A Perfect Match_A Sweet Regency Historical Romance by Donna Hatch

Author:Donna Hatch [Hatch, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mirror Lake Press LLC
Published: 2019-09-21T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Throughout the afternoon, Christian tuned out Matilda Widtsoe’s chatter and focused on the animated expressions of her face, trying to capture the best one for her portrait. Though lovely and pleasant, she had a draining effect on him. Still, on the rare occasion she fell silent, he asked her another question to keep her talking for the sake of the portrait. By the end of the sitting, he’d created an expression that combined a subdued form of her usual enthusiasm while capturing the liveliness of her eyes. He’d also sketched other rough likenesses of her, the piano, and enough decorations to suggest Egyptian flavor without overwhelming the main subject of the portrait.

Other houseguests streamed in, probably in anticipation of tea. Christian sat back. Satisfied with the proportions, he rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension.

When Miss Widtsoe took a breath from her steady stream of prattle, he said, “That will do for today.”

Her mouth remained open as if she had stopped mid-sentence. Recovering, she closed her mouth and smiled. “This bench is getting hard anyway.” She stood, visibly keeping her weight on one foot. “Will you help me to a settee, please?”

He leaped to his feet. “Your wheeled chair is here.” No need to have more physical contact than necessary and give her another reason to mistake his intentions. He brought the wheeled contraption to her and held it steady while she settled herself in it, then he pushed her chair to the settee.

While he removed his smock and gathered up his painting supplies, she called, “May I see it?”

“It’s not finished.”

“I know, but—please?”

He tucked the easel under his arm and brought the canvas to her. “I’ll add color tomorrow.”

Her expression of expectation fell as she looked at the canvas, but she nodded and said with forced cheer, “I’m sure it will be lovely when you’re finished.”

She turned the full brightness of her smile on him but her praise was rather demoralizing, much like when as a child he showed his newest project to adults who patted him on the head and told him his art was fine when really they meant it was the pathetic scribblings of a beginner.

Genevieve Marshall sank down in an armchair next to Miss Widtsoe and leaned in to see the portrait. “Oh, my. The proportions are amazing, and you captured her lively spirit beautifully.”

It was all he could do not to puff out his chest in pride. Before replying, he searched for a note of humility. “I’m gratified by your approval. I’ll add color and finish it before I leave.”

“I’m sure it will have no equal.” Miss Marshall’s admiration seemed genuine, without the coquettishness of so many ladies of the ton, including that of Miss Widtsoe.

Though tempted to remain basking in her soothing presence, he bowed. “If you will both excuse me, I need to go put this away.”

“A footman can do that for you,” Miss Widtsoe said with a flutter of lashes. Definitely a coquette.

“I prefer to do it myself. I have a rather particular way of storing it.

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