The Kissing Bough Read Online Free

manners put me to the blush.”
    Thus rebuked, Lucinda thanked Edward, keeping her back turned to James so he could not catch her eye. If he’d heard her mother’s comment, she didn’t want to see his cynicism, and if he were still amused by the situation, she didn’t want to be lured into a response that would justify her mother’s accusation of impropriety.
    Instead she took the opportunity to present Edward and his mother with their gifts.
    For Lady Beaufield she had a Norwich silk shawl with a hand-knotted fringe. Trying to choose a gift for Edward had been much harder. Her mother had insisted she consider all the implications. The gift had to be impersonal enough not to break the conventions that directed what was permissible for an unmarried woman to give a male not related to her, yet, her mother insisted, she ought to show some awareness that this occasion symbolized the possibility of, as her mother had coyly put it, “a lasting connection with the House of Beaufield.”
    This brief sojourn into Edward’s home had made one thing clear. If a lasting connection meant marriage to Edward, Lucinda didn’t want it.
    In the end, Mrs. Demerham had suggested Lucinda give Edward one of her watercolors.
    Edward unwrapped it, his eyebrows drawing together and his eyes narrowing as he took in the riot of colors, so different to the gray, cold English countryside in this Year Without a Summer.
    “Quite, um, unusual,” he said flatly. “I have never seen water this precise shade of blue, nor have I seen palm trees outside the confines of exhibitions. What is it meant to be?”
    Lucinda’s face heated. She had no desire to impress Edward, but she prided herself on her skill with the brush and she had worked hard on this painting.
    “It’s my impression of the Hawaiian Islands. I read Captain Cook’s journal and I thought the islands sounded beautiful. Such a change from…” she trailed off, aware of the glazed look that had fallen over Edward’s face.
    Behind her came the scrape of a chair. James stood, reached forward and took the painting from Edward’s lax hand.
    “Captain James Cook explored Quebec, you know. He was very much admired for his navigation and the accuracy of detail in his journals and maps.” James held the small artwork up and inspected it closely. “This is exactly as I had imagined these islands to be. You have great skill, Miss Demerham, to be able to interpret Cook’s writings so.”
    His praise took away some of the sting of Edward’s indifference. His smile made her forget it altogether. With a start, Lucinda realized his eyes were the exact shade of blue she had used to render the sparkling warmth of the tropical sea.
    “I wish I could go there,” she sighed. “I long for warmth and sunshine.”
    ”Then find a way to go,” James said. “No one need be stuck in England forever.”
    “Don’t be absurd,” Edward snapped. “Travel beyond the distance between home and London is unnecessary. It is grossly irresponsible, James, to suggest that a lady might journey to such wild and dangerous places. Might I remind you, not all of Lieutenant Cook’s experience was sufficient to prevent his being murdered by the inhabitants of the very islands Miss Demerham has so ill-advisedly tried to represent.”
    “Too nasty by half, Edward,” James said with menace in his voice. “Apologize to the lady.”
    “I do not need the interference of my younger brother to remind me of correct conduct. Miss Demerham must be aware I meant no offense to her, or to her skills as an artist,” Edward said stiffly. “Merely that she cannot have understood the implication of choosing this location to depict, when it has such an unfortunate history.”
    “I’m sure your sentiments, Lord Beaufield, are quite justified,” Lucinda’s mother said. “I fear Lucinda has made an error.” She frowned at her daughter. “I was certain we had decided you would give Edward that pretty scene of the swans on the