Page 28 of The Designs of Lord Randolph Cavanaugh

Mayhew took the sketch and inclined his head gracefully. “Thank you for permitting me to sketch here. It truly is my pleasure.”

“Is there any chance of us getting a copy of your best sketch once it’s published?” she asked.

Mayhew arched his brows. “I should be able to get you one of the first-run prints. The final sketch itself is the property of the paper, but they allow me a few prints for my own collection.”

“If we could have a copy to hang here, dear Mr. Mayhew, that would be lovely.” Flora looked thoroughly pleased; Felicia could imagine Flora sharing that news with her far-flung correspondents.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Mayhew returned with a smile.

While he drew out his spool-like contraption and carefully added the sketch to the sheets already on the roll, Felicia reflected that there really wasn’t any reason—any fact, any tiny incident, or even a word said—to suggest that Mayhew was in any way linked to the attack on the engine.

That morning, Rand’s man, Shields, and Struthers had gone into the village and discreetly inquired about any strangers seen in the area. Struthers knew who to ask. But other than Mayhew, there’d been no one sighted even riding through.

Of course, as Rand had pointed out, there were many small villages and hamlets within a few miles—lots of places a stranger might be lurking. Impossible to search them all.

Yet no matter how she tried, she couldn’t imagine Mayhew as the man she’d seen fleeing into the woods last night.

Telling herself that continuing to suspect him was futile, she relaxed, smiled, and chatted.

They finished their tea. Mayhew rose and prettily thanked both Felicia and Flora for their hospitality—a subtle hint that he wished to return to his sketching.

When, laughing, Flora tasked him with that, Mayhew looked sheepish. “The light will only last for so long, and”—he turned to view the house—“you must admit the lines are particularly sharp at the moment.”

Now that he’d pointed it out, Felicia could see what he meant. The westering sun lit the front façade and left every line of the house sharp and stark. She could appreciate why Mayhew had chosen this position from which to sketch…which itself suggested that the sketch was his reason for visiting the Hall. If he’d wanted to sketch the house from the rear, from where he could see the workshop doors… Instead, he’d shown absolutely no interest in them.

The table had been placed to the side of where Mayhew had elected to site his easel; they could leave the table and chairs as they were without interfering with his view. Smiling, increasingly at ease with Mayhew—the artist who patently was just an artist—Felicia rose as Flora pushed to her feet.

“In that case,” Flora said, “we’ll leave you to your sketching, Mr. Mayhew. Do drop by if you find yourself in the neighborhood again.”

“Thank you.” Mayhew hesitated, then said, “Actually, I’ve been so greatly taken with the scenery hereabouts—it’s particularly well-suited to my style—that I’ve been thinking of taking a short holiday and remaining in the district to work on more sketches, entirely for myself.”

Felicia blinked as alarms jangled in her brain.

“How lovely!” Flora replied. “It really is a very pleasant region of the country.”

“Indeed.” Mayhew glanced at Felicia, meeting her gaze. “I was wondering, Miss Throgmorton, given that I will be remaining in the area, if you would be agreeable to me calling on you sometime—purely a social call?”

What? Her gaze on Mayhew’s perfectly serious face, for the first time in years, Felicia felt flustered. A faint blush rose to her cheeks, yet no matter how she stared, she couldn’t see—couldn’t sense at any level—that Mayhew was attracted to her.

So why was he asking leave to call?

Her own words from that morning echoed in her head. Of course, once Mayhew completes his sketch, there’ll be no reason for him to return.

Assuming he was innocent of having designs on the engine had been her rationale.

Her suspicions of Mayhew came roaring back.

Before she’d gathered her wits enough to form any reply, Flora, smiling benevolently, declared, “Of course we’d be delighted to see you, sir, whenever you are free to call.”

Mayhew shot a questioning look at Felicia.

She’d rallied by then and managed a creditably gracious smile. “You’ll be very welcome, sir.” What else could she say?

Mayhew bowed elegantly. “Thank you, ladies. For now, I wish you a pleasant afternoon and evening.”

With Flora, Felicia took her leave of Mayhew.

Flora linked her arm with Felicia’s as they strolled slowly across the lawn toward the open front door. Knowing full well that Flora didn’t need the support, once they were out of Mayhew’s hearing, Felicia arched a brow at her chaperon.