Sorry, old boy. May have overreacted. I know you meant well and were just trying to do your duty and fill Papa’s shoes as magistrate. Better you than me!
In the meantime, I hope you have not let that sweet-faced Miss Lane slip through your fingers.
On the subject of romance, I have renewed my acquaintance with a most charming redhead. An opera singer.
(Ha ha. Knew that would get a rise out of you!)
Only joking, but she is a peach and I shall look forward to introducing her to you and Mamma soon.
Yours, etc.
Tommy
Frederick slowly shook his head, a tolerant grin lifting his mouth. He was pleased to receive this conciliatory gesture from his brother, although it didn’t fill the hole in his heart.
He walked upstairs. In the corridor outside his bedchamber, he stood before a framed family portrait. Husband, wife, daughter, son. The family had not been perfect, but they had loved one another. Would he never have a family of his own? A loving wife? Children? A part of him thought he should just let Rebecca go. Let her find someone younger who had never married. But he was not ready to give her up. He liked her too much. Loved her, actually.
With a sigh of resignation, he reached up, took the frame down from the wall, and wrapped it in brown paper.
Feeling restless, he walked downstairs and through the house, his footsteps echoing through the lofty Wickworth gallery. He stopped abruptly beneath another oil painting. It was one he’d never really taken the time to appreciate. By Titian, he believed, painted in dark, drab colors, the only spot of light the one shining behind Christ’s head as He hung there on the cross. Beside Him was the “good thief” in the shadows, one arm still strapped to his cross, the other raised in praise, gazing up to heaven in reverent expectation.
Frederick recognized it for what it was—a portrait of Christ’s mercy, His unmerited forgiveness and grace.
As Frederick stood there, he heard a still, small voice whisper deep in his soul, “I forgive you, and I love you.”
Heart burning within him, Frederick strode resolutely across the hall to stand below one more portrait.
His wife’s.
How beautiful Marina looked. How lifeless. How cruel. Frederick took a deep breath, asked God for strength, and whispered, “I forgive you, and I love...”
The sound of soft slipper treads caught his ear, and he turned in surprise.
“Rebe... Miss Lane.” His pulse accelerated as he took in her flushed, lovely face and form-fitting riding habit. Concern and cautious hope tangled within him. “I am glad to see you, but has something happened? Something else, that is?”
———
Rebecca breathed a prayer and gathered her courage. “No. I hope you don’t mind me showing up like this unannounced.”
“Not at all.”
“I passed your mother outside. She said there was no need to stand on formality between old friends. In fact, she insisted on letting me in through the garden door herself.”
“Ah.” He glanced behind her. “Did she not stay?”
“No. Busy helping your gardener ready the flower beds, apparently.”Or trying to give us privacy, Rebecca thought.
She turned toward the wall. “May I ask what has so captured your attention?”
Looking up at the portrait, she realized he’d been staring at his wife’s beautiful face, beautiful ... everything. Rebecca felt daunted, her confidence draining away, like water from a punctured pot.“You, MissLane, are nothing at all like her.”Then she reminded herself what else his mother had said.“That, my dear, is a compliment.”
Rebecca took a steadying breath and said, “She truly was lovely.”
“Yes. Though I am not pining for her, if that is what you think. I was ... forgiving her.” He glanced at Rebecca. “Marina may have been unfaithful, but contrary to rumors, her fall was an accident. I did not push her. I hope you believe me.”
“I do. Completely.”
He exhaled in relief. “Good. Shall I show you what inspired me to forgive?”
