Faces of the Wind

Chapter 5

After the Timblers, tenants of Jeffrey's, left Steventon following the tragic death of their youngest daughter, Adrian turned their small cottage into a private studio in which he kept painting equipment and worked with models, some of whom stayed in the cottage for weeks.

The first time he brought a model home from London, Mrs. Dusteby scolded him and warned him that his doing jeopardizes the house's reputation, and even though he was not convinced, he had to abide by the rules of his kindly and loyal housekeeper or else he might risk losing her. Among all the servants hired by his father at their Steventon house, Mrs. Dusteby was the only one to stay since his childhood—and it was always his wish that she stays.

He began to grow impatient. Irene was supposed to arrive two hours ago—he wondered what could have held her back. To kill time, he began mixing colours and as he did, his mind became restless. What if Irene couldn't come at all? Waiting for someone who had no plans to come was a waste of time... but she would have written or sent word. What if a pressing matter got in her way and she could no longer leave the house? Maybe her father had suspicions and forbade her alleged visit to the Thudertons'.

Adrian was not capable of waiting for news to arrive. He had to go and find out for himself. He put down everything, took off his stained smock and left the studio, locking the door behind him. Thankfully, his mare Beasty waited outside.

***

Irene and Arden rode together across several lands, estates and farms to Abington Meadows, a charming area famous for its swan lake and for being green round the year. They fed the swans and chatted. The weather was warm and the place animated with sparrows and different species of small birds.

"Isn't George a bit old for you?" Irene asked, throwing breadcrumbs to the swans, "He should be at least ten years your senior."

"Age doesn't matter when you're in love," Arden replied, watching as the swans picked the breadcrumbs from the glittering surface of the lake with their black, shiny beaks. She regretted ever going for a stroll with this stupid girl.

"True," Irene smiled softly to herself, perfecting her peach lace umbrella above her head, "nothing in the world matters when you're in love." There was silence except for the birds' twittering until she asked, "Do you think Adrian would propose?"

"I thought Lord Longfeather did not quite admire him."

Irene chuckled softly, "Papa hates him but would agree to anything that makes me happy—I'm sure about it."

Arden sat on the grass and smoothed her frock beneath her, still regretting this picnic. She preferred to wear a hat instead of carrying an umbrella. It didn't matter if the sun caught her skin.

Irene looked at her. "So," she said, "do you think he's going to propose? I thought since your families are good friends—"

"Why don't you ask him?" Arden interjected.

Vigorously, Irene sat beside Arden, her eyes excited and her cheeks flushed. "I could never dare!"

"Why not?"

"A lady should not ask a gentleman whether he would propose marriage!"

"Depends on the gentleman," Arden replied, "Adrian has a million failings but being conventional is not one of them." She tried to put it as nicely as possible.

"Being conventional is a failing?"

Arden did not respond.

"So you think I should ask him?"

"It is more convenient than building castles in the sky when the whole idea might not have crossed the lad's mind."

There was silence for some minutes. Arden looked skyward and closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her face. She took a deep breath then opened her eyes and looked at the glittering lake with its different shades of silver, yellow, blue and green.