by Sy Walker
“You really do miss your home, don't you?” he asked quietly, his expression turning thoughtful.
“Yes, of course,” she said in surprise, shocked that he thought that she mgith feel any other way about her current situation.
“And you really do wish to return there as soon as you can?” he asked, oblivious to her internal struggle.
“More than you will ever know,” was all that she could say. She hated to lie to him but there was no way for her to explain to him just how far away from her home and her family that she truly was.
“I am sorry to have been so harsh with you,” he said, his hand lifting gently to brush a stray curl from her cheek.
“I understand your suspicion. The circumstance could not be stranger,” she admitted, doing her best to force a small smile and to push down the sadness that was rising within her.
“When we first met you said you enjoy painting,” he said, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes as he attempted to distract her.
“I did once,” she said thoughtfully as she thought back to her days in art school and the years she had spent working on her own creative pursuits before she had committed herself to restoring the work of others. She had told herself again and again that it was enough to bring the works of others back to life, but some days she could not quite force herself to believe it.
“Then follow me,” he said, surprising her by reaching out and grabbing her had in his. His skin was soft and warm and something about that moment made her feel very much at home. She thought for a moment of suggesting that they wait for his sister, but she could not bring herself to spoil the sweetness of the moment. Instead, she let him lead her through the main hallway to a small staircase near the back of the townhouse. It was clearly a staircase that was not designed for the use of the master of the house. It was narrow and steep, but the moment he closed the door behind him she was in awe. Each level of the staircase had more and more artwork hung on the walls or propped against the railing of the stairs.
When they finally reached the top, he through open the door to reveal a wonderland. The room had obviously been built to house servants, but he had converted in, adding huge windows that made the light exquisite. There were even more paintings surrounding them there, yet the space did not feel cramped. It felt as though he had opened the door and invited her in to the innermost creative part of his brain.
“What is this place?” she asked as she stepped in to the room, careful not to move so quickly that he felt the need to let go of her hand. He seemed to be as comfortable as she was with her hand in his.
“My studio,” he said with a smile as he guided her in to the room. Slowly he led her around the room, showing her all of his works, each more beautiful than the last. There was, though, a stark difference between many of the pieces. A number of them were quite optimistic and rosy, while others had a much darker feeling to them. Violet could not help but think that perhaps the shift in his art was in some way tied to the mysterious woman she suspected had broken his heart.
“You are very talented,” she grinned as he concluded his tour.
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes locked on hers as a genuine smile spread across his face. It was then that she realized that there were canvases in the corner, covered with a cloth.
“What are these?” she asked as she walked towards them, reaching for the cloth. She had been so intrigued by the rest of his work that she could not contain her curiosity about works that he would purposefully hide, especially when all of the rest of his work was out in the open.
“Do not look under there,” he said, though his words were too late. The cloth was already half off by the time she heard his words. What she found there shocked her. Under the cloth, she found six different canvases, all featuring the same woman. That woman, to her shock and amazement, was the same woman from the canvas that she had touched just before she was sent back in time. That canvas, in fact, was buried behind the others.
“Who is she?” she asked as soon as she was able to gather her thoughts enough to form words. It was so strange to her to see the painting there, with not of the fading or rips that it had in her own time. It was too much of a coincidence not to be related, but she could not fathom how it had all come to pass and why the painting had had the power to pull her through time.
“She is none of your concern,” he said curtly. He was suddenly a thousand miles away and she knew in that moment that this was the woman who had hurt him so deeply.
“Is she your lady?” she asked, unable to keep the words from her lips.
“I said it is none of your concern. Come along, we should return to my sister. She will be searching the entire house for us,” he said as he turned and walked away from her. As he held the door to the stair open for her, he was nothing but the perfect gentleman but she could sense the change in him. Something had shifted between them and she could think of nothing else to say. She made her way back to the main floor of the house, with him walking slowly behind her. Once they made their way back to his sister, tea was just about to be served. Though Gwen could not have known what passed between them, she spent the entire afternoon looking from one to the other in hopes of solving the riddle they presented to her. She loved nothing more than a good puzzle, especially one she thought might be tied to matters of the heart.
Chapter 5
When they returned to Gwen and Martin’s townhouse, they were no sooner in the door than Violet decided that she needed to have answers, not matter how awkward the conversation might be.
“Your brother showed me his studio. He is quite a talent,” she began, hoping perhaps that Gwendolyn might offer up the history of her brother’s love life without her having to ask directly.
“He took you to his studio?” she said, so shocked that she dropped her reticule on to the marble floor.
“Yes, I mentioned to him that I painted once in my life,” Violet said, trying to explain away something that Gwendolyn clearly found surprising.
“Really?” she continued, unable to believe that her brother had let anyone in to his private sanctuary.
“There were several portraits of a beautiful woman,” Violet said, unable to stop herself. She needed answers and she had to ask Gwendolyn for them, no matter how uncomfortable it made her.
“Dominique,” his sister said, her voice seething with so much anger that it made that one word sound like a curse.
“With blonde hair and blue eyes?” Violet asked, needed to clarify that they were discussing the same woman.
“Looked a bit like the snow queen?” Gwen asked, her eyes burning with anger that Violet never would have thought her capable of.
“Not in his paintings,” Violet explained, thinking back to how radiant the woman in his paintings had seemed. Even in her own time, when she had seen the painting Tony brought to her to restore, it had been clear to her that it was made by a man very much in love.
“No, he always painted her with a rosier glow that she deserved,” his sister said, rolling her eyes.
“Who is she?” Violet asked, more intrigued than ever.
“She was his fiancée until a Duke showed interest in her,” she explained, thinking back to the dark time in her brother’s life and shivering with sympathy to his past pain.
“Oh no,” Violet exclaimed.
“Oh yes. She threw him over a month before they were to be married,” Gwen explained, taking a seat on a nearby chair as Violet did the same.
“How awful,” Violet said, unable to picture the man she knew Dalton to be as one who was capable of such love. She had seen a glimpse of it, she supposed, when he had shown her his studio but it had faded as quickly as it had revealed itself.
“Yes. After that, his paintings took on a much darker tone,” his sister explained sadly..
“To match his soul,” Violet whispered sadly.
“Yes, she quite broke him,” Gwen continued, her love for her brother apparent.
“I am sorry to hear t
hat,” Violet responded, not sure what else to say.
“I will not say I am sorry she threw him over. A marriage to her would have crushed his soul slowly. At least the quick slice of heartbreak will heal with time and he remains free to find a true love,” Gwen said, smiling suddenly at the thought.
“How long has it been?” Violet asked, not entirely sure why she felt such a deep need to understand what had hurt him so deeply. The question, which she had worried would offend Gwendolyn with its boldness, had the opposite effect. She smiled and eyed Violet in a calculating fashion.
“Nearly a year,” Gwen said, smiling like the cat that got in to the cream.
“Oh my,” Violet said, trying to imagine how Dalton had been when the pain was fresh for him.
“He will come through it. He just needs to find the right woman to distract him,” Gwen said, smiling at Violet in such a way that Violet finally realized what his sister had in mind.
“You are a conniving one!” she exclaimed, unable to keep from smiling at her new friend’s plan.
“I do try to be,” Gwen said with a playful wink.
Chapter 6
A few days later, Violet was enjoying a particularly lovely afternoon outside in Gwen’s garden when Dalton arrived to disrupt her solitude. Violet hated the fact that the sight of him made her heart skip a beat.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, making no effort to greet him civilly.
“I am here often to visit my sister,” he said defensively, clearly uncomfortable by her lack of fawning over him, but she could not pretend that she was not hurt by their last encounter and the knowledge that his heart was still so deeply affected by a past love.
“Your sister is not here,” she said, rising from the bench she had been sitting on and walking deeper in to the garden, thinking that he would make his way inside to find his sister. For some reason, it pained her to be near him now that she knew the truth of what had made him so suspicious of woman.
“No but I owe you an apology for how abrupt I was with you the other day,” he said, suddenly looking shy.
“No you don't. I promise you, I understand how personally you are connected to your art. I should not have looked at pieces you did not intend for anyone to see,” she said, doing her best to put the sinking feeling that developed in her stomach every time she thought of his love for the beautiful woman in his paintings.
“Thank you for understanding but I was still rude,” he said, following her as she continued to walk along the path towards the heart of the gardens.
“An artist is entitled to be temperamental,” she said, hoping to placate him so that he would feel he had finished making his amends and move along.
“I brought you a peace offering,” he said with a grin as he reached in the sack he had hung over his shoulder.
“You did not need to do that,” she said without stopping or turning to face him. She could not deny that seeing him in his studio had awakened feelings in her for him and she knew that she could not indulge them. Being there, alone, with him was not going to help her to push away the attachment she had begun to feel for him and she knew that she needed to because it was clear that his heart belonged to another.
“I know, but I wanted to,” he said, looking quite proud of himself as he hurried in front of her and began to walk backwards, holding out a package to her that was wrapped in brown paper.
“Alright,” she conceded, stopping her walking and taking the package from his hands.
“Go on, open it,” he encouraged, his eyes lit up in anticipation. She sat down on a nearby rock wall and lay the package in her lap. Slowly, she began to remove the paper to reveal a leather case and what she found inside made her heart soar with joy.
“Oh my,” she whispered as she opened the case to reveal all the paints and brushes that one could possibly need.
“I think it is everything you will need to start painting again,” he said with genuine excitement. “I had the canvases put in the solarium. Gwendolyn said that you can use it as a studio if you would like. If not, I am sure we can find you another place in the house that will work for you to paint in.
“This is too generous,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. The thought of being able to create again meant so much to her, more than she could even have imagined it would.
“My sister told me that she offered to buy you paints while you wait for a response from your family but you would not let her,” he pointed out. It was true, Gwen had after their conversation about Dalton’s studio. She could not allow it though, not after all that she had given her.
“She and her husband have already been too generous,” she said, trying to keep her tears from falling.
“It brings her joy to fuss over people,” Dalton said, smiling with a clear fondness for his sister.
“I already feel terrible for taking advantage of her kindness,” Violet explained, knowing that there was no way that she could ever repay their kindness.
“I did not mean to make you feel badly,” he assured her, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand in his as he spoke.
“I know, I have just always taken care of myself. I hate feeling helpless here,” she explained as her tears began to fall in earnest.
“I get the distinct impression that you could never be entirely helpless,” he said as he smiled at her with admiration.
“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to keep from smiling through her tears at his words.
“Most ladies would not take that as a compliment,” he smirked, rising from the ground to take a seat beside her on the stone wall.
“Did you not mean it as one?” she asked with a giggle that she could not keep from escaping her mouth.
“Oh I most definitely meant it to be a compliment,” he said with a tone of heat in his voice that thrilled her.
“We Americans enjoy self-sufficiency,” she said saucily, trying to put her sadness aside.
“Do you know at all how you came to be here?” he asked, leaning towards her as he spoke. The sweet smell of coffee and tobacco surrounded her and she could not remember a more appeal scent in all of her like.
“I truly have no idea,” she murmured, leaning towards him instinctively.
“Whatever it is that brought you here I am glad,” his said, his eyes looking deeply in to hers.
“Suddenly, so am I,” she whispered, biting her lip as she stared at his mouth. She knew with every fiber of her being that he was about to kiss her and she could hardly stand the anticipation.
When he finally did press his lips to hers, it was like nothing she had ever experienced before. She had expected that he would be timid, treating her like a gentile lady of his time. Instead, his mouth crashed down on hers as though he was trying to stake a claim on her and her body responded eagerly. Her arms wrapped around his neck and, in one motion, he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her on to his lap to give himself better access to her mouth as his free hand began to explore the curves of her body.
When his mouth left hers to trail kisses down her neck, she whispered, “Fireworks!”
“What did you say,” he asked, causing her to moan in disappointment as he lifted his mouth from her neck.
“Nothing,” she assured him, leaning in to him and savoring every inch of his body against hers.
“We better get down to lunch before my sister comes looking for us,” he said, though his mouth immediately returned to hers. He seemed to be unable to keep himself from kissing her and that was just fine with her.
“Yes, you are right,” she muttered after a few more moments of passion, not wanting to attract suspicion from Gwen.
“Can I see you again soon,” he asked, his arms still wrapped around her.
“Yes,” she said, pressing her forehead to his and biting her lip in an attempt to keep her desire for him in check.
“Would you like to go to the park tomorrow? Perhaps we could paint together,” he suggested with a smile.
&nbs
p; “I would love that,” she cried aloud as she kissed him on the cheek, full of joy at the thought of a day of painting with him.
“I will arrange it with my sister. We will need her to be our chaperone,” he explained, though he did not look happy at the thought of not being alone with her.
“Really?” she asked, surprised that he was bound so much by propriety when it was clear that they both wanted to enjoy each other without watching eyes.
“Do proper American ladies not need chaperones?” he teased, his eyebrows raised in mock horror.
“I suppose it is proper, though inconvenient,” she said, doing her best to look as though she was pouting.
“I like your spirit,” he laughed as he pulled her close again for one more long, lingering kiss before they made their way back to the house.