Ah, yes. She had nearly forgotten the painting.
She could feel the questions crowding his tongue.
His first was predictable.
“Is this meant to be your . . . family?” His eyebrows raised.
“Yes. Myself, my sister, and my father. My mother passed away long ago.”
“Ah.”
“It is one of Cousin Gabriel’s pieces,” she offered.
He shot her a sideways glance. “The cousin who died in Rome?”
“Yes.”
“It is certainly . . . unconventional.” Dr. Whitaker studied the painting for another moment. “Did your family request this . . . ?” He waved a hand in a circle.
“No. It was all Gabriel’s doing.”
Though Dr. Whitaker said nothing more, Lottie could hear his unspoken criticism.
She supposed he would judge the painting harshly. His ancient eyes likely had no patience for such frivolity.
She stifled a sigh.
Very well.
The paintingwasabsurd.
There. She could admit as much.
Her family treasured all of Gabriel’s works, but it was obvious why this one did not have a place of honor in the drawing room.
“He painted ye as dogs.” Dr. Whitaker spoke the words flatly, as if not sure what affronted him more—the offense to good taste or the offense to canines.
Another moment of fraught silence.
“Why would he paint ye asdogs?” The doctor’s brow furrowed. “I cannae fathom it.”
The painting truly was awful. There they were— she, Papa and Margaret—painted with normal human faces but each sporting a canine body. They looked as if they had each donned a dog suit, complete with fluffy ears and a tail.
Papa stood proud. Margaret sat in a chair staring boldly out at the viewer. Lottie lounged on a rug before them.
It was bizarre.
Papa was an enormous gray mastiff, secure and strong, the powerful muscles of his haunches carefully rendered.
Margaret was a King Charles spaniel, a sweet natured and pampered pet.
But Lottie . . . she was painted as a common shepherding dog with ginger and white hair, lolling at the feet of everyone else.
“I suppose in painting us as dogs, Gabriel thought . . .” Lottie paused and then shrugged helplessly. There would be no hiding Cousin Gabriel’s eccentricities from Dr. Whitaker. “Gabriel thought to beclever, you see. The family coat of arms features a wolf, and Papa commissioned Gabriel to paint a family portrait that captured our sense of allegiance to our family heritage. Gabriel took the injunction quite literally.”
“Are ye . . .” Dr. Whitaker’s brow furrowed further. He leaned forward. “Did he paint ye as acollie?”
A beat of silence.
