He stared, lost for words.
“I understand the feeling of being overwhelmed by its . . . uh . . . majesty,” Lottie said, her tone rather gleeful.
“But . . . he painted himself . . .”
“Nude? Why, yes, he did. As unclothed as the day he was born.”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Alex replied, voice faint. “So much skin. It must have required a lot of . . . paint.”
“Mmmm, yes. But I don’t think an excess of paint was the reason Margaret nearly fainted when she first saw it.”
“I can empathize with her turmoil. Though, I suppose Gabriel’s attention to detail is to be commended,” Alex managed to say. “The painting could be used as a medical textbook drawing of masculine musculature.”
“Possibly. Though Margaret felt that Gabriel was overly-optimistic in his appraisal of his own physique. For my part, I am eternally grateful for that strategically-placed bit of ribbon there.” Lottie pointed. “If Cousin Gabriel had to choose onlyonetime to show a hint of modesty, he chose well. Some family secrets should really just remain . . . secret.”
Alex shook his head. “And he thought this was what his family would want? A nude self-portrait as a winged archangel?”
“Well, he always claimed he was named Gabriel for a reason. Grandmère, of course, wept with joy to see it hung here. She quite doted on Gabriel.” Lottie cleared her throat. “She can be rather French and has, therefore, called Margaret a prude for finding it anything other than glorious—Grandmère’s exact words.”
“That is . . . telling.”
“Shall I have a chair arranged just here, so you can enjoy the painting all afternoon? It is Grandmère’s favorite angle.” Lottie’s eyes held a teasing glint.
Alex pivoted on his good leg, turning back to her and leaned forward, resting on his crutches. “I shall have to defer for now. I am afraid I have already experienced as much glory as I can handle.”
“Handle?”
“Uhmm, perhapsstomachmight have been a better word. As much glory as I can stomach.”
“Ah.”
“Are there other oddities to explore?”
Lottie smiled. “Follow me.”
They spent anhour chasing Gabriel’s paintings around the main floor of the Abbey.
Well, not so much ‘chased’ as ‘hobbled-sedately,’ Alex supposed.
Gabriel was prolific. Some of his work was traditionally staid, like a view of the Palantine Hill and another of the newly-uncovered ruins in Pompeii.
Other works were more . . . eccentric.
One painting featured the Emperor Napoleon as a centaur—“Part of Gabriel’s human-animal-amalgamation phase,” Lottie explained.
Another showed miners as ghouls, swinging pickaxes underground in funeral shrouds—“My ravings about the working conditions of Welsh miners likely played a part in that one.”
They stopped from time to time as Alex had to rest his leg or his arms. It was appalling the muscle strength he had lost after only a couple weeks of inactivity.
In the end, they circled back to the library, eating a hearty luncheon and playing chess under the lofty gaze of a winged Gabriel.
Alex still longed to return to his earlier musings—whyhad Lottie kissed him?
In fact, he ruminated too long and found himself in dire straits on the chess board.
Bloody hell but this lass was good at chess.
The fact that Lady Charlotte Whitaker excelled at chess was not shocking.
