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  After a time, Stratford’s gaze returned to Grandmother Witherspoon’s portrait. “She really was a beautiful woman. She reminds me so much of you.”

  “Does she?” Dorothea regarded the figure’s eyes, the curve of her face, and her slim but womanly frame. “Yes, I suppose she does look a bit like I do. I certainly take your observation as a supreme compliment.”

  He studied the picture. “I would think the lady in the portrait would be equally pleased by the comparison.”

  “I would like to think so, although I never knew my grandmother. From all accounts, she was quite the prim and proper lady, God rest her soul.” Dorothea couldn’t resist sharing a bit more. What could telling a little story hurt? “This is a secret just between us, but I understand she occasionally imbibed in a pinch of snuff when she thought no one was watching.”

  “Did she?” Lord Brunswick laughed. Dorothea liked the way he expressed his mirth freely, without reservation. “How amusing. I must say, I have a fine lineage of ancestors who had their share of oddities, as well. Would you like to hear about them?”

  “Oh, yes indeed.”

  Lord Brunswick’s amusing accounts kept her laughing the rest of the afternoon away, even more than she had with Hans. She found the conversation doubly stimulating since she could participate rather than simply providing an audience for someone’s tales, however fascinating.

  Even better, she discovered that her guess formed the previous evening was correct—that Stratford really did seek to walk with the Lord. In such times, a devout man was a treasure indeed. Perhaps she was not such a poor judge of character as Helen had tried to claim.

  By the end of their time together, she was addressing him by his Christian name. Stratford. The name rolled off her tongue as easily as her own.

  Before she realized how much time had passed, the flat bang of the gong summoned them to dinner.

  “Dinner already?” Stratford consulted his pocket watch. “Why, indeed it is. I have certainly overstayed my welcome.” He rose from his seat.

  She followed his example. “Not at all. Why, I would not have known it was the dinner hour myself had the gong not sounded. Will you not stay and dine with us?”

  “Oh, I really cannot impose.”

  “Come now. Is your cook really better than Helen’s?” she teased.

  “I doubt it. Perhaps I should find out.” He smiled in a way that told her that he wanted to learn more than how Helen’s cook prepared roast of beef.

  Dorothea felt just the tiniest bit of remorse upon inviting Stratford without asking Helen first. Then she looked at Stratford, so dashing in a dark suit that fit his fine form to perfection, his blue eyes seldom taking their gaze from her face, his mouth that tempted her to dream about a kiss. . . .

  She quickly tamped down any regrets and held her head high as she walked into the dining hall with Stratford by her side. Helen and Luke had already been seated, though Luke rose in deference to the fact that a lady had entered the room. Helen’s eyebrows arched in question, but she greeted Stratford in a cordial manner, as did Luke.

  Dorothea posed her query. “Helen, because of the advanced hour, I have asked Lord Brunswick to dine with us. I know you do not mind in the least.”

  If Helen minded, she recovered in record speed. “Indeed not. I am delighted to have a dinner guest.” She motioned to the maid to set an extra plate.

  Luke didn’t seem to mind the extra company, either. The two men established a quick rapport that Dorothea knew reflected the comfort of an established acquaintanceship. Even Helen didn’t seem to mind conversing with him. In light of Helen’s stated preference for Hans earlier, by meal’s end Dorothea considered the event to be a victory.

  “Try not to be a stranger, Brunswick,” Luke encouraged him after dinner. “I did tell you about the hunt we have planned for the weekend?”

  “I believe it was mentioned in passing, though I was not aware I was to be included.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “Then you can count on me to join you.” He sent Dorothea a sidelong glance. “I might even pay a call before then, by your leave.”

  Luke answered. “Never give a second thought to dropping in on us. You are always welcome here.”

  Dorothea wished Helen would concur, but since Luke spoke for the members of his household, she knew Stratford could feel comfortable visiting as he liked.

  Stratford bid Dorothea a proper adieu. By the time his feet hit the stoop and the door shut behind him, she nearly felt like collapsing with exhaustion and excitement.

  “Well,” Helen noted, “I never would have believed I would one day be juggling two men practically tripping over each other in the foyer.”

  “Have you been married to me so long that you are envious, my dear?” Luke gave her a reassuring peck on the cheek.

  “I enjoyed my courting days, but I do not wish for them to return. Indeed, I am much too happy now.” The sparkle in Helen’s eyes as she regarded Luke said she told the truth.

  “And I return those feelings a hundredfold.” Luke’s smile mirrored his wife’s. “I shall leave you to your talk of delicate ladylike matters while I retire to the drawing room for a cigar. By your leave, ladies?”

  “Certainly,” Dorothea said.

  “Do enjoy,” Helen added.

  Dorothea must have had a dreamy look in her own eyes, for Helen set her back into reality as soon as her husband was out of earshot. “Really, Dorothea, must you encourage that man?”

  “I assume you mean Lord Brunswick?”

  “Yes. Why would you flirt with him so openly when you have more than piqued the interest of Baron von Lunenburg? Remember how much you owe him.”

  “Yes.” Through force of will Dorothea managed not to cringe. She almost wished she hadn’t accepted the favor, since Helen never seemed to miss a chance to remind her about her debt of gratitude. “And I returned the favor by giving him a most attentive ear all afternoon.”

  “I have a feeling that being in his company was not a form of torture.”

  “I cannot say it was.”

  “I am amazed,” Helen said, “by how much attention you have attracted considering you have no dowry to offer. I wonder if Lord Brunswick is aware of your financial situation?”

  Dorothea swallowed. She had been so entranced by Stratford that she hadn’t considered how little she had to offer him in the way of money. Would he lose all interest in her once he found out she had no dowry?

  “You should be down on your knees thanking Providence that Baron von Lunenburg likes a pretty face.” Warning filled Helen’s voice.

  “And you think Lord Brunswick is a pauper?”

  “No. I would not say he is.”

  “Then perchance he will be content with what you call a pretty face, as well, then. Unlike most of the other men we know, Stratford is a devoted Christian.”

  “Stratford?” Helen inquired. “So now you are calling him by his Christian name?”

  “He granted me leave, yes. And I have the distinct impression that money is not his primary concern.” Dorothea decided to play a trump card. “And you noticed how Luke talks easily to him, and he encouraged him to return. Obviously he approves.”

  “Luke is not the one who may marry him.”

  “Helen, I appreciate your concern, but no one is anywhere near the point of making such a declaration. We have only known each other a short while, and my time here is limited. I merely plan to enjoy what pleasant company comes my way before I must return to my new life in London.”

  And uncertainty. And a dreary room. And hope for a paying position suitable for a lady.

  “I assure you,” Dorothea told Helen, “Baron von Lunenburg has my undying gratitude for getting me out of debt. And I will always show him the utmost deference. But taking him on as a suitor? Why, even if that had been my plan, he never stated his intentions.”

  “Perhaps granting you such a large favor was a way of stating his intentions.”

 
“Then he had best speak in plain language. As you well know by now, I have never been good at playing games.”

  “But, my dear, games are so much fun.”

  Six

  Stratford whistled as he rode home. What a wonderful afternoon he had spent with Dorothea, a more lovely time than he had experienced in recent memory. Whenever images of that snake Lunenburg popped into his head, he shook them out of his mind. Even though she and Lunenburg had been engaged in animated conversation when Stratford arrived, Dorothea had assured him with both actions and words that she preferred his company.

  Of course she was being courteous to Lunenburg by continuing to grant him the pleasure of her company. She thought he had paid her way. Perhaps Lunenburg was right. Perhaps Stratford was a fool for letting the man take credit for his good deed. Yet the verse that spurred Stratford spun around in his mind: “But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: that thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly.”

  What if Dorothea found out he, not Lunenburg, was her benefactor? Would she treat him with the same deference? And what if she did? Would her attention be motivated by gratitude alone?

  No, he wouldn’t want polite company as a reward from a grateful woman. He wanted the type of natural companionship he had enjoyed with her this afternoon. Better yet, he wanted Dorothea to love him for himself. The idea that he was hiding behind scripture to conceal his real motive for paying her debts disturbed him, yet he could think of no other way. He had to establish a relationship with her before she found out so she wouldn’t think he pitied her.

  Heavenly Father, forgive me. And if Dorothea hates me when she learns the truth—which is bound to happen—let her forgive me, too.

  The thought of her departure, scheduled to take place in less than a fortnight, left him with a feeling of dread. He had to think of a way to keep her in the country. But how? If only he had a position open in his household that would be worthy of a woman of her station. But he did not. Despite Dorothea’s determination to make her own way, Stratford thought that taking on the role of a governess—an option she considered—was beneath her. Not that he had children for her to tutor.

  He arrived at his home and dismounted, handing over his faithful white steed to a stable boy. Then he remembered part of the conversation he had just shared with Dorothea. Something she had said gave him an idea. He dismissed any lingering doubts and called the stable boy to bring back his horse. He had to return to the Syms estate without further ado.

  ❧

  Dorothea looked out of the window when she heard the sound of horse’s hooves approaching the estate. “Who might that be at this late hour?”

  “Surely it is not yet another caller,” Helen speculated.

  Dorothea recognized Stratford returning. “Why, our visitor is Stratford!”

  Helen strode up beside Dorothea and peered outside. “I think you are right. Strange. He was here nearly the entire afternoon and evening. What else could he possibly have to say?”

  “Maybe he left his coat or hat here? Although I was certain he was wearing both when he left.”

  “Whatever his business is, it must be important. He is riding as though his life depended upon it.”

  “By your leave, I would like to greet him at the door and find out for myself,” Dorothea said.

  “Dorothea! Must you be so forward?”

  “I promise not to say anything shameful.”

  Their conversation soon became moot as the butler answered, then announced Stratford’s arrival and request to see Dorothea.

  Helen whispered, “I think you should say you are indisposed. If you are always available, you will look too eager.”

  “That might be good advice for the coy woman, but since Stratford looked as though his business was urgent, I shall see him.” Seeing Helen roll her glance to the ceiling and back, Dorothea added, “Maybe I will be indisposed next time.”

  He was standing near the fire, which had burned down to a few glowing embers when she entered the drawing room. He nodded to her. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening. I did not expect to see you again so soon.” She smiled in return and chose a comfortable chair in which to seat herself.

  He sat on the sofa. “Truth be told, neither did I. But I had to see you. My business is too urgent to wait. It concerns our conversation today.”

  “Oh, that.” She pondered what he could have regretted revealing to her. “Are you remorseful about telling me about how your second cousin was a spy for the American colonists during the revolt? I promise I will never say a word. Not even to Helen.”

  “I have no fear that you would ever break a confidence. No, I am here about another part of our conversation. You mentioned you enjoy painting.”

  “Yes, I do. Very much.”

  “I should have thought to inquire earlier, but since I did not, I shall ask now, by your leave. I was wondering if I might be able to view some of your work?”

  She felt her smile vanish. “If only you could. I would be more than happy for you to look at my paintings, except that I did not bring any with me.”

  Stratford’s mouth curled into a disappointed line. “Of course. What possessed me?” His shoulders slumped.

  “Even if I had the inclination to bring some of my pictures from London, it would have been impossible. I sold everything I ever painted.”

  His eyes rounded. “Indeed?”

  “Not intentionally, mind you. I did not seek to charge a fee for my little hobby. My friends merely granted me a little pocket money as a courtesy.” She clasped her hands. “I would not be entirely honest if I did not admit that I did keep two small pieces, but they are not really my best work.”

  “I care not. I still want to see them. May I?”

  “Very well. I have them in my bedchamber. Would you wait while I retrieve them?”

  “Of course.”

  Dorothea hurried about her task so as not to keep him lingering alone any longer than necessary. The paintings were held up by small easels positioned on a shelf in her room, a constant reminder of the parents she would always love.

  Soon she brought two small paintings for his perusal. She found him still sitting on the upholstered sofa and took a seat beside him so she could present him with her work. “This is Mother.” She showed him a painting of a woman with light hair like her own and mysterious brown eyes.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  “My work or my mother?” she teased.

  “Both.” He extended his hand for the second painting.

  “This is Father.”

  She watched Stratford study the portrait of a distinguished-looking gentleman with dark hair that had grayed at the temples. “A handsome fellow. No surprise.” He smiled at Dorothea.

  “Since they were my own dear parents, I hope you will not think me vain to observe that they were pleasing subjects to paint.”

  “In my judgment, you do not exaggerate. I would say that based on this work you could compliment the most difficult subject.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “I do not speak in hyperbole. These are astounding.” He kept his eyes on the pictures. “Why, they are just as good, if not better, than most of the professional portraits I see.”

  “Thank you. I wonder about the artists to whom you compare me?”

  “Talented artists. One in particular. William Amory was our local portrait painter for a time. He was also our doctor.”

  She tried to remember the people she had met. “I recall meeting Dr. Oliver but not Dr. Amory.”

  “I am surprised the Amory name does not register with you. He married your cousin Lavonia Penn.”

  “Lavonia Penn.” She searched her memory for details to place with the name. “Oh, yes. Of course. Lavonia is Helen’s cousin from another branch of the family. I do remember Helen writing to us that Lavonia came to stay with her for a time, and that is when she met Dr. Amory.
They have since moved to America to practice medicine among the poor.”

  “Yes, you have the details right.”

  “I do admire them so. I would never think of moving to such a savage place.”

  “One must go where he is called.” Stratford remembered someone else. “I remember attending Kitty’s wedding to the vicar. How is she now?”

  “Enjoying life in the parish where he was transferred, as far as I know.”

  Stratford grinned. “I do seem to remember he wanted to advance in his profession.”

  “Yes, the Lord has granted him career success, but they have no children as of yet,” Dorothea added, even though Stratford hadn’t made a specific inquiry.

  “Children. Do I see dreams in your eyes?”

  She squirmed. What could she say? “Does not every woman dream of children once she is married?” She felt a desperate need to deflect attention from herself, lest Stratford think her too forward. “And does not every man dream of being a father?”

  “I do. One day.”

  “One day.”

  He made a show of studying the portraits. “I beg your pardon, I did not intend to allow my conversation to wander so far off the presentation of my idea to you.”

  As much as she felt thrilled to learn that they shared such an important dream, Dorothea knew that Stratford made a wise move to steer the conversation to safer waters. “Idea?”

  “Yes. You have made clear to me that you are determined to make your way in the world instead of depending on the kindness of distant relations.”

  “I have not wavered, and I never will.”

  “Then you will find my suggestion intriguing. In the absence of Dr. Amory, we have not had a portrait painter here.” He looked into her eyes. His expression was not the rapt one of a suitor but the straightforward guise of a businessman. “Dorothea, have you ever considered painting portraits on commission? People are eager for their likenesses to be painted, and from the looks of these, you are quite good. I can only assume you have taken a good number of lessons and learned the craft well.”

  “Yes, I was allowed to pursue my little hobby under the guidance of a master of the arts in finishing school, Monsieur Journeu. He encouraged me, but I thought he was just prodding me as any good teacher would.” She thought back to after she graduated. “Later, my friends were kind enough to humor me by making a few purchases, but I really do not think I am that good.”