Mr. Hawthorne removed the cloth, revealing the portrait. Gasps of admiration filled the room as everyone took in the image.
The painting was a perfect depiction of their family. Frances’s gentle smile, Christopher’s proud and protective stance, and the twins’ innocent joy were all rendered with exquisite detail.
It did not look staged, and the artist had done a great job at making sure that their likeness looked natural.
“It’s beautiful,” Frances whispered, getting overwhelmed with emotion. “More beautiful than I ever imagined.”
Christopher wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “It’s perfect,” he agreed softly. “Just like our family.”
The twins stared at the painting, their eyes wide with wonder.
“Which one is me?” Edwin asked, causing the duo to burst into laughter.
“The one on the right,” Frances told him.
“No, that is me,” Ernest claimed.
“No, dear. I am sure that is Edwin.” Frances looked back at the painting. Now she was confused, too.
Christopher chuckled, bending down to their level and looking between the boys and the painting. “I think Mr. Hawthorne has captured both of you so well that it’s hard to tell,” he said.
Edwin pointed to the painting again. “Maybe we can be both,” he suggested.
Frances laughed, nodding in agreement. “Yes, maybe you can,” she said warmly. “It doesn’t matter who is who. What matters is that you’re together, just like in the portrait.”
Mr. Hawthorne, who had been observing them quietly so far, perhaps waiting for further praise, let out an annoyed sigh.
“I must say, Your Grace, I have rarely encountered such a challenge,” he began, pointing to the portrait with an exasperated expression. “I spent hours—no, days—trying to capture every tiny distinction between your delightful offspring. And yet, here we are, unable to identify who is who!”
Frances bit her lip, trying to stifle her laughter. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hawthorne. It’s just that they’re so identical, even we sometimes mix them up.”
Mr. Hawthorne waved his paintbrush, clearly agitated but trying to maintain his professional demeanor. “It is not a matter of mere similarity, Your Grace. It is an artist’s nightmare! One of them has a slightly more rounded nose, the other a subtly different arch to the eyebrow—subtle yet important distinctions! And I thought I had captured them perfectly.”
“You did capture them perfectly, Mr. Hawthorne. So perfectly, in fact, that even their parents can’t tell the difference,” Christopher chimed in, chuckling to himself.
The artist threw up his hands in a gesture of mock despair. “Well, if you cannot tell them apart, then what hope is there for a mere painter?” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “I shall have to go down in history as the man who painted the unidentifiable twins!”
Edwin and Ernest started to giggle even more, causing the artist to get even more angry.
“We can switch places whenever we want!” Edwin declared mischeviously.
“Yes! We’ll keep everyone guessing!” Ernest agreed.
“So then, by that metric, this painting is a greater success,” Christopher said to the artist, trying to make him feel better. “I think it might be your best work yet. Well done!”
“Well, thank you,” Mr. Hawthorne grunted. “But I think I shall avoid identical twins in future commissions…”
They were still laughing by the time he left. But it was now time to hang up the portrait, and for that, Frances was very excited.
They all gathered around the mantel to witness the sight. Christopher had clasped her hand tightly, and the twins watched in fascination, still arguing about who was who.
With careful precision, the staff lifted the portrait into place.
“Careful,” Frances cautioned.
And then finally, it was hung up.
She took in the sight, growing emotional again. “It is so perfect.”
