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so impractical for the muddy countryside.
    â€œIs that her name? Frances?”
    â€œDo you wish to compose love sonnets to her name? It has been done, and I warn you that it is difficult to rhyme.”
    Laughing at that, he glanced through the shrubs at Frances sitting on the bench in the sun, a book open before her. “Why does she sit so still? Is she such a scholar that the book engrosses her so?”
    â€œFrances doesn’t know how to read or write. She says reading would cause lines on her perfect brow and writingwould wrinkle the white skin of her hands.”
    Again the man gave a bit of laughter. “Then why does she sit so still?”
    â€œShe is having her portrait painted,” Axia said as though he were an idiot for not seeing the obvious.
    â€œBut
you
are the painter and you are here. Has she not noticed your absence?”
    â€œThe thought that she is being looked at is enough for her.” Axia glanced down at his doublet. “Are you bleeding?”
    â€œHell and damnation,” he said. “I forgot the cherries.” He began pulling cherries from his pocket, some of them crushed.
    â€œSo you are a thief as well as a trespasser.”
    He had his back to the shrub. “What does she care? She is so rich she will not miss a few cherries. Want some?”
    â€œNo, thank you. Would you please tell me what it is you want to know so I can get back to my work?”
    â€œDo you know her well?”
    â€œKnow who?” Axia pretended ignorance.
    â€œThe Maidenhall heiress, of course.”
    â€œAs well as anyone. Is she who interests you? All that gold?”
    â€œYes, all that gold,” he said, looking at her seriously as he spit a cherry seed onto the ground. “But I want to know about
her
. What could I do for her or give her that would please her?”
    Axia looked at him a moment. “And why would you want to please her?”
    The man’s face changed, softened, and, if possible, became more handsome. Had he looked at another woman so, Axiawas sure she would have melted as quickly as cheap candle wax. Leaning toward her, he whispered in his voice that was as splendid as his face and body. “Come, tell me,” he said seductively, “what gift could I give her that would please her?”
    Axia gave him a sweet smile. “A double-sided mirror?” Meaning, of course, that he could see himself as Frances looked at herself.
    At that the man started to laugh, then caught himself from making noise that might call attention to them. Tossing the last of the cherries to the ground, he said, “I need a friend. Actually, I need a partner in some business.”
    â€œMe?” she asked with false innocence, and when he nodded, she said, “And what do
I
receive if I help you?”
    â€œI am beginning to like you.”
    â€œAs I do not feel the same about you, I wish you to get on with your request so we may part company.”
    â€œGo,” he said, sweeping his arm out. “Go and leave me. I will be here on the morrow. Perhaps I will see you then. Perhaps not.”
    Axia cursed herself, but she was intrigued. “What do you offer me for helping you?” Heiresses were never offered money; they gave money.
    â€œRiches beyond your wildest dreams.”
    Ah,
she thought,
the Maidenhall gold—and silver and land and ships and warehouses and—
    â€œNo,” he said, “do not look at me like that. I mean no harm. I mean to …” He hesitated, looking at her as though judging her.
    â€œYou mean to have her for your own, do you not?” When, for just a flash of a second, she saw his eyes look startled, she knew she’d guessed right. But then he wasn’t the first; he was one of thousands who wanted to marry the Maidenhall gold. But let him keep his illusions that he was the first to think of such a thing.
Why
did her father hire a man who looks like this one? she wondered again. A man