Faith blinked.
“I’m not?”
“No. My brother always said you were… Well… You’re quite lovely is what I’m trying to say.”
Faith stared momentarily, unsure how to reply, as her cheeks warmed.
“Oh, well. That’s very kind of you. Although that leads me to believe that your brother’s description of me has been less than flattering.”
“Oh, you mustn’t take anything he says at face value. Logan can be… harsh. Especially with the English. I’d blame it on his time as a solider, but he’s always been rather, well, particular.” Arabella motioned to the chair. “Please, sit and eat.”
“Yes, something to do with our vitriolic histories, I assume,” Faith said offhandedly as she sat down.
“Oh no, it’s because of our mama.”
Faith paused just as Arabella took a seat across from her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Our mama was English. Or still is, rather,” she said, shaking her head as she looked down. “I never met her—not that I can recall. She left when I was a bairn.”
“Oh. I… I’m sorry.”
Arabella waved her hand.
“I’m quite immune to it. Having never met her, I hold no expectations, but Papa and Logan, well, they tend to have varying thoughts on the matter.”
“I see.”
A pregnant pause followed, and Arabella stood up.
“I’ll let you eat in peace then. This storm is a brutal one, I’m afraid,” she said, glancing out the window. A strike of lightning lit up the sky. “It doesn’t look like it will end soon.”
“Well, I’m very grateful for your hospitality.”
She waved her hand in the air once more as thunder rumbled.
“Think nothing of it. We are neighbors after all. And I dare say we may be friends before long.” With a nod, she turned to leave before adding, “Jeanne and I will be downstairs in the parlor, should you like to join us.”
“Thank you,” Faith said as the young woman disappeared behind the door.
Well, this was certainly not what she had expected. Arabella Harris was a kind, sweet-tempered young lady, not quite as old as Faith but seemingly more mature than most ladies her age. And she was very welcoming and friendly, as opposed to her brother.
Faith picked up her spoon and dipped it into the steaming, savory stew as Logan’s face crossed her mind. Where was he? Not that she cared, but shouldn’t the owner of the house like to make sure that those in his care were well? She supposed she couldn’t expect a man like Logan to have any real manners, yet she wondered where he had gone through the rest of her meal.
Having finished her soup, Faith left her room and found herself alone in a long hallway. She was curious about the estate and debated wandering about for a bit before thinking better of it. It would not do to go snooping about this house. And she certainly didn’t want to be caught in the act. So instead, she went to the staircase and walked down in search of the parlor.
Crossing the waxed parquet floor, Faith entered a stunning room. The walls were painted burnt orange and outlined with white-marble archways. Dozens of gold-leaf frames held paintings of various animals, from birds to hounds and, to her delight, horses. They were remarkable pieces, and Faith found herself studying one in particular, a dapple-gray steed atop a hill in a rearing position. The power of the animal had been conveyed so perfectly that she wouldn’t have been surprised if it ran right off the canvas.
“Faith?” Jeanne’s voice sounded, catching her attention.
Faith turned to see Jeanne and Arabella sitting across from one another before a grand fireplace with a roaring fire in it. In the corner of the room, in an overstuffed chair, sat an elderly man with a blanket draped over his lap. His eyes were closed and his upper lip twitched as he snored, in an almost comical way.
“Hello,” Faith said, returning to the painting before approaching them. “That’s a magnificent piece. It’s a Gericault, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I could not begin to pretend to know anything about it,” Arabella said, stirring her tea. “Are you fan of art, Faith?”
“I am,” she said, standing next to where her companions sat. “I have a great love for art. I even paint a little myself.”
