More than anything, Seraphina wished to have him closer to her once more. It was such a foolish, silly notion. Her hands folded demurely in front of her body as she awaited him — just as the music changed to signal that dinner was being served.
Lord Ashford glanced over his shoulder as the murmured conversation around them shifted and changed to discuss the meal. Seraphina’s disappointment was palpable. The mass of bodies that had been dancing only moments prior seemed to move en masse towards the dining room. She lost sight of Lord Ashford in the throng of it. She bit down on her bottom lip softly as she, too, was forced to head in that direction, lamenting the moment of near conversation with him.
The dining room was divine. The lavish setting was already laden with decorative platters and pretty displays of every dish she could imagine. Couples and families mingled around the room’s edges, but most had taken their seats. Seraphina actually looked for her parents, whom she was certain she would be expected to sit beside, but her gaze found Lord Ashford all the same. He waved her over the moment he caught her eye — he had saved a seat beside himself for her.
She ought to decline. It would send the wrong sort of message, and she knew it. Her parents would get their hopes up. Sitting at his side would spark rumours that they were courting when they absolutely were not.
Her feet carried her to him anyway.
Lord Ashford rose from his seat to pull her chair out before she had consciously chosen to sit next to him. It was like her body had taken over, shifted out of her control with a mind of its own. She felt as if she were overly aware of his frame and how close their chairs were to one another. Images of the parlour where he had pulled her closer to him warmed her. If she were not careful how she sat here, her thigh would brush against his.
“So, Lady Seraphina,” Tristan started, his voice rich and velvety, “I wished to apologize for leaving so quickly. I wished to convince you that you should show me more of your sketches. I only caught but a glimpse or two, but they were very well crafted.”
Seraphina looked up; her piercing blue eyes met his gaze with surprise and curiosity. She was not accustomed to compliments, especially not from notorious rakes like Tristan. Yet, the sincerity in his voice disarmed her, making her defences falter for a brief moment. If he continued on this path every time they encountered one another, she was going to start believing him. It would do terrible things for her ego.
“It is merely a pastime, nothing of great significance,” she replied with a touch of modesty, trying to maintain her icy demeanour.
Tristan chuckled softly, and the sound sent a pleasant shiver down Seraphina’s spine. “I assure you, Lady Seraphina, your talent is far from inconsequential. If your sketching is anything like the painting I saw, they will undoubtedly possess a captivating quality, a glimpse into the depth of your soul, if I may be so bold.”
For a moment, the icy barrier that Seraphina had carefully cultivated wavered, and she was caught off guard by Tristan’s keen observation. Under his intense gaze, she felt exposed, as though he could see right through her façade. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips that she could not squash. Was she imagining things, or was he paying special attention to her lips as she spoke? Why did it make her stomach flutter at the thought?
“I told you, your flattery is unnecessary, Lord Ashford,” she retorted, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness. “I hardly see how my art is of any interest to you.”
Tristan leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to an intimate whisper. “On the contrary, Lady Seraphina, your art is of great interest to me, as are all things that interest you. It speaks volumes about the person you are, revealing a side of you that many fail to see. I thought I had been clear in my intentions and desire to get to know the true you.”
Seraphina felt her heart race, the intensity of their conversation stirring something within her. She glanced away, trying to collect her thoughts and regain her composure. But a spark of intrigue in Lord Ashford’s eyes kept pulling her back.
“I must admit,” she said, her voice softened slightly, “that art has always held a special place in my heart. My governess was an ardent lover of paintings and once took me to an exhibition. I was enchanted by how those canvases conveyed feelings and stories, each stroke of the brush speaking volumes.”
Seraphina’s tone attempted to mask her growing fascination with art as she spoke about her governess’s influence. The memory of that long-ago art exhibition filled her mind, the vivid colours and intricate brushstrokes leaving a lasting impression. She recalled how her governess had carefully explained the emotions and stories behind each painting, opening her young eyes to the world of artistic expression.
For all the world, it appeared that Lord Ashford could see nor hear anything in the dining hall but herself. He did not even turn his focus to the plate laden with delicious-smelling food placed in front of him when it was served.
“I can see why,” Lord Ashford replied, a genuine smile gracing his lips. “Art has a way of touching our souls, of capturing the essence of human emotion and experience. It is as though the artist reaches out across time to connect with the observer, leaving an indelible mark.”
Seraphina nodded, her heart beating a little faster as she sensed their genuine connection over this mutual passion. “It is true,” she said, her voice laden with sincerity, “I have always been moved by the power of art to evoke emotions that words cannot express. Each painting tells a story, and I find myself getting lost in those stories.”
Lord Ashford leaned in a little closer, their conversation taking on an intimate air amidst the grandeur of the dinner. “Lady Seraphina, I have never heard anyone speak about art like you have. There is such a passion behind your words despite how you attempt to mask it.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face and then up into his hair. It seemed as if he were taking a moment to measure the weight of his words. He nodded to himself. “I would like to take you to a gallery. I think that my education in art has been clearly lacking, and I can think of no better teacher than you; truly it is a rare gift.”
Seraphina’s cheeks flushed slightly at his words, feeling both seen and understood in a way she never thought possible. His compliment struck a chord deep within her, resonating with the woman she had always been but rarely showed to the world.
Too often, her hobbies and interests were dismissed as being ‘lesser than’ because they did not often have practical application. But in the past two years, she did not know what she would have done had she not had art to turn to in her darker moments. To her, it was a vital thing.
“I ... thank you,” she stammered, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice. “Your words are kind, Lord Ashford, and I must admit they are rather unexpected.”
Tristan smiled warmly, his gaze unwavering. “Does that mean you will go with me?” He leaned closer to her, his expression animated as he continued to speak with dramatic flair. “I speak only the truth, Lady Seraphina. A captivating charm about you sets you apart from the rest of the ton. Your love for art is just one facet of your intriguing nature.”
Seraphina laughed and rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. “Enough! It is too much!”
Lord Ashford smiled in return. “Can there truly be such a thing as too much flattery?”
“I assure you that there can be. You crossed those thresholds some time ago.”
He nudged her softly with his shoulder, just a subtle glance. “I disagree! I not only have got you to agree to come out with me willingly, but I have also been graced with a smile. Clearly, it was just the right amount of flattery.”
Seraphina attempted to push the smile away and failed.
