Those blue-black eyes shimmered. He looked healthy and strong. I’d gained weight, nervous weight.
“This orangey heaven are quinces cooked down with honey. We call it marmalade. It’s a sweet to go with your favorite cheese.”
It did look good, and I’d skipped dinner, caught up in my latest landscape.
When he waved, the tray made my mouth water. Spittle settled on the corners of my lips. “You think I’m easy. A little food—”
He brought it near again. The salty stench of the cheese, the sweetness of the quince jam made me very hungry.
Felton set the tray on my supply table and lifted a tiny spoon of the marmalade, and a bit of cheese, on a pinch of the cracker-like bread. Then he set it to my lips. “Taste.”
If I did so, he’d think I was his, set to forgive him, but how could I deny a treasure?
“This is for you and you alone. You must know you were on my mind constantly.”
Wasn’t sure if I heard or comprehended what he said, not with a treat dangling so close and Felton looking as if he’d gobble me up like a delicious dinner.
I took the spoon from him. “You’ve come to pose so I can finish my Roman soldier?”
With a nod, he skipped the sheet pile and picked up the torch and knife from the table.
As he settled into our standard centurion pose, I gobbled the contents on the spoon. Heaven, just like it smelled. The tartness and salt and honey—I might as well surrender, tell him he was forgiven and let him hand-feed me. Now I knew how Esau felt, selling his birthright for lentils.
But marmalade was better than beans.
“My dear, let’s begin my penance.”
“Penance? Does the Anglican religion permit such, or have you become Catholic—or turned to my hedonism, as Jane would say?”
He banged his cheek with the torch, then rubbed his face. “I’m not happy with my sister. I’ll speak to her.”
I leaned over the table and lit his small torch, my improvised candle and candleholder. Swoosh. It ignited, casting smoke and a bright orange glow about the room. “Use your own time to mention her. While you’re here in my studio, you can be silent.”
“While I was away, I pushed some people I know to find information on Helena. They have found nothing. I’m sorry.”
Helena missing. All my family gone. What I thought I’d found with Felton disappeared too. He left a few weeks after telling me of the loss of my father.
Suppose he thought he’d done enough comforting.
“Cecilia, please look at me.”
His face was either a puppy dog’s countenance of repentance or a jaguarete waiting to strike—I couldn’t tell his thoughts anymore.
Maybe I never could.
“Please, Cilia.”
“I will allow some level of conversation whilst you pose with hands up and a foot up.”
“A foot?”
“Yes, my lord. You can choose the right or the left.”
With a shrug, he lifted his right foot.
While he balanced, I fixed another combination of the cheese and marmalade on bread. “This is very tasty. You get these when you leave, or on your return?”
He lowered a hand close to his neck and almost set his hair on fire. “I’m sorry. You weren’t talking with me yesterday, so I went to visit the Duke of Repington. He is my dearest friend.”
