"Engravings? I had no idea he did engravings."

"He doesn't do the engraving himself; he designs the pieces and has them sent out to be done. It is a long, laborious process, you know, and Hyatt admits he hasn't the patience for it. I am here to purchase his London Life series for Mama. She is very pleased with his Country Life series. Would you like to see them?"

"Where are they?" Laura asked. It occurred to her that this might be an invitation to Lord Talman's house. She was eager to go but feared that Olivia might dig in her heels and refuse.

"Why, they are in the back room. I am surprised you haven't seen them." He rose quietly and had a word with Hyatt. Hyatt frowned and seemed to be objecting, but Talman spoke again, then beckoned to Laura. She followed him into an office off the studio. "This is the new London Life folio," he said.

A pile of leather-bound folios sat on top of an oak desk. Lord Talman lifted the cover to show Laura an engraving. It was a marvelous picture of an old sailor sitting on the edge of a dock, gazing out to sea. He held a pipe in one gnarled hand. A dilapidated cap shaded his eyes, giving him an air of mystery. "This was done down at the Blackwell Wharf, where the East India Company has its docks," he explained.

Tall masts of ships soared into the sky. Layers of clouds gave the engraving a somber tone. But it was at the man's face that she gazed longest. With a few strokes, Hyatt had suggested the end of a hard life. The man was not frowning, but a sense of nostalgia and resignation enshrouded him. Perhaps it was the pose, with the shoulders slumped forward.

Talman lifted the page, and a smiling green grocer greeted her, holding up a cabbage he had just lifted from his barrow. This one was in the prime of life. He was content with his lot. His face was as round and common as the cabbage, yet he was more than a type. One could sense his good humor-almost hear the raucous sound of his laughter.

Talman kept turning pages, giving glimpses of postmen and linkboys, of hackney drivers and seamstresses. All his models were from the lower strata. One engraving was of two women of the street. The young, pretty one was obviously just beginning her career, and a pace behind her stood a derelict hag at the dog end of hers. It was not an indictment, but a compassionate character study.

Laura was overwhelmed with the work. She had no idea Hyatt was a serious artist. "I thought he only painted society," she said.

Talman laughed. "No, he calls those things at Somerset House his 'relaxation paintings'. This is his real work."

"But why does he not exhibit it?"

Talman just shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps he is afraid the critics will savage him. He is insecure regarding his work-needlessly so. Anyone can see he is a genius. The new Hogarth. This set is a companion to the Country Life series I mentioned. It features farmers and shepherds, dairy maids and grooms, each in his native habitat. Unidealized, you know, with the warts and wrinkles in place. Yet there is an austere beauty to it. Even without advertising or exhibiting, they are being snapped up by collectors."

"I should like to see the Country Series," Laura said, glancing around for another set of folios.

"Hyatt told me the Prince asked for a copy last week. Hyatt sent him over the last one he had here, though of course there are more at the engravers. I have a set at home, if you would like to see them."

She professed a polite interest, and Talman continued, "In fact, I was hoping you and the baroness, and of course your chaperones, would spend the weekend at Castlefield, my father's estate. It is not far from London. Mama is having a house party this weekend." He named several prominent guests, including two Cabinet ministers and several peers. "But perhaps I have left it too late. I have been trying to screw up my courage to ask her all week-the baroness, that is. I am afraid I have not had much encouragement."

Laura was flustered. She recognized the invitation for a great compliment but knew as well that neither Mrs. Traemore nor Olivia would realize it. "It sounds charming," she said. "I don't believe we have anything important on this weekend. Of course I must ask Mrs. Traemore before accepting. I'll have her write you a note, shall I?"

"Perhaps I should go home with you to urge her on?"

It was agreed that he would call that afternoon. He mentioned some of the entertainments planned. "Just a simple weekend. Nothing grand, but Mama has arranged a dinner party and a rout. We enjoy excellent riding at Castlefield. There would be no need to bring your own mounts. We keep several ladies' mounts at home."

This last treat was the likeliest to lure Olivia from London. She was missing her bruising rides. "It sounds lovely."

Talman inclined his head closer and said, in a confidential tone, "Do try if you can convince the baroness. She is so busy in London I can seldom get near her.”

The door opened, and Lord Hyatt's head peeked in. "The portrait is finished," he announced.

They both turned. Talman said, "I was just showing Miss Harwood your engravings, Hyatt."

"Miss Harwood will not be interested in that. You should not bore a lady with that heavy stuff, Talman," Hyatt said modestly, but he peered uncertainly to see how Laura had liked them.

"They are-wonderful," she said, grasping for the right word. "Beautiful" seemed inappropriate, though he had drawn a haunting beauty from his mundane models and settings. "So different from your society portraits. I had no idea you did this sort of work. I especially like the mood of the old sailor engraving."

She opened the cover to study the top engraving again. Talman said, "I shall mention the weekend to the baroness," and left. Hyatt moved forward to take his place by the desk.

"How did you come to get interested in this sort of work, Lord Hyatt?" she asked.

"This is my first love, my only love, really," he replied. "This is the sort of work I did originally. I began with sketches from country life. When that was done, I came to London and did these. Mama told me I was becoming 'strange,' loitering about the alleys and slums of the city. I should mix more with my own sort. I was not happy without a paint brush or pencil in my hand, so I began painting what is called 'my own sort,' whatever that may be. Sometimes I feel I have little in common with my own sort. They are blind to reality, what goes on in the rest of the country to give them-us-our privileged life."

Laura listened and realized there were depths to Hyatt that she had never imagined. She had thought him only a fashionable fribble, but that was merely the surface. She could well imagine that once he began to mingle in society, he would be lionized, the more so as he flattered the ladies. Two weeks of flattery had changed Olivia's behavior. Hyatt had withstood it for years without becoming impossible.

"That is why you donate their commissions to charity?" she said.

"A nobleman is not expected to work for money. That would be infra dig. Any of us with a soupcon of talent is expected to ply his earnings into charity works. Lord Byron did the same. Not that I mean to equate my poor skills with his!"

She gave a quizzing look. "You are too modest, Lord Hyatt. It is difficult to equate apples and oranges, but I would assess your work to be of more lasting worth than Byron's poetry. It sounds absurd to compare his eastern poems with your society portraits, but they are of that sort-not real. Oh, I did not mean to offend you!" she said with a quick, rueful look.

"On the contrary, I am flattered, Miss Harwood. Laura-if I may call you so," he said, looking to see if she objected. She nodded, pleased with him. "It is a lovely, gentle name. It suits you. I have wanted to use it these last days, to ease my exacerbated spirits."

"It is Yarrow and that set-"

He shook his head ruefully. "Truth to tell, it is your baroness. She seemed such an unspoiled creature when I began her portrait. I envisaged her as one thing. Then before my eyes, she changed. She no longer seemed at home in her woodsy setting. I fear she will not be flattered at her likeness. When she nagged at me for the tenth time about 'that horrid dress,' I was tempted to stick a tiara on her saucy head."

Laura blushed for her cousin's behavior. "She was not accustomed to so much attention. It has gone to her head, I fear. Lord Talman is her latest conquest. He has invited us to Castlefield for the weekend."

"I didn't think he came so often for the pleasure of watching me work. My only question was whether it was the baroness or yourself who was the drawing card," he said, with a quizzical smile.

"Me!" Laura exclaimed, and laughed. "Indeed, no. I am merely his confidante."

"There is no accounting for taste," he said, with a gallant bow that suggested the baroness was not his own first choice. "Will you go to Castlefield?"

"I have some hope that the lure of horseflesh might win her over. She would prefer to stay in town and rattle about with Yarrow, I expect. He has arranged an outing this afternoon-which means Mr. Meadows and I must tag along behind, to play propriety."

Hyatt knew that Laura was frequently in Meadows's company. Her casual linking of their names suggested a growing closeness between them. "You have known him for some time, I believe?"

"His aunt lives at Whitchurch, so he has been going there for years." He waited, nodding, but she said no more.

After seeing Hyatt's engravings, Laura felt that she had passed up an opportunity at immortality by refusing to sit for him. She felt sure that his works would last. How marvelous to have a likeness of herself, done by a true genius. She wished he would broach the subject again. She sensed some change in him. He had not flirted with her since the day she refused his second offer to paint her. He was too gentlemanly to sulk, but she had been aware of a distance in his manner. And she was too shy to bring the idea forward herself.