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He was a painter. He was bigger in build than Humphrey, though shorter, and his hands were as nimble as any artist's.
They hadn't spoken much - although he did actually speak English. Even laughed at his joke, more than once. Humphrey wasn't entirely sure it hadn't just been politeness, but he'd take it.
Humphrey's usual portrait painter had died only last summer. Sophie had found him this new one, with a look in her eye and words he had had a hard time interpreting - though, to be fair, the words were in rapid fire French. There had been a few of those looks from her, ever since he had facilitated the book club; as if she was assessing him anew. Maybe? Maybe it was just wishful thinking on Humphrey's part. It was known to happen.
So she had found him a painter, who spoke English, and whom Humphrey had spent the past few days very carefully not staring at.
His name was Samuel. He was a painter, he had a neatly trimmed dark beard and curly hair he kept short, a single pearl-drop earring, and he often painted in only his shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Humphrey was not staring.
Samuel had a gentle smile, and his eyes crinkled when he laughed at one of Humphrey's inane jokes.
Humphrey rather thought it wasn't a polite laugh. Not when his eyes crinkled like that.
A few days after they had been introduced, while Humphrey was posing, Samuel gave a frustrated huff. He muttered something about the light, and when he went silent Humphrey quickly looked up from where he had been lost in watching the man's arms moving.
"Sir Humphrey, if I could...?" Samuel asked, gesturing at him. Humphrey wasn't entirely sure what was being asked of him, but he gave a bewildered nod anyway.
When Samuel moved towards him he had the faint idea that maybe he should have said no.
When Samuel put his hand on Humphrey's chin to move his head, his heart was thundering and he could feel sweat build up on his neck, and he was very sure he did not regret saying yes.
Samuel was smiling his gentle smile, and his hand was still on Humphrey's chin. The other had moved to Humphrey's own hand, and Samuel's thumb was slowly caressing it.
"While I am glad of your attention on me, my lord, I need you to look a little more to the left for now."
"Ah." Humphrey had not been staring. Somehow he had still been caught. "Indeed. Yes. Of course!" He cleared his throat.
Samuel's eyes, which Humphrey was decidedly not looking at, crinkled. His hands lingered on Humphrey as he drew away.
Later that day, Sophie, in a rare show of wifely affection, took her dinner with him. It was a quiet affair, mostly, but she did ask him about Samuel (Humphrey thinks. She said something about peintre and bon and it sounded like a question).
Humphrey tried very much to not blush as he thanked her for finding him. Hiding his smile was harder. Tomorrow he might tell Samuel about his embarrassing stumbles in the French language, he thought, and imagined a hand caressing his.