“Yes, well,” he said, appearing suddenly flushed. “It cannot be helped. Age has not been kind to me, I’m afraid.”
“Well, perhaps you could accompany me around the loch one afternoon?” Faith said. “Since moving to Scotland, I’ve become quite fond of walking the countryside.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mr. Harris said, suddenly reserved. “I’ve not left the house in ages.”
“Why not?”
Though it was an innocent enough question, Logan’s steady gaze was on his father. He suspected the man was not long for this world. While it wasn’t a nice thought, it was true. Though he had managed well enough in the first years after his wife left, his father’s desire for a living seemed to diminish once Logan came of age. Arabella had said that he had been robust when Logan was away at war, but he doubted it. Ever since typhoid had nearly killed his father, it seemed the life had gone out of him.
Still, Logan didn’t wish for him to have to lie to their guests, so he interrupted.
“Is it true Graham bought you a Connemara horse?” he asked, pulling Faith’s focus to him. She nearly spoke, but he continued. “What a daft thing to do.”
Faith’s brow pinched.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re too tall for a Connemara. I’ve no doubt you look as Arabella would look riding a donkey.”
Faith glared at him.
“I’m very fond of Sweetness, thank you very much, and it was very generous of my brother-in-law to acquire her.”
“Sweetness?” Logan repeated humor in his voice. “Is that what you named it?”
“It was already named.”
“Ah, Faith, how is your brother-in-law’s honey enterprise?” Arabella interrupted, shooting Logan a tense glare. “Logan here has mentioned something about a confectionary factory in Glasgow. Is that true?”
It was, and Arabella knew it. Logan had discussed it with her multiple times as he had invested in it, but he suspected she was trying to defuse the rising tension between himself and Faith.
“Yes. I believe Graham is doing quite well,” she said as Jeanne and Arabella broke into a conversation about fashions.
“Quite well” didn’t even begin to describe the progress of Graham’s candy business. It was a blaring success so far, and Logan himself had bought into the enterprise that past winter, having a supposed talent with investments. That knack was why had had been able to afford Harris House. While the Crown had granted the land in recompense for his supposed heroics at war, he had also been given a small monetary gift. Logan had never felt right in accepting it, believing it to be blood money. He had tried to rid himself of it by investing it in several short-term loans that had miraculously all turned out to be profitable.
As dinner progressed, Logan decided to keep quiet, unable to add anything but a biting remark or saucy reply to almost everything Faith said. Why did she bother him so much? He had always told himself that his sharpness was justified by her blatant arrogance toward him, but as he watched her interact with his family and Jeanne, he wondered if he was the only one to suffer her haughtiness.
She was undoubtedly a headstrong woman with firm beliefs and a presence that demanded respect. It had grated on him at first, but upon observing her now, she seemed also charming and patient amongst his loved ones. She listened intently when another spoke, and her replies were firm and well thought out.
She seemed to know exactly who she was and what she was worth, and Logan was sure he had never met another woman like her. The ladies he had known in his youth were strong in many ways but they were also far more playful. Faith seemed almost rigid in comparison, probably due to her English upbringing, but then what about the painting? Didn’t it conveya side of her that might be far more adventurous, wild, and free than what she exhibited socially?
That is to say, if the model was indeed Faith.
His eyes traveled down her face, long neck, chest, and waist to where the rest of her body disappeared beneath the dining table. He needed to see her ankle, but how? He could simply demand it, but as his gaze lifted, he saw her glaring eyes.
Evidently, she didn’t like being looked at. Well, too bad.
“Logan,” Arabella said, noting the glances between the two. “Faith here was very impressed with your horse painting, in the parlor. The gray one?”
“Oh?” he said without curiosity.
He didn’t continue.
“Yes,” Arabella said, her tone slightly terse as she continued to try and facilitate a conversation. “In fact, she knew who painted it straight away.”
Now that was surprising. Only one other person had ever correctly named the artist of the particular piece. So, she was a student of the arts, was she? That certainly leaned in favor of the idea that the painting in his bedroom was of her. He observed Faith.
“And are you a fan of all art or just Gericault?”
