“Don’t care what they think. Only what you do. Meet me halfway on this path to reconcile. Show me how to make amends. Open the door to you.”
“We are good with doorways and entry.” I put down my brush and faced him. “I’ve seen you gentle with your daughters, humored with your sister, very animated with your father, but with me always a mishmash: part cautious, part repentant, part neglectful.”
His face was blank. I saw nothing to fight for other than this insane attraction to his arms, the way he kissed. Those nicely bowed legs.
Turning, I cleaned my bristles and focused on how to blend this dark palette and bring life to my Roman soldier.
“Cecilia, I’m cautious. You’re an unexpected blessing. I wrestle with that and the plans I have. I want to be good to you and meet my obligations.”
“What happened to the impulsive man who proposed in Demerara on a whim? Is it England? It took away my sister. Papa’s solicitors say her husband is no longer answering questions. All my letters have been returned.”
“I’ll keep apologizing.” He stuck his ring finger into the chocolate and smacked his lips. “Is it wrong when I return, hungering for my wife?”
“Ahhh. No. Bu-ut.”
Licking his fingers, he slipped beside me. “You’re shivering, Cecilia. The chill of London is hard to get used to. Should I have Watson bring more coal for your fireplace?”
It was cold in here.
Maybe too cold, but it was part of my efforts to not be a bother or source of amusement to his household. “I’m fine.”
“I know you are, and that you’re faithful. It’s why I’m comforted and secure when helping my friends.”
“Oh. Then it’s my fault. Because you perceive me to be strong, I’m to be disregarded. I didn’t know that.”
“I’ll do better with you and the girls. They tell me they love painting with you. Do you make them do Roman soldiers too?”
The laughter in his face was what I deserved. I hadn’t shown him my true talent, just a few sketches during our wedding trip.
As confident as I thought I was in myself, my art, somehow his opinion had become too important. How could I look at a canvas and see my world, all the beauty and shades and colors, if he thought my efforts were merely cute, or worse, unbecoming his title?
The pressure of his fingers on the bib of my apron increased. He wanted me free of it. “What is this contraption? Part of the Roman garb so you’ll match me?”
“It’s a smock to keep paint from spoiling my gown. How are we to match when you refuse the toga? If you insist on staying, go to the other side of the table and finish posing.”
Sighing, he moved there. His face held no frown but that assessing look—could he see into my soul? Could he separate what he liked from the parts he wished to overlook?
“What’s the matter, Cilia? You usually forgive me by now, and we usually are quite nice to each other. This isn’t you, so skittish. What’s wrong?”
I pulled the letter from my pocket. “In addition to no word of my elder sister, the solicitors have no word from Papa either. I fear for my family. I feel helpless here.”
“Cilia, you should’ve told me that right away. I could get—”
“For you to say you will do something, then forget. Why break my heart all over again?”
“Sorry.” He tucked a hand to his lips. “My solicitor will make inquiries. I’ll do it in the morning.”
“Yours. Your family. Mine. What can anyone do? My father and Helena, they are my family. I can’t lose them. I wish I’d insisted my little sister come with us and not wait. She’s too young to be alone.”
Felton stepped around my easel and drew me into his arms. “Everyone is well. I’ll make arrangements for both your father and sister to come as soon as the blockade of the Caribbean is done. The war has made everything difficult.”
Which war? The current one raging or the skirmishes about the islands which precede the next? “That could take forever. You know how long these battles last.”
His warm palm caressed my cold cheek. “I want you to have faith. Then I want you to promise to tell me whatever’s bothering you. Maybe we should think about us, you and me, as a family. Remember us, remember how we mesh.”
“Mesh. Is that what you call it? To be waiting on you? To hope for a spare moment?”
“But we make the most of these moments.”
