Daring Miss Danvers Read Online Free PDF

high demand. Then, one day, that had all changed.
    Her father had done the unthinkable. He’d begun painting portraits of the servants. And not the polished servants in their stately livery either, but groomsmen covered in muck from the stalls, and elderly kitchen maids in dirty aprons, with flour caked into their wrinkled faces. His portraits had been far too real for the ton .
    When Lady Philomena Fitzherbert had allowed him one more chance to prove his worth by commissioning him to paint a portrait of her spaniels, Cuthbert Danvers agreed. However, he wasn’t interested in gaining her approval or going back to the way things were. He wanted freedom to create his art. So, instead of gracing her with a divine portrait of her precious angels, what she’d received was a painting of the spaniels biting the hands of the maid who groomed them, along with a sizeable bill. After that, her father was given the cut direct .
    Neither he nor Emma’s mother received invitations to societal events any longer—none other than from the close friends who’d stood by them.
    In fact, if it hadn’t been for Lady Rathburn and her support, Emma never would have had a Season.
    While she admired her father’s work, part of her wished he’d kept those paintings a secret until after she had been married. But perhaps she was the only one who fully understood the vital importance of keeping secrets.
    “ No candidates?” Rafe teased with an overly dramatic gasp, which apparently gave him no end of amusement. His robust laughter echoed off the walls. “Perhaps this year’s crop will be different.”
    Hmph! Or perhaps, this year, it was time to take matters into her own hands.

 

C HAPTER F OUR
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    E mma should have known that being summoned to her father’s study on a perfectly sunny afternoon would spell disaster. Normally, he used the third-floor studio to paint on days like this. And, of course, Mother had the parlor .
    Therefore, when Parker opened the door, revealing her father and mother, in addition to Rathburn of all people, she should have taken a step back and dashed out of the townhouse. Or at the very least asked him to close the door so that she could begin a stream of counting in Latin to calm herself.
    There was no reason Rathburn should be alone in a room with her parents, especially when her brother had left town this morning. She sincerely hoped this wasn’t about the missing paints and canvas she’d heard her father railing about this morning.
    Her nerves climbed closer to the edge of an unknown precipice.
    After a hasty glance down to make sure there wasn’t a single speck of paint on her hands, she stepped into the study. “Good afternoon,” she said, greeting everyone in turn and lingering close to the doorway, just in case she needed a quick escape.
    Perched on the edge of the loveseat, as if ready to spring at any moment, her mother smiled broadly at her. The combination of brown, red, and silver in her hair looked even more shocking against the orange flowers of her yellow day gown. “There she is.”
    Emma swallowed. “Yes. Here I am.”
    “Playing in the shadows as usual,” her father said with a chuckle, an unlit pipe clenched in his teeth. In addition to little flecks amid the waves of silver hair brushed back from his forehead, his large hands were spotted with paint. While his cerulean blue coat remained pristine—as he usually painted in his shirtsleeves and an apron—the bottoms of his trousers and tops of his shoes were splattered as well. Then, as if he were one of his outrageously bold portraits come to life, he wore his signature paisley silk cravat. “Come into the light, child.”
    She preferred the shadows. The light made her feel lacking in the eyes of her flamboyant parents, especially with Rathburn here.
    Even though he leaned casually against the edge of her father’s desk, his glossy Hessians crossed at the ankle, she sensed a distinct amount of tension from him, as well. Of