“He loves her. And she loves him.”
“Precisely, and that is more important than anything.”
“But Izzy is an excellent hostess.”
“I agree. She’s intelligent and gregarious, and she will set out to learn whatever she needs to learn. As will you. But what about your other sister, Clarissa? My impression of her is that she’s shy and doesn’t enjoy large gatherings.”
“She doesn’t.”
“And her husband, also an earl, has no political ambitions and is happy looking after his estate and adoring his wife.”
She smiled mistily. “They are very happy together.”
He reached out and took her hands. “And so could we be. I don’t need a wife to impress others and further a career. I just want us to be together and be happy. And raise a family together. I don’t intend to change my agreement with Grandmama, by the way.”
Her brows drew together. “What agreement is that?”
“That I be the earl for nine months of the year and go vagabonding for the other three months, wandering and painting. We could do that together if you want—you, me and Hamish. I thought you enjoyed that life.”
“I did.”
“Well?”
She pursed her lips, thinking. “I want to be a painter.”
He looked perplexed. “But you would be.”
“No, a proper painter, not just a lady with a hobby.”
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love painting, but I don’t have half the talent you have. I promise you, if you marry me, I will do everything in my power to help you to further your talent and your opportunities.”
“But I don’t want to be ‘the countess that paints’ and have people say, ‘Oh, isn’t she clever?’ I want to be myself.”
“Z-B has already begun to make a name for herself. Being a countess should not make much difference, though admittedly, it might help you develop opportunities. But it’s talent that counts in the art world. I should know.” He gave a rueful smile. “My title will never get me accepted into the Royal Academy, because I’m simply not good enough. But your paintings might and probably will. The academy even accepts women—Angelica Kauffman and Mary Moser were early members—though it has to be admitted that most members are men.”
They hit a pothole, and Hamish, who had been snoozing on the floor, his head resting on her feet, woke, scrambled to his feet and nudged her meaningfully. Glad of the respite from the questions that had been disturbing her peace of mind for weeks, she spent the next few minutes making a fuss of the dog.
Reynard—no, Julian—was right. When she’d been brooding over her worries, alone in the middle of the night, they’d seemed insuperable. But every single one of his responses made sense. So what was holding her up? Was it nerves? The fear and uncertainty of knowing that happiness was there, within reach? That all she needed to do was to reach out and grab it?
It was disturbing to think she was a coward. But marriage, especially to a peer of the realm, was a big step.
She’d told Milly,Screw your courage to the sticking point and you’ll not fail.Lowering to think that Milly might have more courage than she.
The carriage slowed and turned down a narrow drive. Julian glanced out the window. “Ah, good, we’re here. That’s Dot and Fred’s place.”
At the end of a drive lined with trees, bare at this time of the year, the house emerged, a wide three-story sandstone building with an arched entrance from which two wings spread, with a line of gabled dormer windows on each side, and two large bay windows on the ground and second floors. Facing south, it would be wonderfully light.
“What a beautiful house,” Zoë exclaimed. It was much bigger than she’d expected.
“Yes, it’s not bad,” Julian said diffidently. He was trying to hide his pride in it. She was stunned. He’dgiventhis place to his sister and her husband. It was a magnificent gesture.
The front door opened and a footman ran down the steps to meet them. A butler waited in the entrance, and two grooms appeared from around the side to deal with the horses. The footman let down the carriage steps, and Hamish bounded out and hurried to the nearest tree while Julian assisted Zoë to alight.
“Julian!” A small, rounded, dark-haired lady emerged and bustled toward them, a huge smile on her face.
“Dot.” He picked her up and whirled her around. Laughing, she exhorted him to put her down and introduce her to his lady friend.
“Dot, this is my intended, Miss Zoë Benoît. Zoë, my sister, Lady Strangham.” Zoë shot him a glance.
