Chapter Eighteen
November 14th, 1808
Whiteoaks, Wiltshire
Letty was unable to speak privately with Reid on Monday. She rode out with him, and Lucas and Tom, and Almeria’s eldest daughter, Selina, and Lord Stapleton. Back at Whiteoaks, eating macaroons and sipping tea, Stapleton attentive at her side, she stewed with frustration.
“It’s young Oscar’s birthday soon,” Lucas said, reaching for a piece of plum cake. “What the devil shall I give him?”
Tom shrugged. “He’s your nephew. How should I know?”
“He’s mad about the knights of the Round Table,” Lucas said, chewing meditatively. “Imagines himself as Sir Gawain.”
“He’s already got every book about the knights there is,” Oscar’s sister Selina said.
“I know that,” Lucas said. “I was thinking . . . Could you paint Sir Gawain, Tom?”
“Of
