The Art of Love (12 page)

‘Oh. Won’t we be drawing for partners?’ Tara asked, flustered and quite unable to think of a polite way to refuse Freddie and claim Leo.

‘We’re far too small a group for that,’ Freddie said easily. ‘One would be bound to end up with one’s cousin, and where’s the fun in that?’

Glancing across the table at Antonia, Tara thought she looked a little hurt. Leo must have noticed too for he immediately said ‘Lady Antonia, if you would consent to partner me, I am sure we can make a good showing.’ Tara had to admit she was impressed by Leo’s tactful handling of the situation, Antonia was looking quite flattered and he had neatly left the way clear for Rodney to partner Susannah. But at the same time she was just the tiniest bit irked that he had not by look or word indicated that he would have preferred to play with her. Then she told herself not to be so silly, there were only the six of them playing, they would all be together and it did not matter in the slightest whom partnered who.

As she changed her slippers for her summer outdoor boots Tara wondered if Leo had ever played croquet before. She suspected that even if he hadn’t it would not pose a problem. With his powerfully built frame he looked like a natural athlete even if he didn’t know the rules of the game. It was a pity they weren’t partners, she thought wistfully, she could have whispered the rules discreetly in his ear and none of the others would ever have been the wiser about his insalubrious past. But on her arrival on the croquet lawn she immediately saw Leo taking a practice shot. Demonstrating considerable strength and fine aim he hit the ball through the first hoop and straight on through the second. He probably had played before. Well, she thought, there would be no need for Antonia to whisper the rules in his ear either. She seized a mallet and strode onto the lawn to make a few practice shots of her own.

To her embarrassment her first few shots went wide of the hoop and Tara remembered that she hadn’t played croquet for many years, not since the last time she was at Wallingford, in fact. That had been the last time she had been away from home in the summer. After that, after her father had died, it had taken the combined efforts of both herself and her mother to organise the harvest each summer and keep the estate going. Her brother Richard had only been ten that first year, and even now, at fifteen, he was still too young to take much responsibility, although he had pitched in and done his best, labouring alongside the men without complaint during the threshing and fruit picking. There hadn’t been time to set up the lawn for croquet, even if she had had the inclination. But home had been about survival, not a place to play in the last few years. That was why she spent as much time as possible in London.

‘You’re swinging too high and then expecting the sheer weight of the mallet to do all the work,’ Leo said, stepping up beside her and Tara realized she had been lost in thought. With an effort she wrenched her mind back to the present, to this lovely sunny day and the croquet lawn, with her friends gathered here, ready to play.

‘I’m a little out of practice,’ she said, her voice sounding odd even to herself. Leo looked at her sharply, but did not comment.

‘Try again,’ he said instead. ‘Don’t raise your mallet so high, but follow the ball with it after it has struck.’ Obediently Tara carried out his instructions, but the ball went wide of the hoop again, although it rolled much further than before. ‘That’s better,’ Leo said, although she could not see that it was. Apparently without thinking he took her arm in his and they strolled across the grass to where the ball lay. ‘Aim for that hoop there,’ he said, pointing to the furthermost hoop on the lawn.

Tara positioned herself and raised her mallet, but before she could begin the swing she felt Leo’s hand on her bare arm. His hand was warm and firm and she longed to have him run it down her arm. ‘You’re too tense,’ he said quietly. ‘You need to relax, croquet is not about fighting the ball. Stand up straight, like you would chatting at a party.’ Hesitantly Tara complied. ‘Keep your shoulders down,’ Leo added and the next thing she knew he had placed his other hand on her shoulder, the strength of his fingers easily detectable through her light muslin dress. ‘Now swing at the ball,’ he said so softly she would not have heard it if his lips had not been practically touching her ear. His breath was warm and it was all too easy to imagine him taking her earlobe between his lips and nibbling it gently. Tara felt a shiver run through her at the very thought. Feeling heady with Leo’s nearness Tara did as she was told and swung at the ball. To her surprise it rolled straight through the hoop and then came obediently to a stop.

‘Well done!’ Leo said. ‘Bravo.’ He squeezed her shoulder, making the muslin slide over her skin in a caress and Tara felt desire surge through her. But this was no London party, with quiet curtained alcoves where she might let a man steal a kiss, they were standing in the garden on a sunny afternoon, in the company of friends and there was nothing she could do.

‘Are you two ready to begin?’ Rodney called.

Tara felt a laugh escape her, she was more than ready, but not for croquet. ‘I think we are,’ Leo said lazily from beside her and Tara could not shake the feeling that he too was thinking of something entirely different.

They played three rounds, adding the points together to calculate the overall scores. In the first game the pace was fast and furious but by the third they had tempered their pace to match the heat of the summer afternoon. Except Leo, Tara thought, watching him from under the temporary shade of an oak tree. He and Antonia had won the first game easily but now, when everyone else was horsing around, he was still playing with the same level of concentration that he had had from the start. He had moderated his stride around the lawn to a casual walk, matching the mood of the others, but his shots showed the same strength and precision as at the beginning of the afternoon. It was obvious he took his leisure as seriously as his work and she wondered where he had come by such a trait.

‘Antonia and Fosse are the clear winners,’ Freddie announced, after having been busy with pencil and paper for some moments and they all clapped. ‘But Tara was the lady with the best score.’ The others applauded politely.

‘It was entirely due to the excellent coaching I received,’ she demurred and was rewarded with Leo’s hastily hidden smirk. ‘Thank you for the game,’ she added to Freddie. It was not so hot now, in fact the sun was tipping the row of poplar trees sheltering the lawn from the west wind and Tara realized it was time to dress for dinner. She caught Susannah’s eye and saw that she and Antonia had come to the same conclusion. ‘Please excuse us, gentlemen,’ she said primly, and led the way back to the house.

Leo watched Tara all the way as she walked purposefully back to the house, until she was out of sight, the two younger women in her wake like little muslin covered ducklings. Tara was the leader here, whether she knew it or not, despite the likelihood of Susannah ending up as the lady of the house. He smiled, her strength of personality drew him quite as much as her stunning looks.

‘She’s very young,’ Freddie, interrupted his contemplation, sounding a little censorious.

Leo turned and raised his eyebrows at him. ‘She’s not that young,’ he said at last when Freddie made no move to back down. He was starting to feel irritated. What business of Freddie’s was Tara’s age?

‘She’s barely eighteen!’ Freddie said, going rather red and, despite knowing it wouldn’t help with appeasing him, Leo started to laugh. ‘What? What the…’ Freddie blustered.

‘I don’t have my eye on Lady Antonia,’ Leo said as placatingly as he could. But really the idea was absurd, the girl was, as Freddie had said, very young, and while she was a well educated child, as a woman she held no interest for him whatsoever.

‘Has Lady Tara caught your fancy, then?’ Freddie said shrewdly. Leo didn’t answer, but Freddie seemed to interpret that in the affirmative. ‘You’re not the first to fall under her spell,’ he said, ‘and you won’t be the last.’

‘Tara doesn’t take any man seriously,’ Rodney chimed in, and Leo thought he caught a hint of wistfulness in his host’s demeanour.

‘It’s all about the thrill of the chase with her,’ Freddie said wisely. ‘For both parties. She’ll dance with you, she’ll let you take her to the opera and you might even win a kiss at the end of it, but she won’t let herself get caught by any fellow thinking of marriage. Isn’t that right, Hulme?’ he added slyly.

Rodney took the jibe in good part, shrugging ruefully and Leo wondered, not for the first time, why Tara had been so against marrying him. He was heir to a prosperous estate, he was handsome and appeared to be unfailingly good humoured. Unlike himself on two counts out of three, he thought wryly. He at least was no longer heir to his father’s gambling debts, having dispensed with them with the sale of the remains of the estate, but even his closest friends would not deny he could be moody. The only thing he had in his favour was his appearance, with the objective eye of an artist he could see that his looks were more than passable.

But Freddie had given him something to think about. Was it possible that Tara’s dismissal of Philippe La Monte was not based on his financial circumstances, but rather was a reluctance to tie herself down with marriage at all? If so perhaps he had as much chance as the next man. He resolved over dinner to let herself prove for once and for all if her snobbishness was genuine, then he would know, at last, where he stood.

Chapter Seven

Leo found he didn’t have a chance to cross-examine Tara over dinner. For a start she was seated on old Lord Hulme’s right, while he was at the far end of the table, next to Susannah’s mother, Lady Maude, secondly he suddenly realized that he would prefer to make his assessment of Tara’s character in a far more private situation, and finally, as the soup was being served Rodney leaned across to Tara and said something which made her turn pale in a way he had never seen her do before. After that Tara hardly said a word and Leo wondered how he could find out what Rodney had said to upset her.

He was on the point of asking Rodney to step outside with him for a moment so he could interrogate him when the soup bowls were cleared away and Rodney tapped with the handle of his knife on his wine glass. The ringing sound cut clearly through the conversation and everyone looked at him in expectant silence. ‘I would like to make an announcement,’ Rodney said. ‘Today is my father’s birthday. He is sixty eight.’

‘Congratulations, sir,’ Freddie said, leaning forward to shake Lord Hulme’s hand. Leo added his own felicitations but he couldn’t help noticing that Tara looked paler than ever. He wondered if she were ill and if she would like him to escort her to her room. But she was pleating her napkin between her fingers in a way which suggested she was nervous, rather than unwell.

‘After dinner I have a very special present for him,’ Rodney said. ‘It is being put in place at the moment, meanwhile I would like to propose a toast to my father, Lord Hulme.’

‘Lord Hulme!’ His name rippled round the table as everyone raised their glasses and Lord Hulme beamed back at everyone, clearly enjoying the attention. But in the midst of it all Leo suddenly found his eyes locked with Tara’s. She looked quite miserable and he realized at once what the source of her unease was. She was feeling completely overwhelmed at the thought of everyone viewing her portrait.

His heart went out to her at once. It was easy for him, the prospect of his work being made public. It was what he painted for, the moment when other people looked at his painting and it spoke to them, communicating what the artist saw and could never put into words, but it was quite different for the subject. He had seen this before in his clients, a sudden attack of shyness at the thought of friends and relatives scrutinizing their image, immortalized in oil on canvas. But it was usually the plainer people who were taken this way, never before had Leo seen a beautiful woman suddenly become reticent about the admiration her portrait was bound to receive. Then it crossed his mind to wonder whether or not Tara knew that she was beautiful. Surely she did, she had seen the portrait, not to mention the face she saw in her own mirror each morning and evening. But the only explanation he could find for her sudden reticence was that she was not confident of her own beauty.
You are magnificent!
He wanted to tell her and tried to express it with his eyes. Perhaps he succeeded just a little for after a moment she gave him the slightest of smiles and applied herself to the beef the footman had just placed before her.

After that he hadn’t the heart to try and find out how deeply held her snobbish convictions were. Tara merely toyed with her food throughout the meal and ate only two spoonfuls of her stewed apple when it was served for desert. At lunch she had eaten as heartily as the rest of them and Leo suspected that it was completely out of character for her to not enjoy a meal. From their first meeting Tara had struck him as a woman who relished life to the full.

At the end of the supper Rodney was the first to rise from his seat. ‘Please accompany me to the long gallery,’ he said to his father and his guests. Freddie was closer to Tara but Leo moved more swiftly. This was not the time to consider Freddie’s feelings about being saddled with his cousin, Tara needed him and he would not let anyone else stand in the way.

Until the moment that Rodney had whispered in her ear and told her that her portrait was being hung in preparation for its presentation to Lord Hulme, Tara had not considered what it would be like to have herself permanently on show at Wallingford Manor. But then it struck her that every visitor would be shown her painting as part of the tour of the house from now on. They would be able to scrutinise her and see all her imperfections, faithfully rendered by Leo. She glanced down the table at him and he smiled encouragingly. For a moment Tara was reassured, he had painted her so that she appeared beautiful. Then an even more horrid thought struck her, she would be with the other guests when they saw the painting. What if they then turned and compared it with the real thing? What if they found her far less attractive than the portrait Leo had painted? She gave up carving her steak completely and stared at her plate with unseeing eyes. It was inevitable that they would find her less lovely than her portrait, the best she could hope for was that they had the manners not to say so.