotted mutt. He’ll come home with fleas if we’re not careful.”
Haldiman gave a quick glance at Sara. “Folks are less formal in the colonies. She asked me to call her Betsy,” he explained.
“My dog does not have fleas!” Sara said, and slammed the door.
Chapter Five
The sun was beginning to lower when Sir Swithin arrived with his sketch pad and patent pens to begin Sara’s portrait. He wore an absurd violet smock to protect his superfine jacket and sprigged waistcoat, and looked a fool. The crowning touch was a satin beret sliding rakishly off the side of his head. “I always feel costume is so important to set the mood, don’t you?” he asked, in a rhetorical spirit.
“Have you heard, Sir Swithin? Lord Peter is back!” Mary exclaimed.
“I have heard,” he frowned. “It always distresses me when real life plagiarizes fiction. One feels the sky should have opened and poured down thunderbolts to accompany his coming. Mrs. Radcliffe would have done no less. I daresay such an alarming event as his return takes precedence over my toilette.”
Sara was eager to quit the other subject and said, “Very stylish, Swithin. You’ve left it late to begin the picture.”
“By design, my dear. The sun’s morning rays are not for maturity. They seek out every little trace of Mr. Crow’s claw, just there at the corner of the eye. Not that I mean to infer you are in anything but a perfect state of preservation, barring those few infinitesimally small lines. I shall omit them from the portrait.”
Mary took up her position at his elbow. “Have you sent out the invitations to our ball yet?” she asked eagerly.
“Sent them out? Dear child, I have not even begun to design them. An Idle ball must have a theme, with invitations to match. My audience expect no less of me. Hand-drawn invitations, you know. I do not agree with the anonymity of an engraver’s stamp. Sit over there, beneath the lilacs, Sara. I want the shadows on your brow to suggest an air of mystery and brooding. Perhaps if you would just lift your hand to shade your eyes, as if you were looking out to sea.”
“Out to the cow barn, you mean,” she corrected.
“Let us not be too literal, my pet. It will be the rolling ocean’s swell when I finish with it. Marvelous news that Lord Peter has returned. I wish I had caught you before that happy event. I fear your smiles will quite upset the harmony of my composition.”
“What smiles?” Mary demanded, and gave a vivid account of the afternoon’s meeting.
“The colonial sounds vastly amusing” was his only comment. “I adore genuine vulgarity.”
“Sara says she won’t have Lord Peter,” Mary said. “I think he’s very handsome.”
“How will you escape him, Sara?” Idle asked, standing back and making a frame of his finger to set the bounds of his painting.
“By saying no, if he has the poor taste to offer. No one can expect me to accept. It is illogical to assume I would want him now.”
“Never put your faith in logic, in affairs of the heart. That invariably leads to mischief. Did not Eve seduce Adam by means of logic?”
“I thought you would help me, Idle,” Sara replied warily. “If he believed I had another gentleman in my eye, he might desist.”
“Lovely. I’m
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Eventually, no doubt, but meanwhile Swithin and I look forward to seeing you this evening.”
Haldiman just shook his head in wonder.
Miss Harvey, observing their private tête-à-tête, found it every bit as annoying as having Peter moon after Miss Wood. It had not escaped her notice that Lord Haldiman, an earl and owner of a much more impressive estate than the Poplars, was a bachelor. He seemed so fond of her.
“I say, Rufus, get a hand on Beau, will you?” she called. “He’s chasing after that ugly old spotted mutt. He’ll come home with fleas if we’re not careful.”
Haldiman gave a quick glance at Sara. “Folks are less formal in the colonies. She asked me to call her Betsy,” he explained.
“My dog does not have fleas!” Sara said, and slammed the door.
Chapter Five
The sun was beginning to lower when Sir Swithin arrived with his sketch pad and patent pens to begin Sara’s portrait. He wore an absurd violet smock to protect his superfine jacket and sprigged waistcoat, and looked a fool. The crowning touch was a satin beret sliding rakishly off the side of his head. “I always feel costume is so important to set the mood, don’t you?” he asked, in a rhetorical spirit.
“Have you heard, Sir Swithin? Lord Peter is back!” Mary exclaimed.
“I have heard,” he frowned. “It always distresses me when real life plagiarizes fiction. One feels the sky should have opened and poured down thunderbolts to accompany his coming. Mrs. Radcliffe would have done no less. I daresay such an alarming event as his return takes precedence over my toilette.”
Sara was eager to quit the other subject and said, “Very stylish, Swithin. You’ve left it late to begin the picture.”
“By design, my dear. The sun’s morning rays are not for maturity. They seek out every little trace of Mr. Crow’s claw, just there at the corner of the eye. Not that I mean to infer you are in anything but a perfect state of preservation, barring those few infinitesimally small lines. I shall omit them from the portrait.”
Mary took up her position at his elbow. “Have you sent out the invitations to our ball yet?” she asked eagerly.
“Sent them out? Dear child, I have not even begun to design them. An Idle ball must have a theme, with invitations to match. My audience expect no less of me. Hand-drawn invitations, you know. I do not agree with the anonymity of an engraver’s stamp. Sit over there, beneath the lilacs, Sara. I want the shadows on your brow to suggest an air of mystery and brooding. Perhaps if you would just lift your hand to shade your eyes, as if you were looking out to sea.”
“Out to the cow barn, you mean,” she corrected.
“Let us not be too literal, my pet. It will be the rolling ocean’s swell when I finish with it. Marvelous news that Lord Peter has returned. I wish I had caught you before that happy event. I fear your smiles will quite upset the harmony of my composition.”
“What smiles?” Mary demanded, and gave a vivid account of the afternoon’s meeting.
“The colonial sounds vastly amusing” was his only comment. “I adore genuine vulgarity.”
“Sara says she won’t have Lord Peter,” Mary said. “I think he’s very handsome.”
“How will you escape him, Sara?” Idle asked, standing back and making a frame of his finger to set the bounds of his painting.
“By saying no, if he has the poor taste to offer. No one can expect me to accept. It is illogical to assume I would want him now.”
“Never put your faith in logic, in affairs of the heart. That invariably leads to mischief. Did not Eve seduce Adam by means of logic?”
“I thought you would help me, Idle,” Sara replied warily. “If he believed I had another gentleman in my eye, he might desist.”
“Lovely. I’m
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