Part 44 (1/2)

”That's because even her bad drawings are better than anything the rest of us can do,” Mallory said before she shot a glance over at Grace. ”Except for Grace, of course. No offense, Grace, since you are a brilliant artist too.”

Her sister-in-law smiled. ”None taken.” Grace looked at Esme. ”Do let us see, dear. I know we would all enjoy a glimpse or two of your latest efforts. I particularly love the landscapes you do.”

Cheers of agreement and encouragement rose from those gathered.

Esme's chest tightened. ”No, I couldn't. Not tonight. Besides, my sketchbook is upstairs. There's no need for all this bother.”

”It's no bother,” Edward said. ”We'll have one of the servants fetch it.” He glanced over at the butler. ”Please ask one of the maids to collect Lady Esme's sketchbook and have it brought here to the drawing room.”

”Right away, Your Grace.” The servant bowed and exited the room.

No! Esme wanted to shout.

But it was too late. Any further protestations on her part would look odd, causing speculation about why she was so adamant that no one see her sketches. When her siblings said that she had never before shown a great deal of modesty concerning her work, they were right.

This could still work out fine, so long as she didn't panic. For the most part, her sketchbook contained renderings of birds and animals, field flowers, trees in leaf and the landscapes for which Grace had shown a partiality. The sketches of the man were at the back of the book. So long as she was careful, she could show the innocent drawings in the front-and only those.

All too soon one of the footmen walked in, her blue clothbound sketchbook in hand.

She leapt to her feet and hurried across to take it before anyone else could. ”Thank you, Jones.”

Quickly, she clutched the sketchbook against her chest, collecting herself. Then she turned to face the waiting company.

”Here we are,” she said brightly as she crossed to resume her seat. ”Since you all wish to see, why don't I just hold up the drawings rather than pa.s.sing the book around?”

Slowly she cracked open the book, careful to go nowhere near the back pages. She thumbed through, looking quickly for something she hadn't already shown her family.

”Ah, here we are,” she said, relieved to have found a new sketch. ”I drew this of the hills toward the village earlier today.”

Actually, she'd drawn it last week.

She held up the book, fingers tight on the pages.

Murmurs of appreciation went around the room.

”Lovely,” Lady Waxhaven said.

”Astounding,” Lord Eversley p.r.o.nounced. ”As I said before, you are a marvel, Lady Esme. Show us another.”

”All right.”

Bending over the book again, she found a new sketch. This one of her dog Burr lying under a tree.

She held it up, eliciting more positive remarks and smiles from everyone-everyone, that is, except Lettice Waxhaven, who looked as if she wished she'd never started this.

That made two of them.

She showed one more of farmers in the field, then closed the book, holding it on her lap. ”There. You have all had your art exhibition for the evening. Now, enough. Please go back to what you were doing before, talking and drinking and enjoying the evening.”

”Esme is quite right,” Claire said with a broad smile. ”Let us make merry. Perhaps a game of cards or some dancing? I should dearly love to hear a tune.”