“Ten minutes.” He walked backward toward the staircase. “Not a second more.” He was grinning now, and she found herself grinning back. And then he turned and took the stairs two and three at a time, disappearing as quickly as he’d arrived.
She was to have her picnic after all.
But not with George. She was going to spend a good part of the day with her intended’s nephew—her intended’s very handsome, charming, and very young, nephew.
Alone.
“Your picnic has been prepared, My Lady.” Mr. Milton had returned. “And it will be awaiting you at the Overlook when you arrive.”
Although only a short walk from the manor, the Overlook was a very romantic location and also very secluded.
“That will be lovely, thank you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Margaret and Lord Rockingham were marching through one of the fields toward a secret path most guests were quite unaware of. Lord Rockingham had insisted on carrying her supplies, so she was free to swing her arms at her sides.
Reminding herself that he was a friend and nothing more, despite the most improper thoughts she’d had about him in the past, Margaret searched her mind for any conversation that would not lead them to either his uncle or their initial meeting. “Do you paint, My Lord?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Will you call me Sebastian? It seems unnecessarily formal that we should persist with my lording and ladying one another. We are friends, are we not?”
Oh! He was! Would anyone who was not a friend swim after a ruined hat for her, merely because she had mentioned that it was her favorite? She glanced sideways at him. His hair hadn’t dried completely yet but other than that he seemed perfectly put together.
He’d returned downstairs promptly, as promised, with thirty seconds to spare.
“We are,” she agreed. “Sebastian.” Speaking his name aloud sent something dancing in her belly. It was a beautiful and yet strong name. Very much like the man himself. “And you may call me Margaret.”
“Not Mags, or Meggie?”
She laughed. No one had ever called her Mags, except for Hugh on a few occasions, but as for Maggie… “My grandfather called me Maggie,” she remembered out loud. That had been a very, very long time ago.
“Maggie.” He slid a teasing glance in her direction, “Yes. I paint. But I prefer to sketch. Do you have charcoals inside this steamer trunk you have me carrying?”
It was hardly a steamer trunk, foolish man. And the valise was not all that heavy.
“I do.”
“Then I shall sketch while you paint.”
She could only smile at this. It would be more enjoyable to lose herself in the pleasure of painting if she did not worry that her companion might become bored.
“Are you any good?” she asked.
“Tolerable. What of you?”
“I’m not quite tolerable. But I love it. I love that I think of so many different aspects of nature and life when I look at them to paint. It is a different way to appreciate the scenery.”
They walked a few yards together in silence—a comfortable one now—until he spoke again.
“I look forward to the chaos that you shall produce today.”
Again, he had her smiling. Chaos was an apt description for the final result of many of her paintings. He was very good at reading people—at reading her, anyhow.
“My mother was a true artist. Many of the paintings in the house were done by her.”
“Did she do the portraits of the children?”
Margaret had been watching the terrain as they climbed, but at his guess, she glanced at him in surprise. “She did.”
“There are two children as the subjects of most of them but there is a third child in the background, almost like a shadow.”
Not many noticed the details of her mother’s artwork. The Countess of Danbury had been very popular in the ton and most of her acquaintances had merely gushed at how prettily she’d captured her children's’ likenesses.
“Hugh and me,” she said. “And our brother. I was born a twin. The other child lived only a week. He is the third child in the paintings. He is always painted to be the same age as she paints me. If you look closely, he wears angel wings.” She swallowed hard. The portraits never failed to move her. “His name was Andrew.”
Sebastian continued walking in silence.
“You have one brother? Do you have any sisters?” She would turn their discussion away from her. She had become far too maudlin as of late.
“I have one brother. His name is Andrew, as well.” He smiled sadly in her direction, but it did not make Margaret feel sad at all.
“I have always loved the name.” She smiled over at him. “Do you pester him, as any older brother worth his weight does but also brag about him when he is not present?”
“How do you know me so well, Maggie?” He laughed. She liked that he would call her Maggie. She ought to feel old when she was with him but she hadn’t felt their difference in age on the beach the day before, nor did she feel it today.
“Tell me about this young man who must suffer to have you for an older brother,” she ordered as they hiked up the dirt that had turned to half sand and rocks by now. The picnic spot was the highest point below the house. It also overlooked the steepest cliff.
“Although dashing in his own right, Andrew isn’t nearly as handsome as his older brother.” His eyes twinkled at her, and she could not help but smile at his cocksure words.
“But who is?” she agreed.
“Indeed.”
“You are as humble as you are good looking,” She smiled at her joke.
At first, he laughed, until he realized she’d insulted him. “And you are as witty as you are old.”
“Not good of you at all, My—Sebastian.” But they both laughed.
He adjusted the canvas that he carried under one arm. “Andrew, I believe, however, is smarter than me. He recently finished school, top of his class, and has shown a keen interest in the management of my father’s estate. He spends most of his time there. He will be handed ownership of his own estate that is nearly as large when he reaches five and twenty.”
“Tell me about your father’s estate—the one that will one day belong to you.”
“Fey Abbey. It is similar to Land’s End in that it is perched near the sea. It is not as large, but it runs along the coast, in northeast Essex.”
“You are very far from home, then,” she observed. “Ah, and speaking of the sea.” They emerged from behind the uplift to a cleared area and Margaret was pleased to see a blanket spread on the ground and a small table set up beside it. The basket would be filled with culinary delights.
But Sebastian was not looking at any of that. He’d lowered the supplies onto the ground and strolled farther to gaze at the phenomenal view. Margaret followed and stood beside him quietly. She’d always enjoyed standing at the edge, feeling the wind rush up the face of the rocks carrying with it the scent of the ocean.
Neither of them spoke. Words were not really necessary when one’s senses were so completely overcome by such a spectacular visual.
“Thank you for bringing me with you today.” He finally broke the silence between them.