Page 94 of Entranced By the Earl
“Acorrespondence foryou, my lady. From Lord Hawkridge.”
Brynne paused in her painting and carefully set down her brush. A light breeze moved through the gazebo, tickling her hair against her cheek as she rose from her chair to accept the letter. “Thank you, Mae. Please tell Cook that I shall take dinner out here this evening. The sunset promises to be a beautiful one, and I wouldn’t want to waste such colors by sitting inside.”
The maid nodded, curtsied, and then returned to the house where a massive cleaning was underway. The last of the guests had left early in the morning, and the estate was almost eerily quiet. Taking full advantage of her newfound solitude, Brynne had retreated to the gazebo where she’d been painting for hours, stopping only to rest her wrist and take a stroll around the pond to toss breadcrumbs to the swans.
Leaning against the railing, she opened her brother’s letter. As she read it, a smile slowly dawned, and by the time she’d reached the end, she was all but beaming.
“You lummox,” she murmured with great affection. “You did it.”
Dearest Sister,
I am writing to let you know that I have chosen to remain in London until Christmas. I invite you to join me at your earliest convenience. You shall be pleased to know that I have asked Miss Thorncroft to marry me, and she has accepted. If you would do me one small kindness, do refrain from saying “I told you so”.
I have also met and spoken with Joanna. Our initial meeting began with her threatening to murder me. I should think you will like her very much.
If you are amendable, which I have a feeling you will be, I should like to have all of us spend the holiday together at Hawkridge Manor.
We are, after all, a family.
With my love,
Weston
After reading the letter twice, and then once more for good measure, Brynne tucked it into the pocket of her burgundy frock coat and resumed painting.
As it often did, the rhythmic strokes of the bristles across canvas soon carried her away to another place, dimming the sights and the sounds all around her. When she was in the midst of transferring her art from her mind onto the paper, she might as well have been in a castle high in the clouds, or a ship in the middle of the sea, or a cottage deep in the woods.
Such was her level of absorption that she did not hear the sound of approaching footsteps until they were on the steps of the gazebo and a shadow, long and dark, fell across her line of vision.
“Could you step to the side, please, Mae?” she asked without glancing up from the easel. “I fear you’re in my light.”
“Is this better?” a deep, achingly familiar voice drawled.
The shadow shifted to the side and Brynne, her face draining of all color, let the brush slip through her bloodless fingers and fall to the ground in a splatter of blue paint. As her stomach pitched and her pulse raced, she rose to her feet and met the amused amber gaze of the last person on earth she had ever wanted to see again.
“Get out of here,” she whispered, raising her arm to point at the drive. “Before I pick up that brush and stab you through the heart with it.”
Lord Lachlan Campbell clucked his tongue. “Now, Bry, me love…,” he said, flashing his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Is that any way tae greet yer husband?”
THE END
