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Come sit and tell me about your walk.”
    She forced herself to smile and sat obediently. Hettie brought in the tea tray, and Gwen poured for everyone.
    “So what do you think of my handsome grandson?”
    Gwen swallowed her sip of tea too quickly and had to hold back a hiccough.
    The Dowager looked her over thoughtfully, waiting for her answer. Her mother pulled her head up from where it was resting to look.
    “I think he is a very entertaining companion.” Gwen carefully selected a biscuit and did not look up, though she could feel their eyes upon her.
    “That is all?”
    No, but she wasn't about to say he was the most handsome, witty, above-her-touch man she had ever met.  
    “He likes my paintings.”
    “Gwen, you are being purposefully...” Her mother wrinkled her brow and put her head down again.
    “Obtuse, Mama? I am not sure what your expectations were of an afternoon walk, but we enjoyed a nice exercise, a beautiful view and pleasant conversation.”
    The Dowager humphed. “Sounds perfectly mundane.”
    “Do you have plans for tomorrow?”
    “I believe he wishes me to paint something for him.”
    “Oh, Gwen! You haven't….” She searched for the right word but couldn’t find it. “…Done that in years. What shall you…?” Her face grew frustrated.
    “Paint? Whatever Mr. Abbott wishes. He is commissioning it.”
    “My grandson commissioned a painting?” the Dowager said with surprise.
    “He did, ma'am.”
    “Oh, dear. This is serious indeed.” She flashed a smile at her cousin. “I will see you in the morning it seems. I best be away, dear.”
    ***
    Andrew hurried back to the colourist’s shop and availed himself of every possible canvas, brush and pigment Mr. Scott thought Miss Lambert might desire. After arranging for the supplies to be delivered, he then went to the Pulteney Bridge to examine the various options for her masterpiece. Unsatisfied, he walked back towards his house on the Circus and diverted himself along Brock Street towards the park in front of the Royal Crescent.  
    “This will do nicely,” he said to himself as he envisioned a lovely day with Miss Lambert. “A picnic, a blanket, her canvas right there. A lovely day it will be.” He looked up to the sky, begging for cooperative weather. “Except perhaps enough of a breeze to blow Miss Lambert’s wild hair about.”
    No . He did not need the temptation. It was all he could do this afternoon to keep his hands out of it when it was tumbling about her. He sighed. She did not think of him as more than a friend. He was only supposed to be providing a brief divertissement anyway. He was leaving for America in two days and only God knew how long he would be gone. He looked to the sky again. “As an arbiter of humour, I must say I have to appreciate how diverted you must be.”
    He turned and walked back towards number twenty-one, nevertheless excited for tomorrow. It was nice to feel a sense of purpose again, even if it would be of short duration. He headed straight for Cook to order up a basket of delicacies worthy of a queen. He was in trouble, he must acknowledge. All of his thoughts were on Miss Lambert, and how he could bring a smile to her face. He would be miserable when he had to leave her, but if she enjoyed herself, nay forgot herself, for a few days his misery would be worth it.
    She did not flirt with him whatsoever, and while not piqued, he certainly felt challenged. Usually he at least ranked some courtesy flirting from ladies. What was it about him that kept her from desiring him? He was not an eyesore; at least he did not think he was repulsive. Was he too familiar? He had never succumbed to the old adage of playing hard to get. He enjoyed conversing and laughing…perhaps that was his downfall. He treated the ladies as he would a friend. Did he need to be more romantic or obvious? He was afraid he would look a fool, but he likely would not be able to stop himself.
    ***
    Gwen had barely finished her chores