The Portrait

by Hazel Statham

  She had been relieved to hear of Phillip's departure but saw it as only prolonging the situation, for she knew he would return to attempt to coerce her into accepting his proposal. She had no doubt that his affection for her was genuine, but, meeting him again after an absence of more than three years, she realized that her memories of him had been somewhat distorted. She'd remembered him as an affable friend, liking not the arrogant being he'd now become, and she realized that his manner contrasted most unfavorably to that of the earl.

  Even now, as she sat alone in her chamber, she wasn't prepared to admit the turmoil into which Sinclair's arrival at Ravensby had pitched her emotions, indeed had done since his return from war. She'd been so certain of her decision to end the betrothal before his arrival, but now ...

  "I hate you, Edward Thurston," she confided to the dying embers in the hearth before retreating to her bed once more.

  No sooner had her head rested on the pillow than she heard a cry from one of the adjoining bedchambers, quickly followed by yet another, and immediately she was on her feet, drawing on her wrap, for she'd recognized that voice.

  Running into the corridor, she was met by Perry holding aloft a candle as he, too, ran to the earl's door, and, thrusting it wide, they entered. Sinclair lay in the vast bed, mumbling incoherently in his sleep, appearing much agitated. He wore no nightshirt, and they saw that his brow and powerful chest were soaked in sweat.

  "Close the door," commanded Perry quietly, placing the candle on the bedside table. "Ned sometimes has these dreams. They are less frequent now than at the beginning but no less violent."

  The candle cast flickering shadows over Sinclair's face, revealing that his eyes were wide, but he obviously still slept. Suddenly his words became audible, as, raising himself up, he issued battlefield commands in an urgent voice.

  "What can we do?" cried Jenny, as Perry attempted to press his brother back onto the pillows. Sinclair only became more agitated in the attempt, issuing oaths and gripping Perry's arm in a viselike hold. "Shall I call Flora?" she asked, making for the door.

  "Leave Flora be," replied a much-concerned Perry. "She only goes into a flap and is no use in these situations. We must ride it out. He would become confused and disorientated should we attempt to wake him."

  Quickly looking about the room, Jennifer spied the ewer left on the dresser for the earl's refreshment and, taking up one of the fine linen towels, soaked it in the cool water. Returning to the bed, she attempted to place it on his fevered brow, but again he became more violent and pushed her away.

  "Go back to bed," said Perry. "I will sit with him. We can do nothing more."

  "I believe if we could just cool him, he would fare much better," stated Jenny. "Here, take the cloth and sponge his chest"

  Perry did as he was bid, talking to his brother all the while, attempting to soothe him while Jenny took his hand in a reassuring clasp, not so much as flinching when his fingers tightened unbearably on hers.

  Eventually he fell back onto the pillows, his ranting reduced to an agitated mumbling. Among the confusion of words, Jennifer frequently distinguished the word portrait.

  "What is this portrait he appears so concerned about?" she asked Perry when she was able. "It seems uppermost in his mind."

  "He carries a miniature with him, though I've never seen it. Indeed, he doesn't know I'm aware of its existence, but I came across him examining it in his bedchamber one evening, and he quickly hid it."

  "Does he have it with him now? Do you think it would calm him?"

  Perry searched the drawers and closet, but no portrait could be found.

  Suddenly Jenny became aware that the mumbling had ceased and that the earl's eyes had taken on a look of recognition.

  "Jen?" he whispered, as if scarcely believing her presence. "Is that you, Jen?" Releasing his hand from her clasp, he raised himself once more to a sitting position and rubbed his fingers across his forehead in a bemused way. "I've been dreaming again," he offered in explanation. "Have I woken you? Is that Perry skulking in the shadows? Have I woken the whole house?"

  "No, only Perry and me," assured Jenny, pushing him once more back against the pillows.

  "You must think me feeble-brained." He grimaced.

  "Certainly not, though we were greatly concerned for you"

  "Then you need not be," he continued. "I suffer from night terrors, nothing more. They're not as violent as they once were and are far less frequent, but I don't know when to expect them or what activates them"

  "You appeared troubled about a portrait," said Jenny, taking up the cloth, at last being able to bathe his brow. "Tell us where it can be found, and we will bring it to you. Perry was looking for it when you awoke...."

  "No!" he almost shouted, and she feared he was becoming agitated again. "There is no portrait. Let it be"

  Perry came to stand at the foot of the bed. "Can I get you anything, Ned? A brandy perhaps?"

  "Thank you. I would welcome a glass of brandy," said Sinclair wearily.

  As Perry left the room, Jennifer rose to leave, but the earl caught her hand. "Will you not stay for a moment, Jen?" he asked. "Sit with me a little." She resumed her seat at the side of the bed.

  "Did I frighten you?" he asked quietly. "For you must know that I'm not aware of what I say when the terror overtakes me, and I would not wish to alarm or offend you"

  "You have certainly not offended me in any way, but I was concerned for you. The battles have left you with very vivid recollections, and the horrors of war are firmly imprinted on your memory. Who should blame you for your terrors?"

  He smiled with an effort and took her hand in a warm clasp, his eyelids suddenly appearing heavy. "You are very understanding, my dear," he mumbled as he drifted into sleep.

  Watching his features soften in repose, Jenny, for the first time, allowed her gaze to study the paling scars that criss crossed his side, and tears blurred her vision. Tentatively she traced their course with one gentle finger. "Oh, how they have hurt you, my love," she breathed, resisting the urge to press her lips to the hard ridges where the flesh had healed. Before she could explore her emotions further, Perry entered with the glass of brandy, and she raised a finger to her lips and indicated that they should leave.

  It was not until she herself had retired to bed that the thought struck her that the earl had shown no discomfiture at her seeing his scarring as he had done at The Sow's Ear, proving he felt more at ease with her. The thought pleased her enormously. However, when she thought of it, she admitted she was curious to know of the portrait and why it was so important to him.

  66 Why didn't you wake me?" complained Flora over breakfast the following morning.

  "There was no need. Jenny was with me," replied Perry, attacking the sirloin placed before him with some vigor.

  "The poor girl must have wondered what was happening. No wonder she wishes to breakfast in her apartment this morning."

  "Jenny was more than equal to the task," scoffed Perry. "She doesn't indulge in histrionics,"

  "Am I to take it, then, that you are inferring that I do?" asked Flora waspishly. "For I tell you ..

  "I only state the truth." Perry grinned.

  "Then 'tis excessively unkind of you to infer that I resort to dramatics. I would have been equally as able to attend to dear Edward"

  "Oh, take a damper, Flo," Perry teased, scarcely pausing in the consumption of his meal.

  Flora turned an indignant shade of pink. "Don't call me that. You know I can't abide it, you wretched boy."

  "Bickering again, Perry?" remonstrated the earl, entering the room and coming to sit at the table. "Must you always find it necessary to torment our hostess, you ungrateful cub, especially when she has been gracious enough to take us all under her wing and offer her hospitality? There are few who would be so willing to open their doors to all and sundry."

  "But then, my dear Ned, you are not all and sundry," replied a much mollified Flora. "My door is ever open to you,"
>
  "But will not be to this young wretch" The earl chuckled. "Especially if he doesn't mind his manners. Apologize to your sister, you ungrateful pup."

  An unrepentant Perry grudgingly issued a mumbled apology but was saved from further recriminations by the appearance of his friend at the door. Freddie Lynton, who'd breakfasted some while earlier, appeared in the doorway and with beckoning hand urged his friend to join him in the search for sport.

  Alone in her apartment, Jenny sat pensively over her meal. Her curiosity had been whetted, and she desired nothing more than to know of this portrait that seemed so imperative to the earl. Had it been her imagination, or did he appear to become defensive when it was mentioned the previous night? Yet how could she broach the subject to him without incurring his wrath?

  She'd heard him leave his apartment a short while earlier, and the thought came to her that she could go to his room while he was at his morning meal. Perhaps she might succeed where Perry had failed in locating it, but she pushed the thought away as soon as it had arisen. She would not serve him in such a cavalier manner. However, curiosity was a strange thing, raising all manner of possibilities in the mind, and she knew she would not be easy until she knew whose portrait it was that he so fiercely protected.

  All of a sudden she remembered their meeting as he'd left the frame-maker's shop and she'd taken him up into her phaeton. When she thought back to that day, she was convinced that it was no portrait of his grandsire that had required reframing. However, the alternative proved too painful to contemplate. The thought that it was the face of a paramour that he studied refused to be dismissed, and she pushed away her cup so forcefully that its contents spilled upon the cloth.

  Dabbing at the stain with her napkin, she felt an inexplicable vexation start to rise, and, leaving the table, she went to the window.

  There she sat with her chin resting in her hand, watching the daily workings of the stable yard below, until a movement in the farthest corner caught her eye and she watched with some fascination as the earl mounted a large blood-chestnut. It was not the effortless grace with which he sat the spirited mount that drew her attention but his ability to appear as one with the horse, and for a moment she watched him with an irresistible fascination as he calmed the lively animal and encouraged it to walk more steadily from the yard. As the maid arrived, on a thought, she quickly rose from her seat and asked her to lay out her riding habit.

  Once settled in the saddle of a pretty gray mare, Jenny inquired of the earl's direction.

  "I believe my lord to have ridden over to The Folly," informed the groom who'd assisted her to mount. "Do you require me to accompany you on your ride, my lady?"

  "There's no need. I am to join with his lordship," she replied, and, turning her mare, she, too, headed out of the yard.

  Ravensby's grounds were extensive, but she knew the path that would take her to The Folly, and she urged the mare to a canter, soon leaving the formal gardens behind.

  Finding herself riding through a small coppice, she slowed her pace to concentrate on the various twists and turns the path took, oblivious that she was being observed, almost crying out in alarm when the earl drew the chestnut across her path.

  "I give you good day, my lady." He grinned mischievously, bowing low in the saddle.

  "Edward, you startled me," she cried reprovingly. "I had thought you gone to The Folly."

  "I took a slight detour," he said, a note of amusement still lingering in his voice. "Dare I suggest that you were following me?"

  "And why should I be following you?"

  "I thought you might be inclined to tell me." He smiled, drawing his mount alongside the mare, and indicated that they should proceed along the path together.

  "I merely decided to ride out," she replied haughtily. "'Tis only your conceit that suggests it to be otherwise."

  Sinclair's eyes sparkled. "Won't you allow me my conceit, Jen? I'm so rarely allowed to give it rein."

  "Then you may give it rein, dear Ned" She chuckled, unable to resist the amusement in his eyes. "Yes, I admit I sought you out"

  "'Tis so gratifying when one is found to be right." He grinned, feigning hauteur.

  "Your vanity does you no credit," she said, laughing and urging the mare to a canter as they emerged from the trees and The Folly came into sight.

  The Folly was a marble summerhouse built on the lines of a Grecian temple. It stood in the midst of abundant foliage and was set on a small hill at the head of a steep flight of stone steps. Dismounting and tethering the horses, they started up the steps, the earl taking Jennifer's elbow to assist her ascent.

  "The views are quite remarkable when we reach the top," he assured her. "Carlton's grandsire ordered it built for his wife, who was wont to spend her days reading there"

  "I should have liked to meet him," said Jenny thoughtfully. "He must have loved her very much to order such a commission merely so that she could read in comfort"

  "I doubt it was for the reading alone that he built it-more, I would say, to pay her homage. He was reputed to have doted on her."

  "And your grandsire, Ned, did he dote on his wife, do you think?"

  "Hardly." He grinned. "If my father was to be believed, she was a veritable harridan. She came over from France when her father fell foul of La Pompadour and Louis ordered him banished."

  "I would have liked to meet her too" Jenny chuckled. "And your grandsire. Indeed, I would be very interested to see the portrait of him that you had reframed."

  They had achieved the top of the steps and entered the summerhouse, but he stopped abruptly just within its door. "Why this sudden interest in portraits?" he asked, maintaining his hold on her arm and turning her about to face him. "What is it that fascinates you so about them?"

  "I don't know what you mean," she replied, refusing to meet his gaze. "I merely show an interest in your family."

  "Oh, aye, my family is so very interesting," he mocked. "Was it a family portrait you showed such interest in last night?"

  She did look at him then, her blue eyes turning defiant. "I don't know, Ned. That is for you to tell me. It was you who asked for it in your delirium and seemed to have such need of it. How am Ito know whose likeness it is?"

  "I tell you, I have no portrait."

  "Then, sir, you lie."

  "You would call me a liar?"

  "Most certainly, Edward. Indeed, I believe it to be of your sweetheart, your paramour."

  "And what sweetheart is this that you accuse me so readily of? Just how likely am Ito have a paramour?"

  "As likely as any other man!"

  He looked at her pityingly. "And you would honestly have me think you believe that?"

  "Of course. What else am Ito think?"

  He relinquished his hold on her arm, his features turning harsh within the shadowed light of the summerhouse. "You, my dear, can think whatever you wish. I will not feed your curiosity." Turning toward the door, he made to leave, but her hastily spoken words halted him.

  "Ned, I must know. Did you offer for me out of a sense of honor? Did you feel obligated to offer marriage?"

  She saw his shoulders stiffen, and his tone was cold when, without turning, he answered, "If that is what you truly believe, you silly girl, then yes. If that explanation satisfies you, and it is how you perceive it, yes."

  "Edward Thurston, I .." she began, but he was gone, his ears deaf to her words, and, sinking down onto the stone bench, she gave vent to her feelings of despondency.

  Hastening down the flight of steps, Sinclair had almost achieved the pathway where the waiting horses were tethered when his pace faltered, and, on impulse, he turned, placing his foot on an upward course. But he knew that if he returned, his resolve would be as nothing, and he would be lost. Turning once more, he descended to the path and, mounting his horse, urged it to a gallop, distancing himself from all temptation.

  When Jennifer joined her hostess in her apartment later that morning, Flora was much taken aback by her look of
dejection. "Have you and Edward had a misunderstanding?" she asked without hesitation.

  "What makes you suppose such a thing?" replied Jenny carelessly, as she stood uncertainly on the hearth, finding it difficult to meet Flora's searching gaze.

  "Because he's found it necessary to take himself off to Fly, when I know for a fact he'd intended to return to London. When I asked him why he was leaving so soon, he told me to mind my own business, which is quite unlike him. Always most polite is Edward"

  "You might say we had words," said Jenny, feigning indifference. "I find him insufferable. His arrogance is beyond comprehension."

  Flora would not allow that to go unchallenged, her face coloring with indignation. "You must not speak of my dear Edward so!" she cried. "He is everything one could wish for in a brother, and I will not have him maligned."

  "I tell you, he is excessively unkind!" cried Jenny, equally hotly, "and now he has left and gone to Fly without so much as a word to me"

  "And what words would you have him say?"

  "I don't know!" cried Jenny, stamping her foot with exasperation.

  "I do" An enlightened Flora smiled. "Believe me. I do"

  Jennifer stared mulishly at her hostess for a moment before making good her exit and storming to her own apartment, where she closed the door firmly behind her.

  A feeling almost of desertion came over the earl as he walked the lonely pathways of Fly Hall. The house and grounds had never before appeared so empty, its portals so unwelcoming. I must rid myself of this melancholy, he thought. I can't allow it to overtake my life. I must stand firm in my resolve and become more reconciled to my circumstance. It does no good to torment myself with impossibilities.

  Caesar kept pace with him, occasionally pushing his nose against his hand, but as he received no acknowledgment, he merely continued to plod at his side.

  As they neared the ornamental gardens, Sinclair spied Randall in the distance and raised his arm in salute. Seeing himself thus hailed, Randall came quickly toward his employer, a grin splitting his weather-beaten countenance.