"You must be very hungry," she laughed, as they sped past less swift diners.

"I am, but it is not the food that causes this gallop. I want to rearrange the place cards."

He seemed to know his way around the mansion very well. With never a wrong turn, he sped down corridors and around corners until they came to the dining room. He went up and down the table, glancing at cards, and exchanged two.

"Is it some lady you want to cajole into posing for you?" she asked, looking to see what he was up to.

"Certainly not. The lady has already had the good sense to refuse. It is only her charming company I want. And I promise not to coerce you into posing."

She looked at the card and saw it was her own that he had moved to place beside his.

"Perhaps you shouldn't do that," she said. "The duchess might notice."

"She wouldn't notice if we all sat on the floor. Her butler makes the seating arrangements. Danson won't mind. I'll tip him the clue that this is your seat for the rest of the weekend. Do you mind?"

"No," she said, blushing up to her ears.

The other guests began straggling in, and the gentlemen drew the ladies' chairs. Soon they were all seated, with two empty places remaining near the head of the table.

"Where is my son?" the duchess demanded. "It is unlike him to be late for lunch. He knows I hate cold food. Find him, Danson, and serve the soup. We will not wait for him."

Laura looked up and down the table and noticed that the other empty seat was Olivia's. She cast a guilty look at Hyatt, who beckoned Danson and whispered in his ear, "The stable. Tell 'em to get a move on."

Danson nodded and left. The soup was just being removed when the tardy couple entered, flushed from their dash.

"Sorry, Mama, folks," Talman said, drawing Olivia's chair.

Olivia just smiled at the party and sat down without apologizing. It was an inauspicious beginning to what Laura feared was going to be a bad weekend.

Chapter Twelve

Laura was free of Olivia for the afternoon, at least. Lord Talman took the baroness riding. His aim was to impress her with the extent of his future estate; hers to find a secluded spot to meet John Yarrow. She did enjoy riding for its own sake, however, especially on the prime goer supplied from the Castlefield stable. Olivia could be an amusing partner when things were going her way. She was more at home on horseback than in a polite saloon. Any little roughness in manner could be ascribed to the exigencies of riding. With an escort catering to her every whim, the ride was a success all around. Olivia found the very place for her tryst with John.

The Mole River wound its way through the duke's estate. Willows had been allowed to grow tall along the banks, enhancing the view and affording protection from the prying eyes of any laborer or rider who chanced by. At some distance from the house, the river was forded by a wooden bridge. In her note to John, she would ask him to meet her at the bridge.

"Let us return to Castlefield now," she suggested, as soon as she had found her spot.

"I was going to show you the tenant farms," Talman reminded her.

"I should adore to see them, but truth to tell, Lord Talman, I am fatigued. Perhaps another time…"

He immediately cropped out into apologies. "It was thoughtless of me to weary you after your trip, Baroness."

"I scarcely had a glimpse of your lovely gardens," she smiled, turning her mount back toward the house.

Talman was suitably impressed at her maidenly lack of stamina and set a sedate pace on the return trip.

Laura also enjoyed her afternoon. Hyatt took her to the library to show her the Country Life folio. Fine as it was and eager as she was to praise, admiring twelve engravings could not occupy an entire afternoon. They spent another hour going through the picture gallery. Hyatt sighed in envy before the masterpieces assembled there.

"Just look at how Titian has rendered the hair on his model," he said. "There is no one who can do red hair like Titian. It seems to melt the canvas with its flame, yet it is by no means garish. See how it fades around the edges to a mere suggestion of color. I feel like a drawer of rough cartoons when I look at such genius."

"He achieves a very soft effect," Laura said.

"It is the Italian light-a poor excuse for my inferior execution of color."

They moved along to some Dutch masters, where it was Vermeer's sharp technique that came under his admiration. "One could feel he was there, in the room, enjoying a glass of wine with those ladies," he said, shaking his head in envy.

"It does give an odd sensation, that wine forever trickling into a glass. So lifelike. I keep waiting to see the glass overflow."

"A moment caught in amber. I realize my lack of formal composition when I look at a Vermeer. How carefully he balances his forms and chiaroscuro." She frowned. "That is only a smart way of saying light and dark spots," he explained.

"But one artist cannot excel in everything, Hyatt. I daresay Titian and Vermeer spent months on a single painting. You work much more quickly."

"Too quickly! It is a lack of respect for art to dash them off as I do."

"Surely it depends on the subject. You do single characters, not formal compositions."

"I know my limits. One day-after I have got the bourgeoisie down on paper-I shall attempt something more ambitious. A group scene of some sort."

Laura nodded politely. "Do you always paint people, as opposed to landscapes or buildings or animals, I mean?"

"Yes, I cannot seem to work up the necessary enthusiasm for anything else but people. I can admire the work of others. Stubbs! How that man can paint a horse! I need to feel a-how shall I say it-a mental or emotional link with my subject."

"Aha! Now the truth comes out. So that is why you paint so many beautiful ladies."

He gave an impish smile and replied, "I never could work myself into a lather over a mount, or a tree. I require a lady to fire me."

"Or an old sailor," she said, undeceived by his bantering. She waited, thinking he might now mention painting her, but he only prattled on about art.

"I like to do physically unattractive people, too. One soon tires of painting beautiful ladies. A contrast is always interesting."

"Whom will you paint next?" she asked.

"I know whom I should like to paint," he said archly. His smile told her she was his next choice.

"As a contrast to the baroness? Is it youth and age you mean to contrast, sir?" she asked, feigning offense.

"Let us say youth and maturity. I would like to do you in a civilized setting-a library, perhaps,

preferably with shoes."

"One would have thought books more appropriate.”

"Now you are being pedantic, Laura."

"No, just immature, despite my advanced years. When our youthful beauty fades, we must attempt to attract by wit."

"You cannot be much older than the baroness. And certainly not a shade less beautiful." He watched, bemused, as a flush crept into her cheeks.

"You must not forget to point out the insignificant difference between her forty thousand dot and my princely ten."

"One of us ought to mention the odium of 'caparisons' at this juncture."

"You're the one who started it," she said, with an expression dangerously close to a pout.

"I beg to differ! I said a contrast. One may contrast a violet and a wild rose without disparaging either. It is a matter of taste. De gustibus non disputandum, according to an old Latin proverb.”

"De Latinibis no comprehendum," she retorted.

"I see you caught the gist of it, at least. Do you study Latin?"

"On the contrary, I avoid it at every opportunity."

"That confirms my suspicion that you are wise beyond your years. All-how many of them is it?"

"If I were a gentleman, I would be considered to have attained the age of reason a year ago."

"I was afraid you were going to say if you were a gentleman, you would call me out for the impertinence of that question, but you are too young to be concerned over age. I feel ladies mature more quickly." His dark eyes glowed with pleasure as they bantered. Laura feared at every speech that she would make a fool of herself, but carried on gamely.

"Instead of studying dead languages, we study life."

He listened, not quite smiling, but well entertained. "Have you plumbed the depths of life's meaning, Laura?"

"Don't be absurd! I am not so conceited as to think I have succeeded where great minds have struggled in vain. But I think it has something to do with accepting our circumstances, whatever they may be, and of course trying to leave the world a better place than we found it, in some small way.”

"That is the hard part, is it not?"

She frowned. "I didn't mean anything deep-just helping the less fortunate when we can."

"I was taught a man-or woman, I suppose-ought to leave his mark. I took it personally, that I ought to change the world in some manner. Men are more inclined to egotism, I daresay."

"Some few Caesars or Napoleons do change the world," she said, thinking about it. She was always more comfortable discussing something other than herself. "Strange the names that come to mind- monsters of ambition, really."

"The true heroes are the men like Jenner, who invented the inoculation against cowpox, or James Watt, who is revolutionizing industry with his steam engine."

"Or even creative artists, who write beautiful music, or paint pictures," she added. "That is a compliment, Hyatt."

He bowed playfully. "I thank you on behalf of my colleagues, but cannot believe I am changing the world one iota."

"Your folios are capturing our era for the future, at least. Historians are important, too. And your portraits give pleasure."