She covered her face with her hands and drew a few slow, silent breaths before looking again.
Sydnam had the brush in hislefthand and was bending closer to the canvas. But the hand shook, and it was obvious that he could not perform the demonstration he had intended. He made a low, inarticulate sound of distress and then bent forward to take the end of the brush in his mouth while adjusting his hold on the brush so that he held it grasped in his fist. He made a few bold brushstrokes on the canvas and drew back.
“Ah!” David cried. “NowI understand.NowI can see. Those are waves and they are not flat. Letmetry.”
He took the brush from Sydnam’s hand and made his own strokes on the canvas before looking up with triumph into Sydnam’s face.
“Yes,” Sydnam said, laying his hand on his shoulder. “Yes, David. Now you have it. Just look at the difference.”
“But it is all one color,” David said after returning his attention to the canvas. “Water is not all one color.”
“Exactly,” Sydnam said. “And you can do much more mixing and blending of colors and shades with oils than with watercolors, as you will soon discover. Let me show you.”
Anne watched them, her two men, their heads bent together, utterly absorbed in what they did, quite oblivious to her presence.
Was there to be some healing after all?
Was healing possible when grave damage had been done?
Was wholeness possible when one had been horribly maimed?
She spread a hand over her abdomen, where she sheltered the unborn member of their family.
The food on Sydnam’s plate tasted like straw.
He could not get the smell of the oils out of his nose or out of his head.
“Are Kit and Lauren going to accompany you and Anne to Lindsey Hall this afternoon, Sydnam?” his mother asked.
They ought to have called there yesterday. He had written to Bewcastle, of course, to inform him that he was taking a short leave of absence—to which the terms of his employment entitled him. But he had not explained the reason. Common good manners dictated that he call at Lindsey Hall with his new bride before Bewcastle heard from someone else that he was at Alvesley. They certainly ought to go today.
“Perhaps you would like to take my place in the carriage, Mama,” he said. “I feel a little indisposed. I will stay here.”
Anne looked at him sharply across the table.
“So will I,” she said. “We can go to Lindsey Hall some other time.”
It was impossible to argue with her when they were not alone together. But all he wanted was to be left literally alone.
“We will take the children riding, then, Lauren, will we?” Kit suggested. “I daresay David will come too, with your permission, Anne.”
“Oh, certainly,” she said. “He is looking forward to it.”
Not long afterward Sydnam and Anne were upstairs in their rooms together.
“I need some air,” he said, “and some solitude. I am going outside to walk. Will you stay here or do something with my mother?”
“I want to come with you,” she said.
“I will not be good company,” he told her. “I feel indisposed.”
“I know,” she said.
And the trouble was that he thought she probably did.
It struck him suddenly that loneliness was not perhaps the least desirable state in the world. Was marriage going to feel too crowded? It was an alarming and unwelcome thought. He had always longed for a wife, for a life’s companion. But foolishly he had thought of marriage as a happily-ever-after, as a destination rather than a new fork in the path through life.
“Don’t shut me out of your life, Sydnam,” she said as if she knew very well what he was thinking. “We must try to make our marriage work if we possibly can. We were friends in Wales, were we not? Let’s continue to be friends now. I want to come with you.”
