“Something? If you mean your scrumptious baked goods, yes, I shall be lost without them. Of course, until you feel better, I must do without anyhow.”
Jane cut her gaze to Bea, a single delicate brow lifted. “Perhaps I should have said someone. And no, I am not referring to Richard or myself.”
Colin’s face immediately popped into her head, and Beatrice bit her lip against the silly smile that threatened. She looked down at the pavement, watching the swish of her skirts as she walked. “There is, actually.”
“I knew it!” Jane gave her arm a little squeeze, grinning broadly. “A woman in love can always spot another.”
“Love?” Beatrice squeaked. Was that the emotion that fairly exploded in her chest anytime she thought of him? Was love what made her heart race when she heard that incredible accent of his, or set eyes on the painting she was working on? She suddenly desperately wished Evie weren’t so far away.
She hadn’t even realized she stopped walking until Jane tugged her to the side, pulling her out of the way of pedestrians behind them. She blinked up at her sister-in-law, trying to get a handle on the rioting emotions that seemed to rob her of the ability to think rationally. “I don’t know if it’s love, per se. I mean, I do quite, quite like him. . . .” She trailed off, putting a gloved hand to her middle. Even as she said the words, she knew that they weren’t nearly strong enough to describe the feelings she had whenever he was near.
“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that you’ve been so different these past few weeks. And to hear you talk about Sir Colin, truly, you positively glow.”
Lovely. Now she was some sort of incandescent lovesick fool.
“Oh, don’t give me that look, Bea. For heaven’s sake, love is a good thing. Especially when a couple is as compatible as Sir Colin and you. It makes things so much easier.”
Beatrice shook her head and started forward, pulling Jane along with her. “Can we please not talk about this? Colin and I haven’t even discussed courting.”
“‘Colin,’ is it?” Jane’s knowing look was altogether too much. “And I’ll grant your wish, provided you answer one last question.”
Cutting a suspicious look at her sister-in-law, Beatrice said, “What question is that?”
“Has he kissed you?”
“Jane!”
Two men walking past started at Beatrice’s exclamation, but Jane simply smiled impassively at them until they went on their way. As if this moment could be any more mortifying.
“I’m fairly certain that is a yes, but I won’t press.”
They walked in silence for a few more blocks. The residential homes gave way to businesses, and the traffic around them increased. The wagon carts, horse hooves, and shouting costermongers did little to drown out the noise in her own head as she went over and over the word “love” in her mind. And the wonderful, wicked, incredible kisses she had shared with Colin.
“Yes.”
Jane looked at her, confusion knitting her brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yes, I kissed him.”
Of the two of them, Jane was the one who blushed at this. “I’m quite certain it is my duty as an old married woman to scold you. However,” she said, her almond-shaped eyes crinkling at the corners, “clearly I am not one to talk. Was it wonderful?”
A wave of butterflies took flight in her belly as Beatrice lingered on the memory of their kisses. “There is not a superlative in the English language that could properly describe its wonderfulness.”
“That, my dear, is quite possibly the sweetest thing I have ever heard . . . and exactly how it should be.”
They reached Monsieur Allard’s shop, and Beatrice led the way inside. It was ironic, really. Here she was writing a column about how to avoid bad men, and the only thing she could think of was one very good man.
Even as she smiled and greeted the Frenchman, her mind was already moving ahead. With the gallery opening at hand, and the length of Colin’s stay in London unknown, perhaps it was time for them to consider what the future might hold for them.
Chapter Eighteen
There was no doubt the exhibit was already a resounding success, even though not even an hour had passed since the gallery doors had opened. A harpist set the mood, her elegant Grecian-style gown the perfect complement to the white-and-gold decor, while her surprisingly dark and moody tones fit the look of the portraits quite exactly. Where normally the noise of so many people might have been deafening, the attendees spoke in quiet, reverent tones as they wandered from portrait to portrait.
So far, everything was perfect.
Which did not help Colin’s nerves in the least. Every time someone walked through the door, he darted a glance that way, willing the new arrival to be Beatrice. Unfortunately, his vigilance had earned him little but a few displeased looks from the people he was talking to at the time.
“I think his later works really embody his true talent, don’t you agree? Just look at the level of detail on Lady Danbridge’s gown. I feel as though I could reach out and touch it.”
Colin nodded politely to the purple-gowned woman whose name he couldn’t remember. She had tight ringlets covering her head, distracting him every time she moved.
“And the sunbeams”—bounce, swing, bounce—“aren’t they simply divine?”
This time she turned to him for confirmation of her opinion, and Colin dipped his head. “I agree completely.”
In that moment, the back of his neck tingled as if someone blew across the sensitive hairs there. He turned, his eyes going straight to the doorway, where a group of newcomers ventured into the room, glancing about. His heart kicked in his chest as his gaze collided with Beatrice’s. “Will you excuse me?” he murmured, not waiting for the matron’s response.
He strode across the room, pulled toward Beatrice like a fish on a line. Her mouth was turned up in the suggestion of a smile, her cheeks sweetly rounded, while her sapphire gaze, with its subtle hint of emerald, sparkled in silent greeting.
She was absolute perfection.
He wanted to do nothing but stare at her all night, his sweet stór in her bejeweled gown, but of course that was impossible. As he drew close enough to address the family at large, he smiled. “Good evening and welcome. I’m so glad that you all could join us tonight.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Lady Granville said, her regal features warm and pleasant. “I believe you have met my son, the Earl of Raleigh, but allow me to introduce to you his wife, Lady Raleigh.”
The dark-haired beauty on Raleigh’s arm wasn’t at all what he had expected, given the way his aunt had described the former baker. Her flawless skin and bright emerald eyes were lovely, but it was the countess’s grin that struck Colin most. It seemed completely pure, in no way contrived, and he found himself liking her immediately. “My lady, it is a pleasure.”
“I have heard so much about you, Sir Colin. It’s lovely to finally make your acquaintance.”
His gaze flickered to Beatrice. Was she the one telling Lady Raleigh about him? He rather hoped so. He liked to think that she was as captivated with him as he was with her. Diplomatically, he turned his attention to the twins, who were looking about as if they’d never been to a gallery. Or perhaps it was that they had never been to a gathering like this. They had yet to debut, after all. “Lady Carolyn, Lady Jocelyn, it is a delight to see you again. I do hope you will all enjoy the exhibit. And do let me know if you would like the background on any of the portraits. I am happy to divulge all of the artist’s secrets, as Lady Beatrice might have told you.”