Page 18 of A Landscape of Love

“I can manage now,” Fidelia said, reaching for the basket. “Thank you again.”

“Thank you for the picnic, my lady,” Hart said, touching his hat with his fingers respectfully. “Good day to you.”

“Good day, sir.”

Hart watched her walk away, saw a footman hurry out of the front doors to take the basket from her, and the great doors close as she went inside. He let out a breath, telling himself he was relieved to be out of her presence. Perhaps next time she’d think twice before seeking him out, he thought hopefully, and returned to his work.

“You like Mr De Beauvoir, don’t you?”

Fidelia jumped at the question, the pencil she was holding scratching over the paper. “Oh, drat it,” she muttered, staring down at the drawing she’d been working on with frustration. “Certainly. He seems a good sort,” she said nonchalantly, slanting a look at her brother who had asked the question.

He, too, was drawing, brow furrowed in concentration.

Fidelia rubbed out the mess she’d made and returned her attention to the book she was studying, and one particular illustration: Les liliacees by Pierre Joseph Redouté. The book was a beautiful volume of botanical illustrations she’d found in her father’s library, and she had become enchanted by the pictures. How had she not noticed it before?

“Oh, that’s not bad at all, Fidelia,” Alex said with approval, coming to look over her shoulder. “Will you paint it?”

“Yes, I’ll try,” Fidelia said with a nod, giving the drawing a critical once over. “It’s a long time since I painted anything, and never anything like this.”

“I’m sure Mr De Beauvoir will like it,” Alex added ingenuously.

Fidelia blushed, frowning at her brother in consternation. “What makes you think I’m doing it for him?”

“Oh,” Alex said, glancing at her in surprise. “Well, I just assumed… but, anyway, it’s very pretty.”

“Thank you,” Fidelia replied, frowning. Mr De Beauvoir was right, she must be more careful. She had been doing the painting for him, but it would not do for people to speculate, even Alex. Only it was so lovely to have a friend, and especially one who knew about her son, that she could feel nothing but warmth and admiration for him. She had wanted to give him something in return for trusting her with the seeds. It was a small thing, obviously, but the gesture had meant a lot to her. No one ever trusted her to do anything.

Since the day she’d been born, everything had been done for her, and she had been told what to do. Of course, the only time she had done anything for herself she had ended up with a baby and no husband, but she would not think of that. Fidelia had learned her lesson, but she would allow no one to dictate to her any longer. If she wanted to be friends with Mr De Beauvoir, then she would be, but she would take far more care this time.

“I think he’s a capital fellow,” Alex said, sitting back down at his drawing again. “I wish father wasn’t such a snob. It would be nice to chat to him over dinner, don’t you think?”

Fidelia tried to imagine Mr De Beauvoir at the dinner table with her father, the oppressive atmosphere that always reigned when his grace was home infiltrating everything, even the soup. Food became tasteless when eaten in the Duke of Beresford’s presence, if she could even swallow it at all, such was her anxiety in his company.

“No,” she said firmly.

“But you enjoyed our picnic with him. I know you did,” Alex pressed.

“That was different. Mr De Beauvoir would not be comfortable in Father’s company.”

“Oh, I don’t mean with him here,” Alex said scornfully. “But we could invite Mr De Beauvoir, couldn’t we?”

Fidelia stared at her brother. It was a tempting idea. Too tempting. She wondered what the man might look like in evening clothes and hurriedly pushed the image away. Too dangerous. He was a friend, that was all, a man who had been kind to her. She’d made enough of a fool of herself by making unwelcome advances to him and he’d made it very clear he wasn’t interested.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Alex,” she said, squashing the idea before her brother could run away with it. “I doubt very much he has brought evening clothes with him, he’s here to work, remember, and father would not like it at all.”

“Oh, pooh. Father doesn’t like anything or anyone, but we’ll never get to do anything if we don’t choose for ourselves now and then.”

The words were so close to what she’d been thinking herself just moments earlier that Fidelia hesitated.

“I—” she began and then paused, glancing at Alex, at the hopeful light in his eyes.

He had so little company, and so few opportunities to be in the company of an intelligent man, and moreover, one who had values, a deep moral code, and a sense of honour. Those qualities were sorely lacking in the Ponsonby family, certainly in their father and eldest brother. She could already see how much good Mr De Beauvoir’s company had done for Alex, and after all, it was only dinner. What was the harm in that? If the duke had been any other man, Mr De Beauvoir would have stayed with them at the house and eaten with them every night.

“I’ll think about it,” she offered.

Alex grinned at her.

“Jolly good, Lia, I knew I could count on you,” he said, beaming as if it were a foregone conclusion.