Joanna nodded. “I’m sure that will please her.”
“I certainly hope so.” He lowered his eyes and shifted his position on the rock. “I have also assured her I will never again disappear as I did when I came here.”
He raised his eyes again, looking deep into Joanna’s. “I guarantee I will never run from my problems again.”
His look was meaningful, and though the promise had been made to his mother, Joanna could not help but feel that he extended it to herself as well.
Her heart lifted at the thought. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
Mr. Aldridge nodded, finally taking out his paints.
Joanna picked up her brush but did not paint for a few moments, as she instead relished the feelings of peace that washed over her.
When she began to work again she asked, “How are your preparations for the gallery coming?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “The paintings I plan to present are coming along. Of course, I’ve had some done for a while, but I would like to add a few new pieces.”
When he did not go on, Joanna lightly pushed him on, “However?”
He looked up from his painting. “What makes you think there was more to say?”
She cast him a look. “Isn’t there?”
Laughter filled his eyes and he chuckled. “Very well, you are correct.”
He looked down at his painting, quiet for a moment. “The very thought of the gallery makes me extremely uncomfortable.”
“Why is that?”
“Before I moved here, I had the unfortunate experience of being rejected by people I knew because of my illness. As there is much that is unknown about my condition, I found fear and uncertainty from neighbors and even friends.” He continued to paint as he spoke, not taking his eyes from his work. “I have found it easier since coming here to simply avoid socializing in general. Granted, I still feel duty bound to attend a certain number of social engagements, but it is less difficult if I close out those around me.”
Understanding filled Joanna and her heart ached for him. Her mother had never experienced the rejection he spoke of, and she could not imagine how awful that must have been.
“I am so sorry you had to go through that. It must have been tortuous considering the pain you have been in as well.”
He smirked. “It was less than pleasant.”
An urge to wrap her arms around him in comfort coursed through her. She pressed her lips together and studying the painting in her hands instead.
“While I understand your hesitation, I do hope you will not be fearful of the people of Roselund Heights.”
He looked up at her at last, curiosity in his eyes.
“There are many who come here for other reasons, but as the sea is renowned for its healing properties, many come to Roselund Heights in search of health. You are far from alone here, sir.” She smiled as warmly as she could.
He looked as if he were considering her words, then smiled softly. “Perhaps I have passed judgment too quickly. I will make an honest effort to refrain from being so closed off.”
Joanna nodded. “Besides, it has been quite some time since you have closed me out. You might apply the same practice to others now.”
The words were from her mouth before she thought about them, and she inwardly cringed, wondering how he might respond. She felt his gaze on her and looked up to meet his eyes.
A smile teased the corner of his mouth. “I do not think the same principles will apply. I could not help myself with you.”
Joanna blushed at the sincerity in his eyes and looked down at her painting, pressing her lips together to hide her own smile.
It was a few moments before she felt his gaze leave her, and they worked together in peaceful silence. From time to time, she would glance up, eager to see him in his element. The morning sun shone off his dark hair. His brilliant eyes studied the painting before him, intensely focused. She had to convince herself many times not to stare.
During one such glance, she watched as he stretched his fingers, then clenched his hand into a fist. His expression was tense and almost angry. He caught her watching him and offered a stiff smile.
“What is wrong?”
He shook his head slightly. “It is nothing, only my hands are stiff.”
“Only? You would not be so upset if it were nothing.”
A sad smile fell on his face. “Will you have me confess all my secrets to you, Miss Leighton?”
Joanna smirked. “You have heard all of mine. It is only fair.”
He chuckled and Joanna was pleased to see him relax a little.
“Very well.” He set his paints to the side and turned toward her slightly, keeping his gaze low. “It is my understanding that many people who find themselves afflicted with an illness fear the possibility of death, but that has never been my fear.” He looked up at her. “I hope you will not misunderstand me. I do not wish for death, only that I can think of a fate worse than that.”
He paused for a moment, as if waiting for her to acknowledge the clarification. She nodded and he went on.
“When an idea for a painting comes into my mind, it does not leave until I paint it. There have been times, mostly due to my illness, that I have been unable to paint when a concept comes to me. It is maddening to have the vision in my mind and be unable to create it. I am afraid I will lose the ability to see or lose the function of my hands and be forever unable to release my visions from the confines of my mind. It is my greatest fear.” He looked up at her and met her gaze with sincerity. “Or one of them, actually.”
Joanna could not guess what the other could be, but the sincerity and fear in his expression, and the vulnerability of his confession left her unable to ask.
“I am so sorry.” She wanted to reach out and take his hand; however, she resisted the temptation.
He looked down at his hands, rubbing them together. “When my hands become stiff, the worry intensifies and the fear feels as if it is becoming a reality.”
Her heart hurt for him. Speaking of his illness brought thoughts of her mother to her mind. Joanna wondered what she had feared. She had never shared such intimacies with Joanna, but certainly she must have shared them with Father. How miserable he must have felt, to have his love be so afraid and for him to be so unable to help. She could only imagine the pain that must have caused him.
As she looked into Mr. Aldridge’s eyes, she suddenly felt that perhaps she knew her father’s pain more than she’d thought. Except… except she did not love Mr. Aldridge as Father had loved Mother. She cared for him, surely, but she had sworn never to fall in love. No matter how handsome he was, nor how his very nearness made her feel peaceful and excited all at once. Nor how she longed to spend eternity sinking into the depths of his blue eyes—
Joanna shook her head slightly, clearing her mind. She picked up her brush again and began to idly stroke the paper.
A smile crept onto Mr. Aldridge’s face. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she quickly replied.
He raised an eyebrow. “You are going to try to convince me something is nothing now?”
Joanna blushed, reminding herself he could not read her thoughts. She looked up with a smile. “This really is nothing, I assure you.”
It had to be nothing. She was only just beginning to heal from a painful loss. She could not allow herself the vulnerability that love created.
No, I do not love him.
Mr. Aldridge smiled at her softly, sending a shiver up her spine.
She repressed the smile beginning to form on her lips and forced her gaze back to her canvas.
No. She affirmed. No. I do not love him.
The evening of the gallery arrived and though she’d spent the previous three days reminding herself she did not care for Mr. Aldridge as more than a friend, Joanna was filled with nervous anticipation.
Mariah insisted she wear her lilac gown and supervised the maid in the arranging of Joanna’s hair.
&nb
sp; “Why are you so concerned about my appearance tonight, Mariah?”
Mariah’s eyes sparkled, but she shrugged. “Is it wrong for me to want you to look especially lovely tonight?”
“It is suspicious.”
Mariah rolled her eyes. “You believe anything out of the ordinary is suspicious.”
“With good reason.”
Mariah chuckled, but said no more. Once she declared Joanna perfect, she hurried the maid to her own room to ready herself. Shortly thereafter, Joanna and Mariah boarded the carriage and traveled the bumpy streets to the gallery. Joanna’s nerves did not cease until after they had greeted Mr. Standford at the door and entered the hall.
Many people milled about inside, studying the artwork and conversing quietly. Mariah left Joanna immediately, to join her friend, Gabrielle. Joanna watched her sister for a moment, pleased she was enjoying herself. Then she returned her attention to the room.
It did not take long for her eyes to seek out Mr. Aldridge. Yet, for a moment, she wondered if she was seeing the correct man.
His scowl was gone, replaced by an easy smile. The stiffness in his stance was less obvious, he seemed to be far more relaxed in a crowd than he had been in the past. Instead of standing to the side of the room, silently observing, he walked among the crowd, welcoming and conversing with the guests.
She watched him for several moments, entranced by the changes in him.
“I believe we are supposed to be admiring the art, not the artist.”
Joanna nearly leapt into the air and turned to see Edith standing at her side, a sly smile on her face. “You startled me!”
“I’m sorry. I knew I would, but the temptation was too great to resist.” She nodded toward Mr. Aldridge. “Although, I stand by what I said. Your admiration for that man is becoming more and more apparent.”
Joanna’s immediate impulse was to deny it. However, she knew she had been caught openly watching him, and Edith knew her too well.
“Is there fault in admiring a person?”
“Of course not.”
“Good, because I admire many people.”
“I am certain that is true. However, I have never known you to be so enamored with a young gentleman before.”
Joanna laughed. “I confessed to admiration, but I will not confess to more than that.” Joanna gave her friend a pointed look.
Edith looked directly into her eyes. “Because you do not feel it, or because you are too afraid to admit that you do feel it?”
Joanna opened her mouth to respond, but no words fell. Edith raised her brows at her. Joanna closed her mouth quickly and pressed her lips together. Edith’s look became triumphant; but before she could speak again, Rose approached and slid her arm through Joanna’s.
“Good evening, dear friends. Look who has come home!”
Joanna looked around Rose to see a young woman with excessively curly red hair smiling tentatively.
“Fanny!” Joanna cried, embracing their friend. “Why did you not tell us you were coming home?”
“I thought the surprise would be fun. How have you all been? I have missed you.”
“We are all well, Fanny,” Edith said, embracing her as well. “Though Joanna perhaps better than the rest of us.”
Fanny beamed. “Indeed? Won’t you tell me what’s happened?”
Joanna cast a glare at Edith who only smiled in return.
“There is much to tell, but not all necessarily of a joyful nature.”
Joanna walked toward the closest painting, pulling Rose and Fanny along with her. “We are supposed to be looking at the art, not interrogating one another.”
Fanny stumbled, but regained her footing quickly.
“I’ve been gone too long, I have missed all the fun,” she said in a voice loud enough to travel the room. She lowered it. “You must tell me, Joanna.”
“Oh, very well, but not now. We are here, as Edith reminded me, to admire the art.”
Joanna stopped before the first painting, a contemplative look on her face. Fanny sighed, but stepped beside her, and the others followed suit.
They proceeded along, examining the paintings. Each one Joanna studied impressed her more. The strokes were delicate and bold all at once, the details exquisite. Each one carried a quality that at first she could not name. As she looked at a stormy seascape, she remembered Mr. Aldridge’s lesson on the beach. He put himself into each painting, expressing emotion with each stroke. She looked back at the last few paintings, searching for the emotion in each one.
The portrait of a young duke emitted power and confidence. The painting of a country manor felt like home, though she’d never been there. And the seascape with storm clouds and a troubled ocean portrayed fear. She walked to the next painting, eager to see what it held. It was similar to the one before it, a stormy sea, but a ray of sunshine peered through the clouds, lighting a tiny boat floating in the water beneath.
She sighed as a new emotion washed over her. Hope.
She felt Mr. Aldridge’s presence behind her and a flutter erupted in her stomach.
“You look as if you’ve just discovered a secret,” he said, his low voice quiet and smooth.
A shiver ran down Joanna’s back. “I feel as if I have. These are remarkable.”
“Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”
Joanna stood there, caught between the sensations he sent through her with his mere presence and the hope radiating from the painting. It left her feeling light and free, as though anything were possible.
Her friends had fallen behind, but approached the painting now, commenting on its excellence. As much as Joanna did not want to relinquish the freedom she felt, she stepped aside, allowing them a better view.
“Whoever this artist is, he is quite good, is he not?” Fanny said.
Joanna stifled a smile and heard Mr. Aldridge chuckle softly from behind her.
“Fanny, may I introduce you to Mr. Colin Aldridge? He is the man who created all of these,” she said, motioning around the room. “Mr. Aldridge, this is my good friend, Lady Francine Brightmore.”
Fanny’s expression was contrite. “Oh, my goodness. I am sorry, sir. I didn’t realize—”
Mr. Aldridge smiled kindly. “Please, do not be concerned. And thank you for the compliment.” He offered a small bow.
They continued on and Mr. Aldridge walked along with them, making light conversation and answering questions regarding the paintings. Joanna wandered ahead of the group and stopped in front of a large painting.
It was another rendition of the sea, drawn from atop a cliff that looked much like the Marine Parade. As she examined the background, she was certain it was the very spot where Crescent Street met the Parade. A woman stood near the cliff, her dark hair fell around her shoulders and was tousled by the wind. Though her face turned away from the viewer, she seemed to thrill at being near the ocean. The emotion in that painting leapt at her. Adoration, desire, love. She could not help but feel that the woman in the painting was meant to be herself.
She blushed at the mere thought of it.
The remainder of her group came up beside her. Rose and Edith looked at the painting, then at Joanna, curiosity written in every line of their faces.
Fanny stared at the painting for a moment. “This reminds me very much of you, Joanna.”
Joanna pressed her lips together, her face flaming. She could feel Mr. Aldridge watching her, yet she would not meet his eyes.
Fanny turned to Rose. “Don't you agree? This is very much like Joanna, is it not?”
When Rose shook her head discretely, Fanny turned to Edith.
“Edith, you agree with me, don't you? This is every bit Joanna.”
“Fanny,” Edith’s voice carried a tone of warning.
“What?” she asked. She finally looked at Joanna and must have realized her discomfort. “Oh…”
Attempting to make light of the heaviness that had settled around them, Joanna said, “I do love the sea.”
/>
She could still feel Mr. Aldridge’s gaze on her and she peered up at him at last. As often happened, she was swept up into his eyes. The emotions there mirrored those in the painting.
Adoration. Desire. Love.
Love?
Her breath caught in her throat and she looked away before she could be certain.
Mr. Standford scurried toward them and Joanna was more than relieved for his interruption.
“Mr. Aldridge, there you are,” Mr. Standford said in his nasal voice.
Mr. Aldridge finally looked away from Joanna.
“Would you be so kind as to come with me, sir? Several people are asking for you.”
Mr. Aldridge cleared his throat and shifted his stance. “Yes, of course,” he said.
Joanna looked up at him, the well of emotions that had overwhelmed her were now faded.
“Please, excuse me.” He bowed and followed Mr. Standford across the room.
She had only a moment to draw in a slow breath before she was accosted by her friends.
“Joanna, I am so sorry. What was I thinking going on and on like that?” Fanny apologized.
Joanna smiled at her as best she could. “It was awkward, wasn’t it?”
Fanny chuckled faintly.
Rose looked at Joanna with disbelief. “You are a sly thing, aren't you? Why didn't you tell us you are in love with him?”
“I am not,” Joanna objected.
Rose shook her head. “Say what you will, but if you are not yet, then you are well on your way.”
Edith nodded. “And he is most certainly in love with you.”
Joanna started to shake her head, but her gaze caught on the painting and his expression came back before her eyes. She did not know as certainly if he loved her as Edith seemed to, but she knew he felt something.
She lowered her voice, and her friends gathered closer. “I will confess, I feel something for him. But it cannot be love. I do not want to be in love with anyone.”
Edith smiled. “Your heart may have made that decision for you.”
Healing Hearts (Roselund Heights Book 1) Page 12