Just then, the old man woke, startled by the noises.
“Eh? Helen?” he said before his eyes opened, causing the siblings to pause.
Helen had been their mother’s name, and though she had abandoned them fifteen years prior, their father had never stopped loving her. It was rare for him to say her name, though it did happen, particularly when he was tired.
“No, Father,” Logan said, his voice somewhat strained. “It’s just us.”
“Hmm? Oh yes. Ah,” he said, rubbing one eye. “Late morning today. Did you catch anything?”
Their father had suffered a nearly fatal bout of typhoid several years earlier while Logan had been away. Arabella miraculously hadn’t become sick, but their father had suffered greatly. Ever since, his health had been delicate, and he was prone to taking long naps with occasional bouts of bedrest during the cooler months. He was a far cry from the robust man they remembered from their childhoods, and they had fallen into a tentative relationship with him.
“No,” Logan said, reaching for a newspaper one of the servants brought in. “No fish today.”
“Ah, well, you were always terrible at it. I remember I used to take you when you were younger. Never had the patience for it.”
“You should go with him one morning, Father,” Arabella tried, earning her a pointed look from Logan. “Perhaps you could teach him.”
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “My fishing days have long since passed.”
“I don’t know about that,” Logan said, reading the newspaper. “Fishing is an old man’s sport. I’d say you’ve just come into your prime.”
“Well,” the old man said, struggling to stand. He shooed away the butler. “I’m fine. No, I think… I think this cold weather is best to stay out of.”
“Oh, but it’s only a little storm.”
“Don’t worry, my dear,” he said, bending down to kiss his daughter’s forehead. “I shall be up and at it when the weather turns.”
He left the room. Logan could feel his sister’s eyes on him, and when he looked up, sure enough, she was staring at him.
“What?”
“Why don’t you try and take him with you?”
“You heard him—he isn’t interested. And quite frankly, I don’t think I’d be able to keep my temper if I took him out.”
“He’s withering away. If he doesn’t go out and get some sort of exercise, he’ll likely…”
Though she didn’t say it, Logan knew she was worried about their father’s health. He had deteriorated rapidly the past year. Perhaps itwoulddo him good to go out fishing, but Logan wasn’t interested in hearing his father lament about his mother for hours at a time. As far as he was concerned, she had forgotten about them, and it was only fair that he had done the same.
Folding the paper and placing it on the end table, he stood.
“Excuse me.”
His sister opened her mouth to argue, but he was quickly away and out of the room, eager to visit his bedchamber and admire his newly acquired piece.
Climbing the stairs, he wondered what sort of a fool would be so taken with someone that they would neglect every other aspect of their lives the way their father had done since his wife had left him. Logan had long ago sworn never to love someone so desperately, and thankfully, he had avoided such a tragic relationship thus far.
Entering his room, Logan peeled off his coat and untucked his still-damp shirt. The painting had been leaned against the far wall for his inspection, and deciding not to delay it any longer, he removed the brown paper.
Untying the twine, the paper fell away, and he was left staring at a painting that struck him with astonishment.
A woman lay on a bed of pillows, her form wrapped precariously around the waist by a stretch of yellow velvet. Her upper body was unclothed, though she was turned to the side, revealing only the side of her right breast. Her medium-dark, curly hair was pinned to the top of her head with a length of silk and a peacock feather, which matched the small fan she held at her waist.
It was a stunning piece. Brushstrokes were nearly nonexistent, and the colors were vibrant. And the detail was outstanding. The shading and the light made it look like she might come to life in his room and step out of the canvas.
She was perfection. A vision beyond compare, and yet, Logan found himself both aroused and instantly annoyed. He knew this woman, had argued with her, and had fought with himself over the physical attraction for her that he couldn’t repress.
He wanted to tell himself that he was seeing things, imagining a resemblance where none existed. Still, as he gazed into those sharp green eyes that stared back at him beneath afamiliar arched brow, Logan could feel it, deep in his bones, that he knew exactly who this woman was.
