Page 35 of Entwined By Error (Madcaps of Mayfair #1)

An Afternoon at the Shoreline

It took all his willpower to softly kiss Myra on the forehead before he crawled out of bed. The morning sun was barely peeking over the tree line shining through the windows enough to allow him to move about without tripping as he went back to his own bedchamber.

Although he’d prefer to spend the morning with Myra, continuing the night’s activities and then breaking their fasts, he had much to do if he were to move his brother out of Blackbriar Hall and back to Northcott Castle where Southwood and the earl could work through their differences and take care of the mounting gambling debts.

He had written half a letter to his father when Southwood entered the study, his swagger a bit too cheerful for a man who had a bounty on his head and no liquor in his stomach. Daniel looked up from the letter he was writing, “What is that smirk?”

“It is too early in the morning for a smirk,” Southwood said as his eyes glistened.

“Then what are you on about?”

“Not a thing,” Southwood said as he crossed the room to look out at the rising sun.

“Yet you never rise before noon. Something must be amiss.”

Southwood sat on the window seat, stretching his legs out in a self-satisfied manner. “Amiss? I dare not hope.”

Daniel decided there was no reason to press him further.

When Southwood decided he wished to speak, he would do so.

Generally, his revelations came with a clap of thunder, but since the sky didn’t appear to have any rain clouds, there was no reason to worry.

Dipping his quill once more, he reread the words before deciding his next statement.

He needed to impress the urgency of Southwood’s situation upon the earl.

Surely the earl did not wish for his heir’s demise.

“Writing more poetry?”

“What do you know about that?”

Southwood raised one brow. “I might have made myself a little more at home than you expected. I did not know my brother was so talented.”

“Hardly.” Daniel yawned as he continued to review his letter.

“Then what has you so distracted this morning?”

“Correspondence.”

Southwood pushed away from the window seat. “With whom?”

“The earl.”

Satisfied with all he had written, Daniel finished, signing his name with a flourish before he tossed a bit of pounce across the sheets to help the ink dry before folding the pages.

“We had an agreement, Daniel. You were not to tell our parents of my current location.”

Folding the pages, he pressed them down as he held the red wax stick over the candle. Choosing the stamp with an N, his signature stamp, he pressed it down to seal the contents of the letter from prying eyes.

“Everything is not always about you, Southwood.” The letter was a plea for his brother, but it didn’t reveal his location. If they were to stave off the creditors, the earl would be necessary.

Southwood crossed the room, his boots clomping against the hardwood floor. “It may be the truth, but it is rather rude of you to say as much.”

Daniel pointed to his brother’s feet. “What is this? Do you expect to take a ride this morning?”

“I do need the exercise.”

“Do you not understand the concept of staying out of sight?” He shook his head as he tossed the sealed letter to the edge of the desk where his other correspondence lay. “If these creditors are as dangerous as you claim, we do not want them at Blackbriar Hall.”

“If you do not wish to have my problems at your doorstep, then do as I ask and help me disappear.”

Daniel stood, stepping around the desk as his brother smugly folded his arms. “Not a viable option.”

“Very well. I shall stay hidden.” Southwood leaned against the desk, stretched his legs out, crossing one over the other as his eyes roamed Daniel’s person from head to toe. “What are you doing in your study so early in the morning?”

Daniel leaned against the front of his desk. “I already told you, answering correspondence.”

“So you said. Yet, I cannot help but wonder why you are not upstairs with your wife.”

“Careful, brother. Insolence is an excellent way to discover how cold the hedgerow is at midnight.”

“Ah, well, it is only that our mother lamented over the state of your marriage. I do believe she compared it to all the promise of a Shakespearean character who tragically discovers he is suffering from consumption.”

“Charming.” Daniel bit the side of his mouth as he considered all his mother had discovered in her short visit. One day had been enough for her to assume the marriage was a loss.

“Of course, mama is obviously mistaken. You light up like the night sky each time your wife is near, which makes me wonder how you pulled yourself from her side this morning. Unless your affection is all for my benefit.”

“What purpose would I have to feign love for my wife?”

Southwood chuckled. “Mayhap you wish to make me jealous.” He tilted his head to the side as though he were waiting for a confession. When Daniel kept his mouth closed, Southwood straightened his posture once more. “No need to do so. I might have wanted her dowry, but I didn’t care for the girl.”

“I assure you, Southwood, Mrs. Northcott and I care nothing for your validation.”

“Perhaps not, but after witnessing the tender way you held Mrs. Northcott’s hand last evening, I cannot help but wonder why you are lingering in the study and not, forgive my brashness, lingering beneath her coverlet.”

“I would advise you to consider silence your safest strategy while residing at Blackbriar.”

Daniel left his brother sitting in the study. It vexed him that Southwood had so easily spoken of intimacy when it had taken him months to approach the door separating his and Myra’s bedchambers.

As he entered the hallway, Daniel stopped at the sight of Myra descending the marble staircase, her hand effortlessly sliding along the railing as the hem of her dress flowed behind. His hands ached to touch the silky strands of her honey-blonde hair.

“Darling,” Daniel said, “your beauty increases each time I see you.”

Myra crossed to where he stood, placing her hand on her hip. “Then how shall I punish you for leaving me to wake alone?”

Pulling her into his arms, Daniel twirled her about and then kissed her before placing her on the floor once more. “You shall join me on a walk to the cliffs and berate my foolish behavior the entire way.”

She went up on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek. “Or I shall simply have to charm you so that it never happens again.”

“I do like that option, far more than the other.” He took her hand, pulling her toward the door. “Please tell me you are ready for a walk.”

“I shall need but a moment to don my bonnet and gloves, sir.” She playfully pushed him away as though he were a distraction to her preparations.

He drank in the sight of her, the way her fingers moved with grace, the subtle sway of her hips.

All of it was an unspoken symphony that played only for him as she tied the ribbons on her bonnet.

His neck heated, his heart beating wildly as he leaned against the wall with his hat and gloves in hand.

The rush to leave the house to be alone with her no longer pulled at his senses.

He could wait, because she was his wife. Forever and always.

* * *

Daniel sat on a blanket, the sand beneath it soft and comfortable as he pressed his sketchbook against one knee.

His hand moved quickly as he attempted to capture Myra’s profile before she moved.

He wanted to remember this moment, capture it with his graphite pen so he could remember the wind whipping the bottom of Myra’s skirt as it danced around her legs and the rays of the morning sun as they spilled out from around her slender frame, glistening on the water.

She turned to him, watching as his hand moved across the page.

Her eyes were bright with laughter as she smiled and waved, beckoning him to join her by the water.

He would gladly follow her anywhere, but there was something far deeper in the steely way her irises looked, as though she was drinking in his presence as deeply as he was hers.

Her kisses had been soft declarations, delicate threads weaving between them.

Yet it wasn’t until that moment that he truly felt the weight of her love.

Her gaze mirrored his own. That they had struggled through heartbreak, scandal, and silence to find this fragile joy was a miracle.

He had no answer for how they had arrived here, only the certainty that they had.

A smile slowly spread across his face as he thought about the bonnet that had never been retrieved. She didn’t blame him for losing it. She also hadn’t run out and purchased a dozen new coverings to make up for the loss.

She was perfection.

A roguish thought crossed his mind, making him wish her current bonnet would suddenly find its way out to sea, but it was firmly attached with tied ribbons and pins. Yet, even so, he wished to see her soft silky hair as it wildly flew about in the wind.

Did she love him as he did her?

Before he could answer the question, Myra ran across the shoreline. He closed the sketchbook, not wanting her to see his attempts at drawing her profile. As she knelt next to him on the blanket, she took hold of his hand.

“What are you writing?”

“It is a secret.”

She bit her bottom lip as she pulled at his hand, pressing the palm against her cheek. “What is a wife, if not a confidante?”

“A compelling argument, my dear, although it is not yet ready for anyone’s eyes but my own.”

“Not even for me?”

She turned her head, kissing the palm of his hand as she gazed up at him, her lashes pulling him toward her. His chest tightened, heat spreading through him, begging him to surrender to her every whim. “Mrs. Northcott, I daresay you shall be my undoing.”

He looked down at his sketchbook. He’d never shown anyone his sketches; not even his parents or his brother knew he had filled numberless books with a lifetime of drawings that would later become paintings.

But his love of art was nothing in comparison to his love for Myra.

Lifting the book, he held it out to her, holding his breath as he waited for her response.

Instead of opening the book, she turned around and curled up next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. “Will you show me?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Opening the booklet, he turned to the first page, a miniature of Northcott Castle—the exact replica of the painting she’d insisted on purchasing while at the bazaar.

Daniel waited, wondering if she would notice the similarities.

It was quite possible she wouldn’t, given that this was just a sketch, but there was a part of his artist’s heart that needed her to realize he was the artist she’d admired that day.

Myra gazed at the sketch, her hand running along the top of the book, not touching the graphite, so it wouldn’t smear.

He watched her expression go from curiosity, to wonderment, and then to recognition. A smirk stole across her face as she turned on him. “Why did you not tell me the painting was yours?”

“I did not wish for you to know.”

“But why?”

He looked down at the notebook once more and knew he could trust her with this information. “I have made quite a living selling artwork. The small piece you purchased is one of many I have sold. It is a very great secret. One I have told no one for fear of disapproval.”

“Whyever, would you have feared that?”

“It is not becoming for a gentleman to find gainful employment, my dear.”

“Yes, but surely your family must know. They would wish to support you.”

“No.” Daniel closed the book as he met her stunned gaze. “No, my dear. That is exactly what I feared would happen if I had divulged my hand in the painting.”

“If you had asked me to stay silent, I would have done so.”

He laughed, the strain of seconds ago instantly evaporating. “You forget, my dear, we were not exactly friends that day. Every suggestion I made was met with opposition, including my suggestion not to purchase that painting.”

“I suppose you are right.” She reopened the book and ran her hand along the blank areas of the page again. “But I should have liked to know that you were the artist.”

“I shall never keep that information from you again.”

“I pray you do not.” Myra admired the sketch a little longer before she allowed him to turn to the next page. As he did so, she asked, “How often do you sell your artwork?”

“I have a man of business who arranges everything for me with shopkeepers and the like.”

“Do you keep all your paintings in the studio on the cliff?”

Daniel laughed, pulling her closer. His wife was full of surprises, and he dearly hoped she would never change. “Now, how do you know about my studio?”

“I followed you and watched through the window.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You do not ever have to stand outside looking in. You are most welcome to join me as I paint.”

“How often do you go to the art studio?”

“Before we were wed, I would spend the summer months painting. Now that we are living here, I expect to paint for a few hours each day.”

“But only painting during the summer months is not enough time to create great works of art like what you were selling at the bazaar.”

He held his sketchbook out. “It is, if I spend the whole of the year thinking about each piece and preparing myself for the few months I have free to explore my craft.”

Myra sat up and turned to face him once more, but this time he noticed she sat on her legs. Once she was settled, she touched his face.

“What are you thinking, Myra, my love?”

“I just wanted to look at you, Daniel. I never knew you were so complicated.”

“Well, that is a sour compliment, if ever I heard one.”

With a teasing smirk, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Not at all, husband. I merely believed you shared the same afflictions most men within the ton suffer from—wagers, an overindulgence of port and brandy, horses, an alarming fondness for shooting things, possibly even engaging in a duel or two. But I seem to have discovered that you, Mr. Northcott, are a man of depth and distinction.”

“Praise indeed,” Daniel said.

He tossed the sketchbook aside without a second thought and reached for Myra, drawing her into his arms with an urgency that made her breath catch.

In one fluid motion, he guided her down beside him on the blanket, the shade of the umbrella casting a soft glow over them.

His hand found hers as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips.