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“…don’t you think, Evelyn?”

Evelyn tried to hum her approval. Or disapproval. She could not quite remember what she was supposed to be agreeing to or disagreeing with. How could anyone, when the weather was so lovely?

A honeybee bumbled along somewhere near her. The sun shone down. A bird, a blackbird, sang cheerfully above them.

“I said , don’t you think, Evelyn?”

“How can anyone think in this weather?” Evelyn said lazily, her eyes still closed. “It’s so hot.”

Something hit her. It was a book.

“Ouch!” Evelyn sat up, eyes open but narrowed now, and glared at her brother. “I was dozing!”

“We were talking,” he said pointedly with a scowl. “I was asking your advice and you fell asleep!”

Ah. Well, when he put it like that, she had been a little rude. But how was she supposed to stay awake when it was this hot? Even sat where they were, in the shade on a few rugs that Cawthorne had permitted them to take outside, it was difficult to keep one’s eyes open.

Especially as Evelyn had been kept up all night a few days before…

Flushing at the memory and hoping Percy presumed the redness was from the heat of the sun rather than any wrongdoing—but how could such wonderful memories be wrong?—Evelyn attempted to make amends.

It was not easy.

“Remind me,” she said, lying back down on the blanket and telling herself sternly not to close her eyes. “What were you asking my advice about?”

Percy sighed heavily. “I don’t know if I can tell it all again.”

“No, go on,” Evelyn said, guilt tinging her tone.

She really should have been paying attention.

It was rare that Percy ever opened up, and it had been months since they had had a civil conversation lasting more than five minutes.

His betrayal, his lies, had hardened her heart against him for quite some time. “I really am going to listen.”

Her brother shot her a fleeting glance that was most unconvinced, then sighed again. “It’s just…”

And whatever it was had to have been important, Evelyn supposed. She couldn’t be certain because after those two words, she had sunk down into a warm, comforting embrace and was drifting off over a lake in a curricle, rocking her gently to sleep…

This time, it was not a book. Percy actually shoved her. “You promised you would stay awake!”

“I did not actually promise,” Evelyn said hastily, stifling a yawn and wondering how on earth her brother was managing to stay awake in this heat.

“You know what? Forget it.”

Evelyn watched in dismay as her brother rose to his feet. “I do apologize, Percy. Look, I’ll sit up and everything.”

“I’ve tried, haven’t I, to prove myself after lying to you all? Tried to prove that I’ve changed,” he said, cheeks reddening, “and yet you won’t even listen to me.”

Now there really was guilt twisting in her. “Percy, just sit down and—”

“No, I would much prefer to find someone who actually wants to listen,” he said darkly. “If there is anyone. You go back to your dozing, Evelyn.”

It was not exactly the most encouraging remark, and shame tinged her cheeks as Evelyn watched Percy return to the house.

Blast .

They had been worried about Percy for weeks, the whole family—and she could have gained some knowledge there if it hadn’t been so wonderfully warm out.

After his misadventures, and his lies, it should have been her priority to listen to him and find out what on earth was going on…

if she hadn’t been so distracted with far more pleasant thoughts.

Despite her guilt, a smile drifted across Evelyn’s face. Well, it was difficult to feel guilty for long when she had so many glorious memories to lose herself in.

Richard .

He was everything she could have imagined and more.

So much more. There were times when Evelyn woke up in the night and wondered whether she had merely dreamed him.

He was so much more of a man than she had believed could exist: honest and true.

Richard was direct, never hiding his feelings or pretending to be anything other than he was.

And he was hers.

Evelyn sat up—she really mustn’t fall asleep in the sun, her cheeks would burn and then where would she be—and hugged her knees.

Richard was her secret. That was part of the pleasure of it—that, as well as the fact that though she knew she loved him, there were few other facts she truly knew about him.

That would have to end soon; Evelyn had practiced in her mind the speech she would give to her parents, hoping to persuade them to give their consent, and she had managed to find a way to phrase things so that even a beggar man would be suitable.

But she had to wait. For one, both of her parents had been acting oddly around her the past two days, her father going so far as to ask if she had anything to tell him.

He could not have suspected the truth. He would not have been coy if so.

So no, she did not have anything to tell him. Not yet. Not until Richard made his intentions absolutely clear.

As soon as they were formally introduced to him, her secret, her model whom they thought merely sat for her under her maid’s watchful eye, Evelyn was certain that they would approve.

Until then, he was all hers.

Evelyn sighed with happiness. She hadn’t done much to deserve this. She would just have to hope that she did nothing to ruin it.

And she had time on her hands now. Why not bring out her current project and see if she could improve the landscape background a little?

It did not take long to bring out her travel easel and set it up.

The canvas she was working on was not a large one, and within another ten minutes, her paints were set up on a small table she had brought out of the studio and she had filled a glass bottle with water from the gardeners’ tap. She was ready.

Evelyn cast a critical eye over the painting as she lifted the linen sheet she had been using to protect it from the elements. The figure itself was perfect; there was no improvement she could make there, at least, not until her skill itself improved.

But the landscape—there was definitely more she needed to do there. The shadows weren’t quite right, and she was not quite happy with the shade of blue she had mixed for the water in the river. Ultramarine. Cobalt. Powder blue. Sky blue. Cornflower.

Evelyn lost herself in the work. That was one of the delights of painting, after all: to cease to exist, to pour oneself onto the canvas and become one with the art.

Time stilled, or ceased to be. Sunlight poured down and that was the only sign that she was even here at all.

Cerulean here, and a dash of duck-egg white, just to lighten it—there.

Her smallest brush, nothing else would do.

The curves and ripples of the river’s currents was a challenge, yes, but she had practiced so often with the canals of Venice, this would surely be—

“You know, I don’t think you can hear me, can you?”

Evelyn jumped. Her gaze disturbed, it took her a moment to look around the travel easel and see Richard standing there, his coat over his shoulder and his face clearly glowing from the heat of the day, beaming.

Hastily covering up the painting carefully with the linen sheet, she said, “You startled me!”

“I have been standing here talking to you for almost a minute,” Richard said, only a tad reproachfully. “But then I forget how swiftly you can lose yourself in your craft. What are you working on?”

“Nothing,” she said instinctively.

Precisely why she wished to hide this from him, Evelyn did not know. All her mind’s certainty focused, however, on these facts.

Firstly, the painting was not complete. Therefore, no one should see it.

Secondly, her skills were not complete. Therefore, no one should see it.

Thirdly, she did not want Richard to see it. Therefore, he should not see it.

Richard was grinning. “What are you hiding under there? I know it’s not another model—is it one of those nude self-portraits? I wouldn’t mind having one of those on my walls.”

Flushing furiously and glancing about to ensure that there were no gardeners or brothers in the vicinity—there were not, thank goodness—Evelyn attempted to wrangle her tongue into gear. “It’s not me.”

“Then who is it?” Richard asked, throwing down his coat onto the blankets and folding his arms. “You don’t have to show me, but…but I would love to see it. I would love you to feel comfortable enough to show me.”

Evelyn swallowed.

When he puts it that way…

Evelyn did not quite know what made her do it. Perhaps it was simply because it was Richard. He was hers, and she was his, and if she could not share this with him, then with whom could she?

She was never going to be more intimate with anyone else.

Still, she could not deny that the shivers rushing down her spine were most strange as she slowly lifted the linen sheet from her painting.

“Th-There.”

Richard did not move. He remained staying on the other side of the easel. “Come here.”

It was an easy request to fulfill. Evelyn stepped happily into his welcoming arms, accepted the kiss on her forehead with a shiver of pleasure, and knew, completely, that she was making the right decision.

He was the right decision.

“Whatever you are creating on the other side of that canvas, I will love it,” Richard murmured, his breath fluttering against her neck. “Just as I love you.”

The gasp that escaped Evelyn’s throat was short, and sharp, and unexpected.

Love.

The words echoed in her mind like a pealing bell, repeating over and over until all she could hear was Richard’s declaration of love.

He loved her.

Giving no thought to whether anyone from the house could be watching, Evelyn flung her arms around Richard and kissed him hard on the mouth.

His response told her everything. His hands clasping her waist, the way his lips parted, welcoming her in…

How long they stood there passionately kissing, Evelyn was not sure. She did know that when they finally broke apart, her face was pink and her heart was full.

“Come and take a look,” she said, shyness almost overcoming her tongue.

Together, they stepped around the easel. Richard’s arm was around her waist as they stood before it and Evelyn forced herself not to examine his face as he looked at the canvas.

It was still very much a work in progress. The background was incomplete. She had not added any carmine red at all, and the figure… Well, it was the first true portrait she had attempted. There would be better ones in the future, she was certain. Almost certain.

The silence between them elongated until Evelyn could no longer help it. She looked up at him.

Richard’s eyes were transfixed on the canvas. Unwavering and unfaltering, there was no hint of emotion in his face. Whether he approved of her work or loathed it, she could not tell.

Evelyn swallowed. He had said nothing. It was not that bad, was it?

She looked away from the man and stared instead at the painting.

There was another Richard—perhaps not a completely true likeness, but she had done her best. The proportions were right, and so was his manly shape, covered sadly by the fashions of the day.

His hair was almost perfect, though she could never capture the vibrancy of the shine when the sun gleamed down on him.

It had been the eyes that had given her the most trouble. The real eyes were filled with teasing and kindness all the time, while mischief and danger darted in at moments.

That was not something easy to capture.

Evelyn looked back at Richard. The man, that was. “Well?”

“Well what?” Richard asked with a grin.

She nudged him hard in the ribs.

“Ouch!”

“You deserved that,” she said severely, seeing with relief that he was still smiling. “What do you think? No one else has seen it—no one else even knows I’m working on it. Working on him—you.”

“What do I think? I think you are remarkably talented and I am not worthy to be your subject,” said Richard with a slow shake of his head. “Do I really look that handsome?”

This time, Evelyn’s nudge in his ribs was gentler. Just a tad. “You have to say that because you’re in love with me.”

“I’m not that in love with myself to think that I really look like that.” Richard snorted, leaning forward to take a closer look at the painting. “I am flattered. You have improved all my faults.”

Evelyn looked between the man and the portrait. “I don’t see any faults.”

When he turned back to her, his expression had softened. “You have to say that because you’re in love with me.”

Her heart stopped.

She was in love with him. Evelyn would not deny it, but still—she had not said the words, and it felt exposing, to have Richard point out her affection for him before she had found the courage to say it herself.

Richard’s smile had faltered as a light breeze ruffled his hair. “I mean—I presumed that—you do not have to say… If you do not, that is fine. I only—”

“I do love you, Richard,” Evelyn said quietly, hating how an unexpected shyness overcame her as the words left her mouth. “I… I love the way that sounds.”

It was difficult not to delight in it. Here they were, two people who had found each other—in all the world, he had seen her advertisement and now here he was. Here they were.

“But I still think you are being ridiculous about the painting,” Evelyn added, refusing to let the topic drop. “It is not all that impressive. See, the shadows here, they aren’t quite working yet and—”

“And because you love me, you should trust that I am telling you the truth,” Richard interjected with a serious frown.

Evelyn swallowed down the retort that was on the tip of her tongue and really looked at him. Her Richard. Her model. The only man she wished to look at for the rest of her life.

And she saw the truth there. She smiled.

“Well, it’s not perfect, but it is good,” she conceded.

Richard snorted again. “That’s the trouble with you artists. You are never satisfied.”

“And that’s the trouble with you models. You always are,” Evelyn shot back happily.

Their laughter mingled in the summer air and Evelyn could not recall ever being this happy. The troubles with Percy were forgotten, her frustrations with never being treated like a proper artist were a thing of the past.

And she had a lover. Perhaps she was a true artist, after all.