“Because in a way, sheisthe princess. There is no other, to my thinking. Even when I was younger and read your father’s poem, before Stephen ever painted her, I imagined my sister as the briar princess. She has a natural elegance, that quiet, dark beauty. She is delicate, yet strong. There is a timeless quality to her. She simply is that character.”
“I understand, believe me,” Aedan said. “What happened to Stephen Blackburn? I knew there was some scandal surrounding the artist. I thought perhaps the picture shocked polite society. But it is a beautiful work of art. Scandal is not uncommon among painters, begging your pardon.”
“The female body is considered a thing of beauty in art. But when the model’s identity is widely known, followed bythe artist’s death—well, there was an uproar. The Blackburns are artists, mind you, and we could handle it. But Christina was devastated. She lost her husband, her dignity, her ideals, respect, all at once. She lost faith in herself.”
“What happened to him?”
“He drowned,” John said bluntly. “He was found in the river just after the painting was exhibited at the Royal Academy. It took a prize that year, as you no doubt know. He should have been pleased. They had been married less than a year—he should have been happy. The police declared his death an accident, perhaps suicide. I believe he fell in, coming home late one night. Drunken fool,” John muttered.
“Was that a usual state for him?”
“Sadly, it was. He said liquor freed his artistic genius. He had that Saturnian temperament, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. Passionate, addictive, rather unpredictable.”
“Brilliant but troubled. That inner darkness intensified his art. He was twenty-three when he died; my sister barely nineteen. She was willful and passionate too, brilliant in her own way.”
“Not always a bookish wee thing, then?”
“Intelligent and keen on her studies, but hotheaded and eager for independence. Stephen was older, a third cousin, worldly and already praised for his genius. He fascinated her, and she fascinated him. She was his beautiful muse. He beganThe Enchanted Briarjust after their marriage. It is his most sublime work, I think.”
“Did she know about his difficult nature when she married him?”
“Not really. She was young, headstrong, and so was he. They eloped. He was a distant cousin on the Blackburn side, so they were not strangers. He was charming and handsome, and shefell desperately for him. Our families were furious. But by the time she realized her mistake, it was too late.”
Aedan went to the window, shoving his hands in his pockets. He saw Christina hurrying along the garden path, black-bonneted, gray skirt swinging like a bell. “So she married for true love?”
“So she thought. But she felt betrayed, and swore she would never wed again. Though recently she has allowed someone to court her, so she may change her mind.”
Aedan stared out the window. “Court her?”
“Edgar Neaves. He’s been helpful in her academic pursuits and is very attentive to her. He wanted to court her. I believe she agreed. I am not sure of that, but I know the fellow wants to marry her.”
“Does he now?” Aedan narrowed his eyes.
“But I wonder if it is wise. She can be too trusting, my sister. With Stephen, with Edgar. She married young and mourned grievously, and has little experience with men.”
Aedan felt John’s remark like a blow to the gut. His frown deepened as he watched Christina take her solitary walk around the gardens. All he had wanted was to protect her, cherish her. She was irresistible, and he had taken advantage of her. He was no better than the other two in his own way.
“She felt responsible for Stephen’s accident, you see, and has blamed herself. It was very hard for her because he lingered for so long.”
Aedan felt a cold chill. “He what?”
“He lay in an unconscious state for weeks before he died. She nursed him selflessly, but in some ways she has never been the same. She went from a fiery, vibrant, glorious girl to a sad wee thing.”
Aedan watched Christina go through the garden gate and head out over the meadow. “No wonder she refuses to pose. If you know this, why insist?”
“I believe posing again and enjoying it might help heal her.”
“Posing as the same princess with different circumstances.”
“I thought she might like—to pose with you in particular. Aside from the fact that you descend from the Dundrennan line.”
He caught his breath, but shrugged. “Why me, otherwise?”
“You are kind to her. She is happy here, I think. Not threatened. Safe.”
“Ah.” But if he loved her, he was a threat. Something tragic could visit her.
