“Father wrote again. He says you’re welcome. All can be forgiven.”
“No to both lies.” Hot natured, boiling in anger, he went and opened one of those perfect windows. “I’d like to go into the new year with hope, not biting my tongue or bidding him to hell.”
Jane laughed a little, but her tone was tight. “Felton,” she said with the proper arch of her voice. “Father can help you legally end things with Cecilia. You can be an unmarried man again.”
He glared at her. “Sis, I love you dearly. It’s always been you and me against the world, but we both know that the faith I had in you is misplaced. My neglect has allowed you to disrespect my wife. That pains me.”
Eyes blinking like a moth blinded by a lit candle, she craned her head. “I don’t know what you mean. But if I’ve done something, you always forgive me.”
“What is it you’re asking, Jane? Forgive you for alienating my wife? Forget that you made her feel less than an accepted member of my family? Ignore that I let my duties lead to my wife being forsaken and that you led the hateful efforts whilst I was away?”
She strutted in front of him, pointing her bony finger. “I meant to help. I’m the one who’s been running your house while you traipse off to help every man under the sun. I gave your house stability after Elizabeth died.”
He hung his head for a moment, then looked at the young woman with stars in her light blue eyes. “You’ve done me a great service, but I’m married to a woman who is capable of running my house. I didn’t want to displace you. I thought you both could work together.”
“If Cecilia was committed to running things, she would have stayed.”
“Why? Why stay? When I’ve made it seem that you were more important than my marriage.”
She swatted the air as if to dismiss his rebuke. “Are you married, Felton? It doesn’t appear to be that way.”
“Jane, I am. And she would be here now if I’d put her first.”
“First? Above your blood children, the ones borne of my dearest friend who died giving birth to your son?”
He rubbed his forehead. “Jane, you don’t think that I could love Elizabeth and our children and be in love with Cecilia?”
“You . . . you can’t?” His sister’s face wrinkled. “No, you two are so different.” Her foot stamped, making the burgundy rug shift. “You’re confused.”
She seemed to grow angrier, but he stepped closer and looked into her eyes. “What differences are you thinking, Jane? She likes art, and I barely understand it.”
“She’s no artist. I saw the beginnings of a clown sketch of you in a toga.”
He grasped his sister’s hand. “Come.”
Down the hall they went to Cecilia’s closet. The small room had been left untouched under his orders. “Not an artist?”
After lighting sconces, Felton lifted the cloths off his wife’s stack of paintings. “Look at these. Cecilia Charity Lance, my Lady Gantry, did all of these. She’s the best artist I’ve ever seen.”
The landscapes.
The scenes of castles and men swept away in battle. All the things of Roman lore, gladiators and the Colosseum.
Then the beautiful nature scenes of Warwick, the cliffs, the sea, and the meadows. “They are dated. When I’m here the setting is ideal. When I’m away and she’s miserable, they become sad, even dire. But they are all beautiful.”
Jane’s mouth hung open. “These are wonderful. I didn’t know.”
“The girls knew. It was their secret. Agatha and Amelia were the only ones in this house she felt comfortable sharing her talent with. Oh, and of course, Tramel. Why is that, sister? You with your attitude and me with my neglect.”
She wiped at her cheek. The painting of his sister leaning against the pianoforte in tears made Jane’s eyes water. “I didn’t know.”
“Cecilia wasn’t comfortable. I gave you the best room to badly exhibit the pianoforte, and I let her have a closet for her artistry. She deserved better than that. Allowing you to have a say in my affairs made it seem as if I was ashamed of her. So, she hid her talent. One of the biggest parts of who she is, and I made her to hide it.”
Mopping her tears, Jane set down the mirror-like portrait. “Are you saying it’s my fault she’s gone?”
“You weren’t a reason for her to stay.”
Jane frowned, her expression ugly and prudish. “She should’ve complained or shown me.”
