Grace clapped her hands and gave a choke of laughter.
Adam looked at Miss Knightley. “That’s incredible,” he said. “How did you do it?”
She shrugged lightly.
Adam examined the sketch again. The paddock, the wooden fence, the distant trees, had been drawn using the minimum of pencil strokes—and yet they were vividly real. He could almost see the leaves turning in the breeze, almost smell the grass. The cow had been sketched quickly—and yet in a few deft lines, she’d made it alive. It was about to breathe, about to blink its large eyes.
He studied it, frowning. How could the cow be a cow, and yet also a person?
It was the eyes, he decided. And something in the curve of cheek, in the mouth, in the way it held its head.
There was no meanness in the sketch. Mischief, yes—but no malice. Th
