Rejection was meant for Felton alone.
If he could talk to his wife, touch her, convince her of his love, they could start anew. There was a sort of energy that happened when they touched.
If he’d listened to that feeling from the beginning and not turned from it, they’d be making snow angels in the garden.
“Papa, I don’t like you going. It always takes you so long to come home.”
He tweaked her nose, then stood. “I’ll be back for Yuletide. And my friend Repington will help in the new year.” Now that he was cut off from the Department of War and the Colonies, he needed the duke’s military connections to determine if Cecilia had found a way to return to Demerara.
She was brave and foolhardy enough to try to run against the transport blockades.
CHAPTER15
CECILIA—A TRUESTUDIO
December 23, 1813
The room held the proper warmth. Not too hot or too cold, my studio at Warwick Manor was always perfect. The footman in the shiny silver livery adjusted the coals in the fireplace. Then he exited, leaving me alone in the vastness of the room that had gorgeous, gilded moldings on the pale sea-blue walls.
The ebony table next to my grand easel held a Wedgewood platter of delightful French cheeses—the Comté, the Gruyère, and the Beaufort. Each paired well with the fig preserves and champagne.
Tramel was the consummate host, delightful and funny. The adjacent bedchamber that I had shared with Felton when we first lived here was completely redone in flat yellow with an emerald tapestry bedspread. In the closet were gowns of bright colors, some so fancy that I couldn’t bear to touch them knowing I would be up late painting.
The duke had found me on the side of the road walking away, not knowing where to go in the cold. He said he saw my purple redingote, and knew I was in trouble.
He saved my life and stopped me returning to Felton and beginning again the vicious cycle of forgiving him only for him to hurt my heart anew.
Yet, I felt guilty enjoying Tramel’s company.
As if he’d heard my thoughts, the duke came in. His tailcoat of burgundy looked elegant. He didn’t seem so old, and used his cane less.
“I have a note from Jane. Neither she, nor Gantry, nor the girls are coming for Christmas. I’m sorry.” His voice was winsome, and he took his time easing into the gilded chair where he sat and watched me paint. “I hate disappointing you. I know you hoped he’d come.”
“Didn’t expect him, but I wished he would. I should run my plans by him. He says . . .”
My lips fastened.
Couldn’t tell Tramel of his son’s disclosure of working for the Department of War and the Colonies. Pretty sure one wasn’t to say they were a spy, or a spouse of one either. “He must be furious at me. I don’t blame him. Leaving without a word, I must seem heartless.”
“Cecilia, you’re too generous. This is my fault. My son and I don’t have the closest relationship. I fear he’s punishing me, which means he’s punishing you.”
The kindness of this man who literally saved my life seemed endless. “I fear I’ve added to the enmity.”
“No fretting, my dear. He’ll come around. You’re his wife.” His hand moved from his cane to under his chin. A sad, thoughtful look crossed his countenance. “Do you still wish to be married to Gantry? You’ve not been happy for a while, particularly since you moved from here to London.”
The tone in his voice held more sadness, more than usual. I felt for him and wished I had something to say to encourage his relationship with Felton.
Yet, since I wasn’t speaking to my husband, I didn’t have any good counsel. “What do I do? I care for him so much, but if there’s no trust. If my easier moments are here in this studio than London—”
“Lady Gantry, Cecilia, my love, you’re an angel. All will be resolved, and you’ll have love and the adventure you crave.”
How could Tramel be so confident when I felt lost? I took down the canvas of the cliffs of Warwick. I’d finish it later. “It’s good that someone has hope.” I tapped my paintbrush along my easel. “I think it is time to paint your portrait.”
His finger waggled. “No. That’s for you young persons, so you can dress in various stylings.”
A grin formed, tugging and lifting my sad lips. My special teasing of Felton in Roman costumes was something I missed. If I’d stayed, he might be donning the toga and caressing me with his repentant gaze. It almost felt like love.
Almost.
