“Oh. Of course,” she said. “Of course.”
“Well, not exactly,” Grace said, leaning forward. “We heard that voice by the loch, didn’t we?”
Faith nodded at her sister.
“Yes, that’s true. I only asked Mr. Harris what it meant later—”
“What voice?” Jeanne asked suddenly, coming fully up to Faith before crouching before her. “What voice called that out to you?”
The urgency in Jeanne’s eyes gave Faith an unsettling feeling as Jeanne gripped Faith’s hand on her lap. She squeezed it.
“There was this… this voice,” Faith said, shaking her head and looking back at Grace for assistance. “A man’s voice. Grace and I heard it when we went to the loch one morning to pick herbs. And…”
“And what?” Jeanne asked desperately.
“And I heard it other times, as well—during Aunt Belle’s birthday party and once when I was out walking alone,” Faith said. “It sounded like someone was calling out to me, but I wasn’t sure what he was saying. It wasn’t a word I had ever heard before. Fortunately, when I spoke it to Mr. Harris, he explained what it meant—though he said it can also be used as a term of endearment. I guess it’s comparable to darling, or sweetheart, or—”
“My love,” Jeanne whispered, her eyes glazed over with some forgotten memory.
Almost instantly, she stood up, releasing the death grip she had on Faith’s hand.
“I have to go. If you all will excuse me,” she said, turning on her heel, nearly knocking into Evans, the butler from Harris House.
Evans? Faith stood up just as Jeanne tore out of the house.
“What the devil was that all about?” Aunt Belle asked, but Faith’s focus was on the butler.
“Evans?” she said, coming toward him. “What are you doing here?”
The man bowed.
“My lady, we bring you a gift from Sir Logan,” he said, waving his hand behind him. Three strapping young servants brought a large, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and twine.
Faith’s heart beat erratically as they placed the piece on the ground before her. Had he sent the painting to her? Or was it something else?
No, she thought, coming toward it.This could not be anything else.Her shaky hands reached out as she moved the tips of her fingers over the rough paper. He had given her the painting. He had given herOdalisque Reclined.
She could barely believe it. He had been so adamant about keeping it. He had even made her consider not ruining it simply because it truly was a masterpiece, regardless of the subject matter. The artist in her didn’t wish to hurt it, but her pride wouldn’t let go of her. It had been the most critical thing in the world to her, and now that it was finally hers, she felt only slightly relieved.
For now, the thing that mattered most to her wasn’t here.
“This is a most puzzling morning,” Aunt Belle said as a chair moved noisily against the flagstone floor somewhere behind Faith. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” Faith nearly croaked, spreading her arms wide to shield them from it.
After a moment of silence, Belle spoke.
“A most puzzling morning indeed. Andrews? See to it that this package is brought up to my niece’s room, at once.”
Andrews nodded to his mistress and directed the other servants to carry the piece out of the dining room. Faith looked at her aunt, who seemed to know what was beneath the paper.
“It was very generous of Mr. Harris to, er, gift you, one of his paintings,” she said firmly, her eyes flickering to the others.
In an instant, Faith knew what to do.
“Yes, well, he is a great collector,” she said diffidently. “I am most appreciative of his kindness.”
“Oh, is it the horse painting?” Grace asked before turning to Hope. “There was a dreadful horse painting in Harris House that is apparently very valuable to artistic folk. I didn’t like it much, but then I don’t know about these things.”
