Bella struggled then looked to Hester for help.
Hester raised a brow. “Do not look at me. You must learn self-sufficiency. This is why you have lessons with Miss Wilmot.”
“She makes me spell harder things,” Bella complained. “Like encyclopedia. Or chamberlain.”
Thomas barked a laugh. “That’s Hester’s fault. She hired the woman.”
“I regret it already,” Hester said. But her eyes were soft, even as she feigned exasperation.
They worked through the picnic, sampling the various meats and pastries. Hester poured wine for herself and for Thomas then lemonade for Bella, who sipped and managed to dump only half of it onto her skirt.
Later, Bella wandered to the edge of the shade, watching ants at work on a crust of bread, then returned with an acorn and presented it to Thomas. “For you,” she said.
He took it, surprised by the force of feeling the gesture caused. “Thank ye, lass,” he said, tucking it into his waistcoat pocket.
Hester caught the exchange and looked away, busying herself with arranging the next round of food. She stacked another sandwich then regarded it with suspicion. “If I eat any more, I shall be unable to move.”
“That’s the idea,” Thomas said. “To keep you here, so you’re not swept back to London before you’re ready.”
She leaned back on her hands, the sun catching in the brown of her hair. “What if I want to be swept away?”
“Then you should ride it off, Duchess. There’s a gelding waiting, if you dare.”
She brightened. “I have not ridden in weeks. I’ll do it.”
“Will you join her, Bella?”
Bella shook her head. “The last time I rode, I nearly fell off,” she admitted.
Hester reached for the girl’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You may watch from here, then. I’ll be back before you can spell encyclopedia.”
Thomas waited for Hester to stand and dust her skirts. He offered his hand to help her up the slope, which she accepted, and together they walked to where the footman waited with the saddled gelding. Hester took the reins and mounted in one clean motion.
She looked back at Thomas. “I expect applause,” she said.
He clapped, just once. “You’ll terrify the gentry with your style, Duchess.”
She flashed a grin then nudged the horse into a slow walk, following the curve of the field as it hugged the line of the trees.
Thomas walked back to the blanket and sat cross-legged, watching as Hester circled the perimeter. She looked smaller at a distance, but her posture was perfect, back straight and shoulders loose. The horse seemed to like her.
He reached for his satchel and withdrew a sketchbook and a stub of charcoal. “Will you draw, too?” he asked Bella, who had been eyeing the book with open longing.
She nodded, and he tore out a blank sheet and handed her a softer piece of graphite. “Try not to get it on your dress,” he said, knowing it was useless.
She immediately began an enthusiastic scribble.
Thomas focused on the scene: Hester, horse and rider in silhouette against the grass, the play of light and shadow as she guided the animal along the dip in the land. He began with quick, loose marks then firmed up the lines as he went, capturing the tilt of her head.
He tried not to think about the future—the looming certainty that this, all of it, was temporary. He would wake one morning, and she would be gone, off to her next ambition.
The thought made him press too hard on the charcoal, snapping it.
“You broke it,” Bella observed, peering over his arm.
“So I did,” he said and sharpened the edge on a rock before returning to work.
She watched for a minute then went back to her own drawing. “I made a butterfly,” she said, holding it up.
