He closed his sketchbook and crossed his arms upon the grass, resting his chin upon his forearm. His coat he’d cast aside somewhere behind him when he had first started hunting in the flowerbed for a different specimen to draw. It was too hot, and too impractical, to wear the coat while hunting insects.
As a man of science, he often wondered why so much of what humankind did had no practical reasoning behind it. While he bowed to convention most of the time, as one in his position must, Rupert bent the rules when they made little sense. Such as wearing stuffy, warm layers while spending time in the sun’s heat.
He had sent a note to Miss Sharpe to meet him in the gardens at her earliest convenience. It was nearing three in the afternoon and she had not yet appeared. Given his previous encounters with the governess, he had thought she might seek him out earlier.
Rupert rolled onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head, closing his eyes against the sunlight. Rather like a lizard, he enjoyed the warmth for several long moments while considering where to search for a new subject to draw.
A shadow fell across his face. Then a soft voice spoke.
“Mr. Gardiner? Are you sleeping?”
He opened one eye, then squinted upward with both. Miss Sharpe had arrived at last. Today she wore a wide straw bonnet, a gown of muted rose with a plain fichu tucked and gathered to cover every inch of skin nearly up to her chin.
“Ah, Miss Sharpe. Here you are.” He sat up, and she hastily stepped backward, putting an unnecessary amount of distance between them. “I had nearly given up hope of seeing you today.”
He noted that she clutched the handle of a basket in one hand and a book in the other. Her jaw appeared rather taut, and there were spots of color in her cheeks. “I am afraid the children were somewhat quarrelsome today, so our studies took extra time. Then I was required to join them in their music and art lessons, as their instructors needed assistance. But here I am at last, while the children take tea with their mother and grandmother.”
Quarrelsome children might explain her somewhat lackluster disposition. “I am sorry to hear about the children. I imagine it is difficult to remain inside at lessons with so many other amusements at hand.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps.” Then she squared her shoulders. “Your note did not say precisely what you wished to discuss, but as we are in the garden, I assumed you wished me to begin as your colorist.” She bent to put her basket down, then opened her book and took a pencil from inside it. “If you will tell me what you require, I will make note of it before we begin.”
Although he normally admired individuals who came straight to the point, as he much preferred to do the same, her manner bordered on brusque. Obviously, the woman still bore contempt for either his person or the project at hand.
Her gaze darted up from the page to his arms, then up to his eyes, before she dropped them again to the book.
Had his lack of coat offended her?
Although it would be an easy matter to slip the heavy cloth on again, Rupert did not move to find it. If they were to spend time together, she would have to accustom herself to how he went about his work.
“What I require, Miss Sharpe, is a meeting of the minds.” Rupert had the satisfaction of seeing her eyebrows lift, her eyes coming up to his filled with skepticism. “And while I have apologized multiple times for giving offense, it is obvious you still harbor some ill feeling toward me. If that is the case, I fail to understand why you are standing here at all.”
As he spoke, her eyes narrowed to slits and her chin lifted. “I am standing here, sir, because my employer expects it. Or do you think one as insignificant as I am can ignore the preferences of a duke?” The sharpness in her tone surprised him. As did her perspective of the situation.
“You truly have no wish to be a part of a scientific study?” Rupert dropped his arms to his side. “But you seemed so interested—and you have a natural talent—”
“Thank you.” She sighed and wrapped both hands around her book. “But the flattery is unnecessary. I am afraid I cannot spare more than an hour, then I must attend to the children again. Will you please tell me, sir, what it is you need me to do?”
Although uncertain as to why she was still upset, Rupert bent to retrieve his book from the ground. “As I said before, the process of preparing this catalog for the duke is more arduous and time consuming than I expected. I can render an insect in near perfect detail, and the coloration of the creatures is important to me. The flowers and plants where they make their bowers or their dinners are no less important. They need to be rendered in excellent detail.”
He flipped open his sketchbook and took a loose sheet of paper out, showing it to her. “Here is the plant from the pond where we met, the same one you were drawing.”
She looked from his picture up to him. “Yes. Your drawing and mine show similar skill.”
“But I haven’t the time to color it in while I am also working on producing the seven different insects I found living upon the loosestrife.” He stared hard at her, trying to convey his need through his stare alone. “I will draw everything, Miss Sharpe, and deliver the flowers to you. If you would lend me your talent of making them look real, with vivid and accurate color, I will forever be in your debt. The duke intends to publish what I am compiling into a book for himself, but we will also submit it for scientific publication.”
“Then what does it matter if my colors are correct?” she asked, arching her blonde eyebrows at him, one corner of her mouth pulling aside skeptically. “The publishing houses will have their own colorists—”
“And those colorists must copy from an original. Your work will be the original colors.” How could he help her understand how important it was to him? “Please, Miss Sharpe. Accuracy is of great importance, to His Grace and to me.”
She studied his drawing again, almost reluctantly. “What about the insects?”
Perhaps she was more bothered by multi-legged, miniscule creatures than he had thought. “I will color them in.”
“Very well.” She handed the drawing back to him, then scribbled in her book with her pencil. He assumed she wrote his instructions, but then she tore out the paper and handed it to him. “This is what I will need to ensure accuracy. If you will note where in the garden the flower is located, I can obtain a sample to work from. I have also written the hours I will be available to you. You may either send the drawings to me or I will collect them every day.” She pointed to the times she had written on the paper. “You can see that not every day is the same. Our schoolroom schedule has many variables due to the other tutors in residence and the duchess’s preferences.”
“Yes, I see.” He had not imagined that on some days she would not have time until after the dinner hour, at eight o’clock in the evening.
She continued on, completely matter-of-fact. “If anything changes, I will let you know at once. I understand more guests are coming next week, with children and a governess of their own. That might alter circumstances, too.”
Rupert’s rising disappointment almost surprised him. Miss Sharpe would not spend any more time in his company than necessary. A shame. He had found her conversation interesting, her candor refreshing, and her person as a whole rather appealing.