“But circumstance separated them. This,” she said, lifting her hand, “is a love letter, to a woman who never knew and to a life never shared.” She paused for a moment before dropping her hand and turning to him. “It would be heartbreaking, if it weren’t so cowardly.”
Logan watched her, astounded that she would speak so openly and eloquently about this piece. While he had never approached the matter from that point of view, he could understand her thought process.
Interpreting art was a joy of his, and neither his father nor sister ever cared to share their impressions. It was rather nice to have someone who had a different perspective.
“I never consider it before, but I suppose you’re correct. Perhaps it was all he could do, though. To let the world know that at one point, he was a man who loved.”
“Perhaps,” Faith said. “But if it were I, I would want the love of a person instead of a constant reminder of what might have been. Even if the world never knew.” She looked down, almost dejected. “But then, I am not an artist.”
For some reason, Logan didn’t like that. Nor did he appreciate how sad she seemed.
“Unfortunately, you are not able to determine that on your own,” he said. “It is often noted that painters are their own worst critics. You must show your work to people, and let the majority speak on your talents.”
Faith smiled ruefully after a moment, and Logan felt his heart expand. She had never before smiled because of something he said.
“Then I should burn all my works to avoid such criticisms. I do not paint for others. I paint for myself.”
“I would like to see your paintings.”
Faith let out an actual laugh, and Logan felt the wind go out of him.
“You, sir, will never see any of my work.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve a houseful of masters whose talents far surpass my own,” she said, waving her arm down the length of the gallery. “And I will not be compared.”
“I would never compare you to anyone.”
Though his words were innocent enough, Faith’s smile faded. There was a heat between them, an energy that seemed to dance, not unlike the lightning that sparked outside.
“Thank you, for sharing your collection with me, Mr. Harris. But I think I should retire for the evening. It has been a trying day, and I worry that I’ve not had much rest.”
Logan was surprised at how much he didn’t like to hear that. Especially since he still hadn’t figured out how he was going to see her bare ankle, but instead, he nodded.
“Of course. Good night, Miss Sharpe.”
“Good night, Mr. Harris.”
Faith moved past him, and for a moment, Logan was sure he would reach for her, but he didn’t. He let her pass without obstruction and turned to watch her disappear into the hallway.
And now it was nighttime once more, and he was alone. Grasping his wrist with his hand behind his back, he began to walk the length of the gallery, just like he did most nights, as the storm raged on outside.
Chapter Five
The early morninglight came all too soon into Faith’s room, causing a wicked thumping feeling in her head before she even opened her eyes. The chill that had sunk into her bones the day before had grown into an unbearable heat that consumed her entire body. Her hands drifted up to her chest, but slowly, as if she were moving her arm through mud. Her fingers touched her throat, and she realized she was sweating profusely, so much so that her nightgown was nearly drenched. However, after only a few moments, she began to shake as a chill came over her.
She was sick. Properly sick. Faith’s eyes barely opened as the glaring sunlight from the windows told her that the storm had finished. At least she could return to Lismore today. Struggling beneath the heavy blankets that lay on top of her, she fought to get up, rolling herself off the edge of the bed as the pounding in her head continued.
But Faith was barely across the room when a maid entered the room, carrying her cleaned and freshly pressed riding habit. Upon seeing Faith’s hunched over form, she hurriedly came forward, tossing the dress onto a hope chest at the foot of the bed.
“My lady, what is wrong?” the maid asked.
“Nothing,” she tried, but her scratchy voice betrayed her as the maid’s arm wrapped around Faith’s waist. “I’m just eager to dress.”
The maid brought her hand to Faith’s forehead.
“Oh no, my lady. You’re as hot as a poker. You have to return to bed at once.”
