EDWARD BUILT ME A HOUSE. A COZY COTTAGE filled with plenty of light for his studio, out in the country, so I could have my own garden. He told me that Thomas had given him the land and the old farmhouse, and that it was to be used for the brotherhood. However, the way things were going within the brotherhood, Thomas had decided it would never be used for a studio. So he gave it to Edward, telling him to consider it a wedding gift and maybe allow him to come take walks in the woods out back from time to time.
Edward was determined to make us a beautiful home, but it was costing more than we had, and soon worries over finances began to take their toll on our marriage.
My husband was a proud man and his concerns over how to complete his vision for the house and take me on the travels he’d promised caused his creativity to suffer, rendering him unable to paint, unable to regain his passion. Eventually his despondency affected our intimate life.
Our lovemaking turned stilted, less spontaneous. It made me feel less attractive. I tried everything to encourage him. “It’s only temporary, Edward. You’ll get your spark back soon enough.”
“How do you know, Sara?” he asked me one night. “Maybe I’ll never get that spark back. I don’t know where things have gone wrong.”
“You have me.” I smiled, curling my hand over his naked thigh.
He brushed my hand away. “Do not mock me, Sara, this is serious. If I cannot paint soon we may lose everything. There’ll be no money left. Then what kind of husband would I be?”
“It will be all right, Edward.” I snuggled close to his back, but lay awake wondering if I should try to find employment. I could not speak to Edward about such things. It would wound his pride. Despite my efforts, he grew more distant each day.
One morning as we ate breakfast in the sunroom, he announced that he’d been invited to go to India with a few members of the brotherhood.
“Well, I suppose that would be fun. Perhaps we should try to have someone stay here while we’re away,” I said, silently wondering where we would find the funds to pay for such an exotic venture.
“It’s just me going, Sara. They agreed to pay my way as long as I agree to pay them back after my next sale.”
“Oh, I see.”
He continued. “I think this is what I need. It will help me to be amongst other artists right now. I am hopeful I will gain back my creativity, my perspective.”
“Of course. And what shall I do while you’re off searching for your perspective?” I asked, staring at the garden.
“I have thought of that.” He gently put his teacup down.
“I’m listening.” I kept my eyes on the garden.
“Look at me, Sara,” he said quietly.
I looked at him, seeing a man that stress had aged.
“I don’t like the idea of you out here alone while I’m away.” He hesitated as if choosing his words carefully. “I’ve heard from some of the brothers that Thomas is despondent. Grace says that—”
“You’ve seen Grace?” I asked, wondering when…or, God forbid, how long he’d been seeing her. “Edward, I don’t understand any of this—”
“I went to see Thomas at the studio, to see how he was faring in view of the backlash from the critics. Grace happened to be there, cleaning. She’s been cooking for him. He doesn’t look good, Sara.”
“Thomas will find a way,” I said. “There are few obstacles that stop him when he wants something badly enough.”
Edward stared at me briefly before he continued. “I invited Thomas to come stay here while I’m away. It would provide you with companionship and, maybe out here, he could get the rest he needs, go for his walks—maybe he could get his inspiration back.”
“Why doesn’t he just go to India with you?” I asked, finding this whole conversation strangely surreal.
“The newer members don’t want him along this time. They say he’s gotten too rebellious, even for the brotherhood.” Edward buttered his toast. “I owe him a great deal, Sara. I don’t have much, but I can offer him clean air and sunshine. You know how he loves to stomp about in the woods.”
I stared at him. “So, you’ve already invited him?”
He smiled and took my hand.
“I’ve not been a very good husband to you, Sara. I realize this. But it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t do whatever it takes to make you happy.”
“What are you saying, Edward? That I would be happier with Thomas?”
He shook his head, brushing his thumb back and forth across my knuckles.
“No, my love. But I know that you were happy when you were posing for him. Perhaps he can offer you right now what I can’t.”
“Can’t, Edward? Or won’t?” I stood and pulled my hand away.
His eyes remained on his plate. “You cannot give, Sara, what you do not have. That is what I am hoping to recapture.” He touched his napkin to his mouth. “It’s settled. Thomas will be here tomorrow. Now I must go and get my things packed.”
The next morning, I stood in the foyer as Edward arranged his bags and waited for the carriage that the brotherhood had sent to fetch him.
“Are you certain about this?” I asked. “You could stay. We could take walks, maybe go to town and take in the theater. You’d find your inspiration, surely.”
He offered me a smile but his eyes were filled with sadness. “I’ll miss you very much, Sara. However, I think it’s best for both of us. Something is off-kilter, and I suspect it is me, and not you. You are as curious and insatiable as ever. I’m not entirely sure I have given as much in this marriage as you have given to me.”
I hugged his neck as the carriage came up the lane. “Don’t say that, Edward. I love you, I do.”
He eased me away from him, opened the door and bent to pick up his bags, only to set them down again.
On the other side of the door stood Thomas. I barely recognized him. His face was gaunt, and dark shadows rimmed his eyes. Nevertheless, he offered us a weary grin. “Splendid, I was afraid I’d miss saying goodbye.” The two men embraced. We’d not seen Thomas since we settled the deed on the property just after his return from Rome.
“Thomas, my old friend,” Edward said, reaching out to him. “I’m glad you came. You’ll be a good man and watch out for Sara while I’m away?” He picked up his bags and carried them to the waiting coach. “Get a lot of painting done. The exhibition looms, as you know.”
Thomas raised his hand briefly. “You have a wonderful time and don’t worry about Sara.”
I ran to the coach and held my husband’s hand. “Edward, are you sure?” I pleaded once more.
“Take care, Sara. I’ll be home before you know it.”
I watched his smile, the one I’d come to cherish, disappear as the carriage took him away.
“So,” Thomas said, coming to stand beside me.
“So,” I replied, staring after Edward’s coach. A pointed and uncomfortable silence followed. I had not been keen on the idea of inviting Thomas to the house for reasons I was too uncomfortable to face. “Tell me what have you been working on?” I smiled brightly. I realized the absurdity of my query. Was he not invited here to rekindle his passion for painting? I cleared my throat. “Forgive me, Thomas, I have not spoken to you in some time.”
He studied the ground. “I haven’t spoken to anyone in the brotherhood these past few months. Watts and Woolner are busy with their work. Grace tolerates me as much as possible, helping me with cooking and cleaning, but I’m not good company of late. In fact, before I came here we had yet another squabble, damn if I can remember now what it was about.”
I smiled. Despite his appearance, his voice was calm, self-assured as always. “Of course, Thomas. We’ll get you back to your old self again, and maybe it will inspire you to paint.”
I glanced at the speck on the horizon that was my husband. I knew how Thomas could be when he painted and I was keenly aware of my vulnerability just now. Edward’s loyalty to Thomas was a bond that reached perhaps beyond our marriage.
“Are you well, Sara?” Thomas’s hand lightly touched my shoulder, startling me. He pulled it away and my eyes snapped to his.
“You seemed so far away just now.”
“I miss my husband.” I miss the sex between us. I reprimanded myself silently and started inside. He followed me into the house.
Thomas stood in the foyer of the cottage, his brown curls cropped shorter than I remembered. His face was unshaven and he appeared a bit older, a bit thinner, but at that moment, with how I felt inside, he looked wonderful.
“Do you prefer Mrs. Rhys or Sara?” he asked, shifting his bags to his other hand.
I searched his eyes, looking for some semblance of the passion I’d once seen in them, but they held no gleam of wickedness, of vivid imagination. It was as if his fire had been snuffed out.
“Call me Sara, as you always have, Thomas. Now, Edward mentioned the exhibition. Is that what I’ll be sitting for?”
He offered a mediocre laugh. “You don’t really expect me to answer that now, do you? I’ve only just arrived and I want to hear how married life is treating the two of you. Imagine my shock at returning from Rome to find you already married!”
I smiled. “Very well, Thomas. I’ll have Bertie bring us tea in the library. In the meantime, you can take your bags to your room. It’s up those stairs, the second door to the right.”
He regarded me for a moment. “You are still as beautiful as the day I met you.”
I clasped my hands tightly and smiled, choosing not to respond to his comment. “I’ll see you in the library.”
I sat as far from him as space in the library would allow, trying not to think of the fact that we were alone in this house for the next few weeks. Thomas took his cup and leaned against the windowsill.
“How is Grace? You mentioned a disagreement.” It was a mindless conversation. I sipped my tea and stared out the window, reminiscing about the rainy afternoons when Thomas and I would break for tea. Then he would sit beside, nudging and teasing me until tea turned into a passionate tryst. “It eases my tension,” Thomas would say, “and I daresay it puts color in your face, Miss Sara.” He would laugh and then paint like a mad man.
“I’m afraid Grace acts rather overprotective of me at times. Probably because we’ve known each other for so long.” He shrugged. “She’ll be angry with me for a while, but eventually she’ll forgive me.”
“I hope the tension with her hasn’t affected your creativity.”
“No, it’s not Grace. I haven’t painted in weeks.” He glanced outside.
“What do you suppose the problem is?” I asked. As I watched him leaning against the windowsill, my marriage vows warred with my loneliness. God help me, I could still remember the first time that Thomas touched me….
His eyes met mine. Here was a man who made his living putting souls on canvas for all to see. I pondered not being able to use the gift God gave you, the torment he must feel.
“I suppose I’m getting older. I cannot lie though, Sara, the critics hound me incessantly. They seem to revel in slamming everything that I do. It has become exhausting. I fear I am losing the fight.”
It hurt me to see his confidence reduced to average. He’d once been so passionate about his calling, ready to set the world on its heels. Thomas Rodin was anything but average.
“You’ve always had critics, Thomas. They’ve not bothered you as much before.” I stood and filled his teacup. He touched my arm.
“Come sit here beside me, Sara. I have missed these conversations between us. You always helped me put things into perspective. We are still friends, aren’t we? That hasn’t changed because of your marriage.” He patted the cushion.
I was reticent but conceded. Holding my teacup primly in front of me, I perched on the edge of the seat. He still smelled of sandalwood and soap, which I found comforting. “Yes, we are friends, Thomas.” I smiled at him and went back to my tea.
He quietly cleared his throat as if about to approach a sensitive subject, or perhaps my nerves were simply on end. “You and Edward seem quite content.” He looked around the room. “You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you, Thomas. It wouldn’t be possible without you.”
“It sounds like it wouldn’t be possible without your husband’s backbreaking work.” He smiled.
“True, I am a very lucky woman.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help with the design. I’ve been struggling with my creativity, battling with the critics as always.”
“Edward got on well on his own.” I prattled on telling him that my husband had graciously sacrificed a full month of painting to finish the cottage so we could move in. “Then he focused on the details inside and, unfortunately, he became absorbed with that instead of balancing his painting with the construction. I hope that this trip will rejuvenate his creativity.”
“Always the perfectionist, that Edward,” Thomas commented. “Careful eye to detail…at least in most things,” he added, glancing at me over the rim of his cup.
Edward’s attention to detail was something I’d long admired about him, but today Thomas’s comment made it sound more personal. My cup rattled as I set it on the plate. I didn’t realize how my hand trembled, nor did I understand why I felt the need to defend Edward, especially to Thomas.
“So you are happy, then?” he asked, walking to the window once more.
“Yes, Thomas, we are.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “No, I asked if you were happy, Sara.”
I stared at him, knowing to lie was pointless. By now, Thomas had to understand how strange it all looked. “My husband has just left for a four-week trip to a foreign country.”
“And he didn’t ask you to join him, did he?”
The direction of his questioning left me feeling unsettled. “I’d rather talk about your painting, Thomas. Did you bring your supplies? Your easel?”
I stood, carefully placing my cup on the tray. Thomas set his next to mine. I sensed Thomas standing close and images of the carnal passion we once shared, before Edward, before my marriage vows, flashed in my mind. Did Edward truly love me, or was I just a prize to be won from Thomas?
“I am certain he was thinking only of your welfare, Sara. Now if you’ll show me where it is, I can set up my studio. I find myself anxious to baptize this house with the scent of linseed and turpentine.”
“Of course. Edward felt the sunroom would suit you best. He said it should offer you plenty of light.” I walked ahead of him, waiting as he gathered his belongings. “Edward said, ‘You know how Thomas is about his light.’” My focus fell to his broad shoulders and lean hips as he stooped to pick up his bags.
His eyes met mine and as if he knew where my focus had been, he offered a slight smile. “In here.” I hurried on ahead, making my way in haste through the parlor and the dining room to an archway at the other end of the house. Three of the walls were windows and beyond was my precious garden, where I spent much of my time. “The ceiling, I’m afraid, is lower than what you are used to, but I think you’ll find the room suitable for your needs.”
He hadn’t spoken. I turned around to face him. “Will this do, Thomas?” He stared at me, his eyes glittering… Were those tears? I couldn’t think of a time when I’d ever seen him weep.
“Thomas?” I took a step and forced myself to stop. “What is it?”
His eyes drifted shut and he breathed deeply, as though absorbing his surroundings. “I am eternally grateful to the both of you. I have no idea how I shall ever repay you.”
I tried not to let shock register on my face. This was a different Thomas Rodin—vulnerable, exposed. He was not the brash and reckless man with an effervescent charm I was used to. “Thomas, it is Edward and I who should be thanking you for your generosity. Whatever we can do to help, we’re here for you.” I wrapped my arms around him and he laid his head on my shoulder like a child and quietly sobbed.
After a time, he whispered against my neck, “Thank y
ou.” A kiss followed on my cheek as he brought his hands to my face. He placed another kiss on my forehead.
“You have no need to fear me, Sara. I am here only to reclaim my joy in painting and to care for you in the absence of my dear friend.”
I nodded, keeping my eyes downcast, not trusting myself to look at him, to get any closer to that mouth.
“Thomas—”
He lifted my chin, his eyes searching mine.
“You do believe me, don’t you? I would do nothing to jeopardize your marriage.”
My gaze dropped to his lips, the same that I had kissed many times before. How would I be able to resist him under the same roof? I knew it was wrong to dwell on it, but my own husband had planted the seeds in my head. I stepped away, straightening my hair. “I must see to dinner, Thomas. Please make yourself at home.” I hurried off before the simple act of friendship turned into something more.
Chapter 10
THREE-AND-A-HALF WEEKS. I WAS BEGINNING TO feel skittish, worried that I’d not yet heard back from my husband and tempted more and more by the way Thomas looked at me when he didn’t think that I noticed. His appearance was improving each day and the fire that had once burned in his eyes had reappeared. My traitorous memory could not forget the passion of his touch, his avid attention to all things carnal, the way he once made me feel alive.
I had purposely avoided his presence as much as possible, keeping occupied with sewing and reading—relieved that Thomas had not yet required me to sit for him.
“Any word from Edward?” Thomas came into the library, his hair damp and tousled from his morning bath. He wore a shirt loose over his trousers, and his feet were bare.
“Not yet. You don’t think anything has happened, do you?” I glanced at him as I walked to the window. I wrung my hands, trying not to imagine why I hadn’t heard from Edward. Was he thinking of me as much? Did he miss me? Thomas seemed to sense my concern.
“It’s not easy to get mail out in some of those remote areas,” Thomas offered. “Try not to worry.”
I shook my head. “I am certain he is capable of taking care of himself, Thomas. It’s just that—”
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