Really, Eliza, this is not overly difficult.
“Johanna, my youngest sister, we call her Jo. When she was a wee thing, she had trouble with shapes and colors and animals and such. She would call pigs, dogs and cows, elephants.” She licked her lips again and pressed a hand to her stomach. “My mother was gone by then, you see. Johanna’s birth had been difficult, and Mother hadn’t recovered when the influenza came. Poor Jo never really knew our mother.”
She didn’t realize Dax watched her until he reached up and pushed a lock of her wayward hair behind her ear. The gesture was so intimate, pain flashed in her chest.
“Mother was the one to always teach us things. Poor Jo didn’t have anyone, and Viv and I tried to help. Viv being Viviana, of course. But there was Louisa, too. Only a year older than Jo.”
Dax’s expression grew serious. “Did you not have a nanny or a governess?”
“It’s entirely possible our nanny had witnessed the building of Stonehenge, and our father didn’t remember to call for a governess until Viv was practically out for her debut. We’re lucky we are naturally resourceful.”
A smile played at the corners of his lips. “Indeed. So why these watercolors?”
She returned her gaze to them, pride filling her as it always did. “I couldn’t find suitable material to help Jo with some of the more basic understandings, so I made them up.”
“You made them up?” His baffled tone drew her gaze.
“Of course, I did. I couldn’t let her continue thinking a pig was called dog. Imagine how offended Henry would be now.”
As if understanding they were talking about him, Henry made a noise of agreement from where he lay sprawled in front of the fire.
“How did you make them exactly? You cannot be much older than your younger sisters.”
She crossed her arms over her stomach. “I’m actually a good deal older. We believe our mother suffered two still births between myself and Louisa although no one speaks of it. I’m six years older than Johanna because of it. I was eight when I began making drawings for her. Just simple ones with some chalk and a slate. Eventually my father brought me some lovely charcoals from one of his trips to London.”
At some point, he’d settled against the table, and with a start, she wondered if he intended to stay. When Mrs. Donnelly had shown her this room, she’d been elated at the prospect of having a little bit of the manor to call all her own. She thought the desk in her rooms would have been adequate, but curiosity had pushed her to ask for more…well, space. Not that she hadn’t been enjoying Dax’s company. It was just that after living with so many siblings, she was looking forward to having a little bit of quiet if only temporarily.
But the way Dax lounged against the table made it almost seem as though the room weren’t quite finished until he’d arrived.
“You speak fondly of your father.”
She paused at his words, her mind faltering over their meaning.
“Should I not?”
He gave a casual shrug. “It could be said many members of the ton do not have such a relationship with their father.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Did you have a poor relationship with your father?”
He gave a bark of laughter that startled her. “My father was thirty years older than my mother when they wed. It was like having a doting grandfather instead of a strict parent, instilling virtue and morals. My father never expected to have a child and so he showered me with gifts and attention. It was everything a child could have dreamed of.”
“You don’t seem to believe your own words.”
He studied the carpet before answering. “Because he was so grateful for me, I always felt like a grand prize instead of his son. As if I were placed on a pedestal for the simple happenstance of my birth.”
“I don’t find you spoiled in any manner as your upbringing would suggest.”
His laugh was rich now. “I will tell my mother you said so. She worked hard to counter the duke’s attention, so I came up with a reasonably level head.”
“Your parents did not wish to have a large family then?”
The shake of his head was precise. “The duke was happy to have me. He spoiled both myself and my mother and let us to our own devices. It was all merriment and laughter.”
“That’s not really what families are about.”
He studied her for several moments before answering. “I’m beginning to understand as much.” He gestured to the watercolors. “But you’ve carefully avoided telling me about your own father.”
She followed the direction of his gesture and gave a small shrug.
“There really isn’t anything to tell. Poor Father was left with the five of us, not knowing what on earth was to be done.” She adjusted one of the watercolors, this one a rendition of a fawn amongst the reeds of a creek. “He was kind but distant, never really sure what to make of all of us.” She fingered the edge of the paper. “I miss him terribly. Andrew is lovely and takes very good care of us, but there’s something about having a parent. They’re the ones you’re always supposed to turn to, aren’t they?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he allowed his gaze to linger overlong on her face, and when heat flooded her cheeks, she looked away.
“It’s strange not having anyone like that any longer.” She traced the outline of a tree on the watercolor before her. “It’s like you’re suddenly all alone in the world.”
She started again when he laid a hand atop hers. When she looked up, his gaze was piercing.
“But you’re not alone.” The words burned, destroying some of the shadow that had always lain across her world.
She wanted to believe he spoke of himself, but doubt still lingered in her mind. How much of this was real and how much a falsehood? The farce he wanted to make of his marriage?
She swallowed and broke away from his gaze.
“No, I’m not.” The words were strong, but she spoke them to her watercolors and not to anyone that mattered. She forced a smile and backed away from the table, shattering the intimate cocoon that had enveloped them.
“I feel as though I interrupted you from something.” She gestured toward his person. “You were wearing a jacket this morning. I hope I did not upset you overmuch.”
He stared at his shirt sleeves as if just realizing his state of undress.
“You’ve upset me not at all, Eliza.” He crossed his arms once more. “I was going over the calving reports from Sheridan. It seems the herd had a good spring.”
She couldn’t help but brighten at this. “Truly? That’s marvelous news. It seems your breeding experiment is off with a good flourish.”
The embarrassment was quick this time, flooding her cheeks with color as she resolutely looked away. Dax was ever the gentleman though and did not make a comment on her blunder. He only straightened.
“It would appear so.” He stood before her within seconds and tipped up her chin with a bent finger. “I shan’t disturb you any longer if you promise I’ll see you at luncheon.”
Their position was intimate, but his words held even greater emotion. An understanding for the future. A wish to see her again.
She swallowed. “Of course. That is if you should like to have luncheon with me. I know I kept you away from your work yesterday.”