Page 17 of Coloring a Silent Earl’s Heart
Chapte r 14
Alexander leaned against the drawing room window frame, surveying the gardens where spring blossoms had given way to the fuller greenery of approaching summer. From within this carefully orchestrated prison of social propriety, even the familiar grounds of Balfour Abbey appeared transformed, tantalizing in their proximity yet inaccessible during the interminable painting sessions.
“The light proves particularly challenging today,” Sophia remarked, adjusting her easel with deliberate movements, ensuring she faced them as they spoke. “Perhaps if Your Lordship would resume your position by the fireplace? The shadows create an interesting dimension there.”
Alexander complied, resuming the pose they had established for the portrait, his eyes never leaving her face. a
Lady Aldeburgh sat nearby, her embroidery frame upon her lap, creating delicate stitches with mechanical precision while missing nothing of their interactions. Her vigilance had proven relentless these past days, a silent testament to her determination that nothing untoward should develop between her son and the portraitist.
“I believe I shall visit the stillroom,” she announced suddenly, setting aside her needlework with a slow movement. “Mrs. Potter mentioned some confusion regarding the lavender water, and one cannot trust the servants to resolve such matters without supervision.”
The declaration of temporary absence—the first moment of privacy she had permitted them in nearly a week—immediately raised Alexander’s suspicions. His mother never abandoned her post without purpose, particularly not when that post involved surveillance of her son’s activities. His eyes flitted between the two of them, their voices forever muffled in audibility.
“Of course, Your Ladyship,” Sophia replied with appropriate deference. “We shall continue with the shadowing of the left sleeve during your absence.”
Lady Aldeburgh paused at the doorway. “I shall return shortly,” she stated, the emphasis clearly deliberate. “The matter should require no more than a quarter-hour’s attention.”
The door closed behind her with a definitive click, leaving them momentarily alone. Alexander remained motionless, half-expecting his mother to re-enter immediately; testing their behavior in her supposed absence. After several moments of continued privacy, he relaxed slightly, reaching for the notebook he kept perpetually in his pocket.
Before he could begin writing, however, Sophia approached swiftly, carrying her sketchpad rather than remaining behind her easel. Her movements possessed unusual urgency, her expression suggesting matters of significance beyond their normal artistic concerns.
“Quickly,” she murmured, handing him the sketchpad and pencil rather than waiting for him to retrieve his own. “She never leaves us unattended. Something must have drawn her away—perhaps news of your expected visitors this afternoon.”
Alexander raised a questioning eyebrow, unaware of any scheduled callers.
“Lady Covington and her daughter,” Sophia explained. “Jenkins mentioned preparations for afternoon tea in the blue drawing room. Apparently arranged at your mother’s specific request.”
The information confirmed his suspicions regarding Lady Aldeburgh’s sudden departure. Another eligible young lady paraded before him like prized horseflesh at Tattersall’s, with maternal supervision to ensure proper appreciation of bloodlines and connections. His mother’s campaign to secure suitable marriage for her damaged son continued unabated, regardless of his expressed disinterest.
Rather than allowing frustration to consume the precious moments of privacy, Alexander turned his attention to the sketchpad Sophia had provided. He turned to a fresh page, writing with unusual haste:
One day, when this portrait is complete and these charades concluded, I shall speak to you properly. Not in writing, not in whispers, but with my own voice, however imperfect. I shall tell you I care for you, Sophia Sinclair. I shall tell you that you taught me what love is.
The declaration, committed to paper without hesitation or equivocation, represented crossing of threshold he had approached cautiously these past weeks. To write the word— love —transformed feeling into tangible reality that could neither be denied nor retracted once revealed.
Sophia’s gaze moved across the written confession, her complexion paling before sudden color flooded her cheeks. Her eyes, lifting to meet his, contained unmistakable brightness of unshed tears.
“Alexander,” she whispered, his given name upon her lips for the first time. “I—”
The sound of approaching footsteps silenced her response. With remarkable presence of mind, she tore the page from her sketchbook, folding it swiftly before secreting it within her sleeve. By the time the drawing room door opened to readmit Lady Aldeburgh, Sophia had resumed her position behind the easel, her composure betrayed only by the heightened coloring in her cheeks.
“The matter is resolved,” Lady Aldeburgh announced, surveying the room with narrow-eyed assessment. Finding nothing obviously amiss in their respective positions, she returned to her chair, retrieving her embroidery with practiced movements. “Though one wonders why servants hired for their competence require such constant supervision.”
The remainder of the morning’s session passed in strained formality; the atmosphere charged with unspoken significance that Lady Aldeburgh clearly sensed though could not identify. Her gaze moved between them with increasing frequency, searching for evidence of impropriety during her brief absence.
When she seemingly found none, she continued her handiwork—her eyes still crossing over to Sophia and her son every now and then.
***
The blue parlor, arranged for optimum social intimidation, contained the exact configuration of furniture Lady Aldeburgh preferred for receiving guests of suitable rank. Lady Covington, a plump, perpetually flushed woman of middle years, dominated conversation from the moment of her arrival. Her daughter sat with a rigid posture that suggested breathing itself might constitute social error.
Throughout the visit, conversation continued around Alexander as though he were furniture rather than a person. Lady Covington extolled her daughter’s domestic virtues while Lady Aldeburgh responded with appropriate murmurs of appreciation. Neither woman attempted to include him in exchange, treating his presence as a necessary formality rather than integral participation.
When Miss Covington performed a piece on the pianoforte, Alexander applauded with appropriate enthusiasm despite not having heard a note, catching her eye with smile intended to convey appreciation for difficult social position rather than specific musical achievement.
“Most accomplished,” Lady Aldeburgh pronounced with utter formality. “Lord Aldeburgh appreciates musical talent particularly, having been quite a skilled performer himself before his unfortunate accident.”
The reference to his impairment, deliberately introduced to remind all present of his damaged state, triggered a familiar surge of resentment. His mother wielded his condition as both explanation and warning, ensuring prospective matches understood the complications while reminding Alexander himself of his dependence upon her social management.
***
“You appear remarkably purposeful for a man who has endured afternoon tea with Lady Covington,” Gregory observed when Alexander entered his study later that evening. “Has some development occurred beyond the expected matrimonial campaign?”
Alexander reached for his notebook, writing with unusual swiftness:
I have declared myself to Sophia. This morning, during a brief absence when Mother visited the stillroom. Written rather than spoken, but unmistakable in meaning.
Gregory’s eyebrows rose dramatically before a smile spread across his features. “Well! This represents a significant advancement from cautious glances and carefully worded notes. How did the lady respond to this declaration?”
Mother’s return interrupted us before she could reply, Alexander wrote, frustration evident in his forceful script. She concealed the note but had no opportunity to respond directly.
“Inconvenient timing,” Gregory acknowledged thoughtfully. “Though perhaps fortuitous in providing opportunity for careful consideration rather than immediate response prompted by surprise or momentary emotion.”
Alexander frowned, writing again:
You believe her response might prove negative upon reflection? That I have mistaken her regard?
“Quite the opposite,” Gregory assured him. “I merely suggest that a declaration of love from an earl to a woman of reduced circumstances represents complication beyond ordinary romantic attachment. Lady Sinclair strikes me as a person who considers consequences thoroughly before committing herself to significant action.”
Alexander wrote again, expressing the thoughts that had troubled him since their library meeting:
Her circumstances place her at a disadvantage I cannot fully remedy. My mother controls the household, local society follows her lead. Even with my title and fortune, my protection remains limited by physical impairment and social constraints.
Gregory leaned forward; his expression unusually serious. “Such limitations apply only if you continue to accept them,” he stated with clear emphasis. “You are Earl of Aldeburgh, master of this estate and considerable fortune. Your mother administers these assets only through your continued acquiescence.”
I have permitted this arrangement too long, he acknowledged in writing. Allowed guilt over disappointing her expectations to override proper authority as head of the family.
“Guilt serves no constructive purpose in this instance,” Gregory observed, his lips moving more gently than his words might have suggested. “Your mother’s expectations rest upon circumstances beyond your control. The impairment resulted from heroic action, not personal failing.”
After a pause, Gregory nodded with unusual seriousness. “In truth, I understand such feelings more intimately than you might imagine,” he confessed.
“Miss McLeod has proven herself possessed of remarkable intelligence, fortitude, and genuine kindness that transcends her station. Despite significant obstacles presented by our respective positions, I find myself increasingly drawn to qualities society often overlooks in those it considers beneath notice.”
This admission—unexpected yet somehow not entirely surprising—altered Alexander’s perspective on his friend’s frequent visits and particular interest in Sophia’s maid. What he had attributed to Gregory’s natural sociability clearly contained deeper significance.
He wrote quickly:
You love Abigail McLeod despite differences in station and circumstance?
Gregory’s expression suggested complex emotions beneath his usual cheerful exterior. “Love represents perhaps a stronger term than prudence permits at present,” he replied carefully. “Yet I cannot deny that I hold particular regard that exceeds appropriate interest in her lady’s maid. Her combination of practical intelligence and genuine compassion proves increasingly compelling with each encounter.”
We find ourselves similarly entangled in affections society would deem inappropriate, Alexander wrote. Though your situation presents greater challenges given Miss McLeod’s position.
“Indeed,” Gregory agreed with a rueful smile. “An earl might potentially marry a gentlewoman of reduced circumstances with minimal scandal, particularly one with Sophia’s connections and accomplishments. A viscount’s second son entangled with a lady’s maid presents complications less easily navigated.”
How does one balance personal happiness against social expectations? Alexander wrote, addressing the question that troubled him increasingly.
“There exists no universal answer to such a question,” Gregory replied after a thoughtful pause. “Each must determine where principle outweighs convention, where personal integrity demands precedence over social expectation. For my part, I believe true connection between souls represents a rarity too precious to sacrifice upon the altar of mere propriety.”
I cannot marry Miss Covington, or any lady selected primarily for connections and fortune, Alexander wrote with sudden decision. Whether Sophia returns my feelings or practical obstacles prevent our union, pursuing a loveless marriage merely to satisfy Mother’s expectations represents betrayal of personal integrity I cannot commit.
After Gregory’s departure, Alexander remained in his study, composing then discarding several drafts before settling upon a direct approach. It would, he decided, be the best way to ensure clarity. The final version, written in a firm hand that betrayed none of his interior hesitation, stated his position with unmistakable clarity:
Mother,
Today’s visit with Lady Covington and her daughter reinforces a conclusion I have approached gradually these past weeks. I cannot and will not pursue matrimonial connection based primarily upon considerations of family alliance, fortune, or social expectation. Any marriage I might contract must arise from genuine attachment and mutual understanding rather than calculated advantage.
Miss Covington deserves a husband who values her qualities rather than the convenient social position she represents. I am not that man, nor shall I pretend interest that does not exist merely to satisfy conventional expectations.
My heart has found its direction, though circumstances surrounding this attachment remain complicated. When matters become clearer, we shall discuss implications directly. Until such time, I must insist that matchmaking efforts cease entirely.
With respect and affection despite our disagreement, Your son, Alexander
He sealed the letter carefully, summoning Jenkins to deliver it directly to Lady Aldeburgh’s chambers. Whatever her response—and he harbored no illusions regarding its likely negative nature—the declaration of independence represented the first step toward reclaiming authority too long surrendered.