by Raine Miller
“Please don’t. I will be fine. My sister had no trouble with Gwendolyn’s birth, and I have the best doctor in all of England. You worry far too much over me.” She kissed him.
“I am sorry, chérie, to vex you. I just—if anything happened to you, there would be nothing—no point in anything, anymore.” He caught her look of frustration with him, immediately giving in. “I’ll stop. Sorry. I realize I’m an idiotic fool and should not speak of such things. I just love you so much. Without you, I am no good. All of this happiness right now is because of you. You are my compass.”
“As you are for me.” She nestled into his side, breathing in his spicy scent. “Graham, you do not credit the many things you do and will do in the future. When you go back to Parliament, you will help get the emancipation bill through. Your signature will be on that document, someday. You’ll get your national portrait gallery as well. Your name will be mentioned as a founder of that worthy institution. I know it, just as I know we’ll have our fifty years, at least fifty, probably more than that. By then, I’ll be grey and wrinkled and you’ll be deaf and gouty, and we’ll still be happy, here in our own little Camelot.”
“Promise?”
“Absolutely. No more sad feelings or thoughts. You must relax and enjoy this time before the baby comes for you will be very busy once she is here.”
“Now you think it a girl?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I go back and forth. Some days I see a little girl and other days a boy. But either way, get ready to be interrupted in your work.” She grinned and nodded.
“What do you mean?”
“Remember your vision? You said you could see a little blonde angel stamping her foot, demanding her Papa stop whatever he is doing and take her for a ride on her pony.”
“I remember.” He smiled. “I cannot wait for that.”
“I like to imagine her with long, straight, dark hair and green eyes.” She held his face and made him look at her until she could see the worry had left him.
“All right, chérie. You have cheered me. I am fine now. Sorry for my little fit of the blue devils.” He kissed her several times, pressing his lips to her cheeks, eyes and nose. “Would you like your tea now? It probably won’t be very hot though.”
“Lukewarm tea, a fairy ring in the shape of a giant compass rose, bluebells blooming about me, a handsome husband—my compass—beside me. Yes, I believe I’ll take the whole lot.”
“Right, then. Allow me to serve you, my lady.” He got up to retrieve the travelling pack from Triton so he could lay out their tea. “Why don’t you search for your cloud shapes while I set this out,” he called over his shoulder.
“I don’t think so,” she remarked boldly. “I’d much rather watch you prepare our tea. It is a far superior view than any old cloud shape could ever be.” Her eyes tracked him.
“Watch yourself, chérie. Looking at me like that and I doubt either of us will get any tea today.”
“WELCOME to Gavandon.” Graham greeted James Trenton warmly. “How excellent you are here, Trenton. Thank you for considering us.”
“It is my pleasure, Lord Rothvale. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Please, just Rothvale.” He offered a seat. “Surely you know why you are here, so I’ll get right to the point. You impressed me when we met in Town last winter, and I was struck by your sensible manner in approaching your calling.”
Trenton tilted his head in acceptance of the compliment. “When it comes to God’s work, I am not a fervent. I would describe myself as much more pragmatic. Other options are open—but this is the path I have chosen. I am a third son and have the support of my good father, yet I need to do something worthwhile with my life.”
“Very noble, Trenton. We have a fine rectory here called Swandon, vacant for five years now. The house is lovely. As rector you would be entitled to tenant tithes as well as the living, which is substantial, for your lifetime. The chapel, The Church of Saint Clare, has been empty for far too long. I need someone to take it on and see to the needs of the people of the parish. Have you other prospects you are considering?”
Trenton shook his head. “To be honest, Rothvale, I haven’t pursued it. My ordination is complete, but my family has had need of me recently. There were some troubles…” he trailed off.
Gravelle said there was a problem brother. I’ve been in your boots. “I understand. Family comes first. But what are you looking for, Trenton?”
“A place with good people where I can help those in need without a great deal of emphasis on sermonizing. I intend to make mine short; you’ll not get long-winded moral lessons out of me for it is not my way. I do not seek to chastise persons for their mistakes. Rather I see myself as avowing to live a good life and to be a help to others in their pursuit of the same. I can foresee there are those who will not approve of me for that.”
Graham grinned at him. “Well, I would approve for we are of a very like mind, Trenton, and that is exactly why I’ve asked you to come. You suit me. I would be honored to have you serve Gavandon Parish. This is a good thing. Since we have been vacant for so long, everyone has forgotten the old rector and you’ll not be compared against anyone and found lacking.”
“I must say, it all sounds very appealing, Rothvale. Having a patron who is of a like mind would be a relief. I have doubted one such as you would exist at all.” He looked pleased. “I couldn’t get into too much trouble for the short sermons if that is what my patron prefers.”
“Exactly. And I must confess that the fact you fence is another mark in your favour. When I am in need of spiritual counsel I know how it can be attended to.” Graham’s eyes lit up. “Would you like to see my fencing studio?”
“Rothvale, I would be delighted.”
A fortnight later they gave their goodbyes to Lord James Trenton on the steps of Gavandon. Graham and Imogene remained until his coach was beyond the main gate. “Do you think he’ll accept your offer?” Imogene asked him.
“I greatly hope so, chérie, I really, really do.” Graham was optimistic though. “James Trenton is the perfect man for the job. After two weeks in his company, I have no doubts about that. I knew it really, the night I met him in London at the fencing academy. That’s how sure I am. He has asked for time to consider our offer and I am happy to oblige him for I don’t want any other.”
“What if he declines?” Imogene put her hand into his.
Graham reflected before answering her. “I’ll be very disappointed, chérie. We must have faith, yes?” He took up her hand and kissed it.
“He will accept. I believe he will, Graham. I have good feelings about him and I can see how important he is to you.” She touched his cheek. “So it must be so.”
He nodded perfunctorily. “What are you going to do for the rest of the day, chérie?”
“You know, I feel quite lazy, I believe I’ll sit in the solarium and write in my journal for a bit.”
“What of Elle and Cariss? Where have they got to?”
“Riding. I don’t think I am up for the kind of ride they had in mind. John said, ‘nothing too vigorous.’”
“He’s right, you know.” Pulling her close, touching her belly, he caressed the swell. “You do an awful lot and are always so busy around here. Writing in the solarium sounds like an excellent plan to me.” Neatly avoiding the appearance of fussing over her, he was learning, and feeling a trifle smug as he kissed the top of her head. “I’ll come find you in a while, and if you like we’ll take an easy walk.”
“Sounds perfect.” She looked him over carefully, probably not fooled at all by his veiled attempt to impel her. “My darling.” She winked and blew him a kiss before gliding away.
Graham really looked forward to Trenton taking the rectory as it had been unfilled for so long. In truth, he felt guilty for neglecting to appoint someone but couldn’t bear the thought of a pompous windbag up in the pulpit each Sunday, torturing him with moral fanaticism. He could picture the waving hands and pious chasti
sement with too clear of a vision for his liking. A sycophant was just as dreaded. The bowing and scraping some clerics performed for their patrons made him ill. He’d be unable to tolerate such behaviours. Trenton was nothing of the sort. Graham realized he was unique among the clergy. He also genuinely liked him, and knew had they met sooner, James Trenton would have been a friend anyway. His family troubles seemed to be monopolizing his time for the present but Trenton had agreed to give his answer by the end of summer. All they could do was wait.
Graham would always be grateful he entered the solarium quietly when he went to find Imogene an hour later.
For the sight that met his eyes nearly brought him down to the floor.
He was a painter in his heart and in his training. He knew that what he saw was significant. If there was ever a moment in his artistic life that moved him, this was it. He knew what must be done. Nothing could have stopped him.
Her image must be captured, preserved, as she looked in the moment. At all costs, this impression must be rendered in paint and canvas.
Forcing his body to calm, Graham made a mental picture of her form, sweeping slowly over each part, to record her in his mind. That done, he stepped quietly out into the hall.
And then he ran.
Ben was dispatched as quickly as he could be located. “Ben, go to Mallerton’s and bring him back here. Tell him he needs a canvas and supplies to sketch. Quickly! As fast as you can. Tell him it is most urgent!”
“Yes, my lord.” Ben nodded perfunctorily.
“When you bring him, he’s to go to the solarium, but tell him to enter very quietly. Lady Rothvale is sleeping and I do not want her disturbed.”
Graham raced to his studio to get the camera obscura.
Imogene was still asleep when he re-entered the solarium, and gratefully, in the same position. The first step was to close the shutters to darken the room. Next, he lit the candle opposite the lens inside the box. The paper was moved slowly, incrementally, until her form appeared…in all its stunning glory. He barely breathed as he copied out her image, the draping of her gown, and the shadows. Graham was aware Tristan entered the room at some point, but they did not speak. Tristan set up his canvas, drawing right alongside his friend. They worked that way for an hour, until she awakened.
Both men blew out sighs of relief, understanding that enough of her pose has been copied, to recreate it faithfully for another sitting. “Graham?” Imogene was mildly surprised as she stretched out her limbs. “Tristan, what brings you in here?”
“Summoned to capture your image as you slept in the chair, my dear.” Tristan eyed her thoughtfully. “I may do the painting, Imogene, but Graham is the master when it comes to contriving a scene.” He shook his head in disbelief. “We’ve been frantically tracing you while you slept so we might recreate the scene. It is like nothing I have ever painted before.”
“Tell me,” she implored.
“I’ll let your husband do the honors.” Tristan bowed and quitted the room.
Graham tried to explain but knew it was pointless. “Chérie, I hardly have the words…”
JUNE was swallowed up as the warm, idyllic days floated along. Imogene wore her jonquil day gown and sat for the sleeping portrait. It didn’t even seem to be much of an imposition for her either. Many times, she simply fell asleep anyway, providing ample opportunities for Tristan to get it completed.
The significance of the portrait was Imogene’s pose. Her left arm was bent and supported her head, while her right arm lay across her stomach. The shawl draped over her middle, obscuring the pregnancy. Both of her knees were bent, her left leg tucked underneath her so that her left arm could rest upon it. Her right foot pointed at the floor, supporting that bent knee. Zuly rested beside the chair. Her lap desk, pen and journal, abandoned on the floor.
Tristan pushed himself.
He had never painted draped clothing in such a manner.
He poured all of his skill into this composition, knowing instinctively that he must do so, and do it well.
TWENTY-FIVE
…Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,
Who like me his praise should sing?
Henry Francis Lyte ~ Hymn, 1834
FOR the first time in a long while, Graham and Imogene would be all alone in the coming days. Elle had already departed, returning to Everfell. Colin had finished at Trinity, and was now in Ireland at Donadea. Arrangements were made for Gravelle to escort Cariss to halfway at Stapenhill, delivering her to her father, Sir Oliver. Gravelle had offered eagerly, which was not much of a surprise, saying he was for Town regardless, and would be honored to ensure her safety along the road.
It was on Gravelle’s return from London that he stayed once more at The Lion’s Crown before heading on to Gavandon.
“Gravelle, you are bloody good for all your beastly size. You are agile, man,” Graham complimented, breathing heavily.
“Keeps me fit so I don’t run to fat. I’m grateful for you, Rothvale. The fencing is diversion from the boredom at least, if not your brooding company,” he joked.
“Don’t try to be clever, Gravelle, it’s not where your talents lie.”
“You speak true, we both know. And I jest of course. You’re not nearly so broody now you’re ensconced with your bride and playing house with her. To the outside world, you appear quite happy, my friend.”
Graham looked thoughtfully at him before replying. “You know, there was a time I thought I could never be happy again. My brother saw to that.” He sighed. “Gravelle, you remember what he was like. You were around enough to know of the disaster he wreaked.”
“Ah yes. I’ve been forgetting to mention that I saw that girl, the one he took with Odeman…” Gravelle gave him a level look. “I am sure it was her. Pretty, blonde, and she had a little girl with her, bearing the same green eyes—”
“Where? Tell me where she is, Gravelle!” Graham bellowed at him, his heart pounding within his chest.
“What the hell? You’re as pale as a sheet.”
“The girl, Gravelle! Agnes. Where did you see her?”
“She’s at The Lion’s Crown with Jacobson. As his housekeeper. I thought you might know about it, considering your connections to Jacobso—”
“They are well?” Graham interrupted, almost afraid to ask.
“Quite well, from what I could tell. I think Jacobson’s besotted with her from all indications.”
Graham sat down shakily. “Praise God. Gravelle, this is the best news. Agnes and Clara, well and safe.” He stood up abruptly. “I must tell Imogene right away. Will you come, and speak of all you know?”
“What must you tell me?” Imogene asked charmingly, standing at the studio entrance.
Graham rushed over, embracing her. “Chérie, Agnes and Clara have been found.”
IT was decided that Graham would go to Stapenhill right away. Gravelle offered to accompany him in support, which was heartily accepted. Graham would have to be away from Imogene for a few days though. He didn’t like leaving her on her own with no other family present. She suggested Tristan might be willing to stay with her, and that they could use the time to collaborate on the fairy-tale paintings for the nursery.
“Where will Agnes go now?” Imogene asked directly. “Is it safe to have them so far away, Graham? They need protection. Who is to stop some other disreputable from trying to take advantage of her again?”
He kissed her on her forehead. “You are so wise and kind in your heart. And you are right, of course. For now, I would like to propose for them to come and live at Wellick. I have spoken to John, and he has agreed to take Agnes for nurse training at the hospital. A new home can be arranged for them in Wellick, and a nanny to care for the child when Agnes is doing her nursing and be a companion to her, if she agrees to it.” He tilted his head in question, wanting to know her true opinion. “What do you think, chérie? Does this all sound like a reasonable plan? I want your blessing in this.”
“And you shall have
it. Thank you, Graham, for sharing all with me. I appreciate your trust in allowing me to know about everything for I think you are doing the right thing.” She touched his face. “My husband is the best of men.”
He pulled her into his embrace fiercely, his voice breaking. “I will miss you so much. I want you to rest and not overwork yourself on the nursery. Please let Tristan entertain you. I’ve asked him to move into the house while I’m away. John and Philippa will visit on Thursday as well. Promise me you’ll take good care of yourself, chérie?”
“Of course I will, and you must do the same.”
He knew they were both feeling the pangs of parting on this, their first separation since their marriage. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything, chérie. And so this is the first time I must leave you. I hate that I must.” And he truly did hate it but duty called him and so he didn’t have a choice. Life was built from duty as he had learned from childhood.
“As do I, my darling. But, the sooner you go—”
“—the sooner I can return to you,” he whispered against her lips.
GRAHAM attempted to quell the dread weighing heavy on his chest. He had not seen Agnes for six years. His last image of her had been horrifying, with her traumatized and desperate to cover herself. He had been too enraged in his efforts to beat Jasper and Odeman down, and might even have killed them; he was so out of his mind. By the time Colin had pulled him off, Agnes had fled, and he had never seen her again.
Not a soul was in sight when they rode up onto the property and secured the horses. Entering the inn, Graham was surprised to find it so quiet. "Hello?" he inquired.
"Hello, sir." A beautiful child stepped out from behind the counter and stared stoically. “You have green eyes like me,” she said as she looked up at him.
Graham’s heart melted at the sight of her. There was no doubt in his mind that she was of his family blood. The resemblance was too strong. He bent down on his knee so he could speak to her close up. “You are Clara,” he whispered in awe.
