August 1868

A face is rather difficult to draw. The size has to be just right, the structure of the jawline and cheekbones must be perfect. A strong forehead and hairline, eyebrows. Eyes set apart at just the right distance, and the exact same shape. The nose, slender at first and then rounded at the ends. If the nose is not perfect, the mouth will look strange regardless. One of the most apparent ways to tell what a person was feeling at the time of the picture is their mouth. A frown, a smile, a straight line? These lips are tilted upwards in a content smile. Then the chin. Finally, some color: a blush on the cheeks, the color of their eyes, their lips, their hair color.

The sunlight outside of my window has steadily moved across my paper, causing me to frequently change my position to stay in the light. I shift again so the sunlight can catch my drawing. It must be early evening now. The sun has dimmed, and I am already pressed against the wall of my window seat to get enough light to draw. The charcoal sweeps upwards in short motions as the eyelashes come into fruition. I add more definition to the eyebrows, and then I darken his jaw a little more with that trademark stubble. I exchange the charcoal pencil for a dark red chalk that I smudge lightly over his lips and cheeks to give him life. His eyes gaze up at me from beneath his hair, which I have drawn just how I like it: long, before he cuts it.

"Hello, dear."

Startled, the red jumps across the page and creates an ugly line over his left ear. I inwardly groan before quickly yanking a landscape drawing over him.

"Hello, Mother. I did not hear you come in."

She smiles at me, coming closer, "What are you drawing?"

"A sunset I saw the other day in Saint James Park."

Mother peers over my shoulder at the sunset, making a noise of approval, "It is very beautiful, Jessamine."

"Thank you."

"Will you join me for dinner? Your father sends his love, but he has had a long day and is resting in his room."

"Of course."

I set down my drawings on the window seat, making sure he stays covered, before standing and following Mother out of my bedroom. That was close. I mimic her posture as best I can, folding my hands over my stomach and lifting my chin. The hoop skirts barely swish over the floor, our heels clicking over the marble. She has clearly decided we will take dinner in her private quarters, as we are walking in the opposite direction of the reception rooms and dining room. We have no one visiting Hughenden Manor, so we can dine in each others' company for once. The table in her parlor has been set for two. We sit as the first course is served a la russe by the waitstaff: oysters on the half shell.

"Enjoy your dinner Mrs. Disraeli, Miss Disraeli."

"Thank you, Marsha." Mother smiles kindly at the maid.

I place my napkin on my lap, daintily picking up my spoon.

"How was your day, Mother?"

"It was a relatively boring day, if you must know. I finished revising the plans for the new gardens with Lord Popplewell. Not much excitement, that man has all the personality of a rock."

I hide my giggle, "Oh, what a shame. You know how I love your stories."

She chuckles, "I do. What about you, dear?"

"Studied with Miss Greville in the morning, and spent my afternoon drawing."

"What a relaxing day we both had."

I make a noise of agreement. We lapse into silence, the only sound being that of our silverware against the china. I like these dinners the best, no protocol or need for "pleasant discussion". Mother and I are both content to enjoy each other's presence, and there is no need to worry about conversing with other guests. I steadily chew my way through the courses: steamed carrots and potatoes in broth, citrus ice, beef roast with mushrooms, and a nice cake with some preserved fruits.

"Oh, I almost forgot! I have invited some guests over for luncheon tomorrow."

I raise my head to find her eyes sparkling with what looks to be mirth.

"Really," I ask, attempting to seem nonchalant, "who?"

"It is a surprise, but I believe you will like them. A very interesting pair, those two. You must wear that new dress from Paris! It's simply beautiful."

That new dress is quite revealing, it hugs my waist rather provocatively and it is low-cut enough to expose the skin of my chest. I must admit, though, that I love its soft cream color. It is tight enough for only a narrow hoop skirt and corset.

"As you wish."

"Good night, Jessamine. Sleep well, and meet me in the blue reception room tomorrow at a quarter past nine."

"Of course. Good night, Mother."

I leave her room. I wander through the hall back to my bedroom. It is too late to attempt to fix that drawing of him, so I may as well put it away. I turn on the gas lamps along the wall. I slip the drawings into the drawer of my desk just as Sarah enters the room.

"Good evening, Miss Disraeli. Shall I get you ready for bed?"

"Thank you, Sarah."

She smiles at me. My lady's maid is a kind woman in her later years, but she is the closest thing I have to a friend. Every other noble girl my age is too pretentious to understand the concept of friendship. It is a rather lonely existence.

"How was your day, Sarah?"

"Fine, Miss Disraeli. How was yours?"

"Very relaxing, thank you."

She undoes my bodice and removes it, and begins the arduous task of unlacing my corset and removing the hoop skirt. With that done, she leaves me in my undergarments to change into my nightgown. I remove the chemise and drawers and slip off the heels. I step into the dressing gown. Tonight's is to be a little more revealing, it is a Friday. Fridays always require a more revealing gown for him. This one is a pale lavender that makes my dark brown hair stand out starkly against the fabric. It trails to the floor and ends in soft ruffles, and the cap sleeves reveal my arms. The neckline is low, accentuating my collarbones. I slip a thin white robe over my shoulders and tie it round my waist. This fabric is also thin; it has ruffles at the hem, the ends of the long sleeves, and around the chest. I feel that I look rather attractive. Sarah removes the pins in my hair, allowing the dark curls to tumble down my back.

"That will be all, Sarah."

"Of course, Miss Disraeli. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She leaves the room, shutting the door lightly behind her. I quickly pinch my cheeks and dab a bit of essence of rose on my wrists and chest. He will be here any moment. After a few more minutes of anxious waiting on my part, a knock sounds on the door. I take a second to collect myself before I open it. There are those green eyes, lighting up when they see me. His blonde hair is not quite as long as I like it to be, but it is getting close. His smile is positively delicious. I open the door a little wider and he enters. I close it behind him.

"Have I ever told you how intoxicating you look in your night clothes?"

I laugh as I shrug out of the thin robe, "Oh, Thomas, how you flatter me."

Thomas grins as he tosses his coat carelessly to the ground. I barely have enough time to drop my robe to the floor before he is on me, pressing a sweet kiss to my lips. I gladly reciprocate, melting into his arms.

"I missed you." he murmurs, green eyes sparking with intensity.

"And I you." I respond, pressing another kiss to his jaw.

He leads me over to my bed. He lays down, pulling me down with him. I curl into him, and his arm wraps around my waist. His fingers comb through my hair and he presses a kiss to my head.

"How was your day?" he asks.

"Fine. Tutor, and an afternoon to myself."

"That sounds pleasant."

"Rather boring, but each day is just the same. How was yours?"

"Considering I spent the day driving your father around, it was rather tiring."

I giggle, and he tightens his arm around me in a hug. He smells like leather and soap, which is oddly relaxing. It only makes me hold him tighter. We only get to see each other once a week for a few hours. Otherwise, he drives our carriage and we pretend not to know each other. I hate that it has to be like this, but I suppose all the time I can get with him is a gift in itself. Our affair is highly illicit, and if anyone were to find out, it would be disastrous.

"How shall we spend our hours this week?" he asks, his voice satirically mocking our situation.

"I chose last time, I believe it is your turn."

"Speaking of, how did that drawing turn out?"

I pull myself from his embrace to walk out of the bedroom to the parlor and my desk. I open the top drawer and pull out the sheet of paper with his likeness. Oh no, I forgot to fix that red smudge! I put my fingernail against the paper, desperately scratching against the line. It starts to disappear, but I know it will never fade completely. Oh well. Last week, I chose to make him sit still so I could draw him. It turned out quite well, if I do say so myself, but we shall see what he thinks. I come back into the bedroom to find that he has taken off his shoes, white shirt, and tie, leaving him in only a thin white undershirt and his black pants. Just the sight of his strong arms and broad shoulders is enough to make me turn red, but I regain control over the flush in my cheeks. I bring him the paper, curling against him again and waiting for his response. He stays quiet. Finally, I look up at him.

"Is this how you perceive me, Jessa?"

The flush I tried so hard to contain comes back in full force at his husky voice.

"Yes." I breathe.

Instead of commenting further, he leans down and kisses me. I kiss him back, positioning myself on top of his body for a better angle. He delicately places the drawing off to the side of the large bed to tenderly run his hands through my hair and cup the back of my neck. A tantalizing feeling unfurls in me as he kisses me. No longer giving a care for propriety, I yank the dressing gown up to my thighs and pull myself up to straddle his waist. My hands slide over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his stomach and chest through the thin material. Finally, we pull away for air.

"Do you like it?" I ask, a hairsbreadth away from his lips.

"I love it." he whispers, pressing another breathtaking kiss to my mouth.

Thomas delicately turns me over so that I am beneath him. He sits up, pulling his shirt over his head. Sitting above me, bathed in moonlight, he looks like a dream. He slowly, tenderly, kisses me again. He leaves my lips and traces a path down my jaw and neck, along my collarbone. I allow my eyelids to flutter closed. His hands explore places of my body untouched by any man before, and I fall in love with him even more.