Chapter Eighteen

Mixed feelings plagued Garrett at the thought of spending the morning with Natalie. Being near her, but unable to touch her, would be…frustrating. Staring into his coffee, he pictured Natalie as she’d been last night, sweet and trusting, leaning against the tree. Her skin beckoned him, invited him. One taste would never be enough.

So soft. So fragrant. So enticing.

When he’d first laid eyes on her, over two years ago, he’d made the judgment that she must be one of the most pampered and selfish debutantes of the season.

Ah, but he’d been wrong. She worried she had been selfish to insist upon a marriage that would meet her needs. As beautiful on the inside as the outside, she was smart and compassionate and sweet.

And yet, to even consider a future with her was impossible. Having come to this conclusion, he did not wish to listen to her laugh, or smell her hair, or touch her hand. He needed no further reminders of her feminine delights.

They had finished breakfast and were now headed upstairs.

And of course, her dress caressed and molded itself to her body while she walked in front of him.

Garrett had another reason for dreading this morning’s task. Dredging his mother’s artwork up, after all these years, gave him a somewhat sickening feeling. The reason for this eluded him.

He hadn’t looked at the paintings when he’d retrieved them from his mother’s agent. They’d been gifted to him, put into trust by her. Just after he’d come of age, a solicitor had contacted him. He’d been ordered to give the paintings to her child when he reached his majority.

As though she had known she was going to die.

For a storage fee, Garrett had left them in care of the solicitor until a few years ago, when the man himself passed away. Reluctant to store them at Maple Hall, Garrett had quickly accepted when Stone offered to keep them here, at Raven’s Park.

Since the day he’d been notified of this strange inheritance, he’d felt a dread at opening them—as though he would be opening a door to the past—a past that included his father. Was he perhaps afraid to find that his mother might have been as insane as her husband? She’d married the man, after all. She’d borne his father a son. It had been the very last thing she’d done on this earth.

Garrett dismissed his misgivings as Natalie led the way. She knew where they were stored and strode purposefully through the corridor. Garrett vaguely remembered assisting in their placement, but that had been some time ago, and he could not remember the exact location of the room. When they reached the door, he waited in the corridor while Natalie turned the knob and pushed it open. The ladies entered first. Holding a large crowbar in his right hand, Garrett followed hesitantly. Lady Ravensdale had offered to send a servant along to assist, but Garrett would open them himself.

He found it oddly comforted that he was not to do so alone.

He stepped into the room and paused as Natalie opened the thick drapes blocking the morning sunlight. Lady Eleanor removed a dust cover from a high-backed brocaded seat and perched herself on its edge. Looking at him, she nodded encouragingly.

Taking a deep breath, Garrett examined the nearest wooden crate. It was one of the larger ones but opened easily when he pried at the seams. With one corner dislodged, Garrett pulled the wood away and leaned it against the wall. He then unwound the burlap cloth that had been wrapped around the cargo so very long ago. Was his mother the last person to have touched these contents? He inhaled deeply, thinking there might be a hint of her perfume, something of her person. But all he could smell was dust and paint. What had she been thinking when she’d stored these items? Did she know she would not live to know the child she carried?

The first painting appeared to be a rendering of Hyde Park in the springtime. Abstract colors, chosen by the artist, softened the realism. Garrett’s eyes drank in the image. It was as though the woman who had been his mother could finally share this memory. Natalie walked over to the painting and knelt on the floor to get a closer look. She reached out a tentative hand and touched the frame.

“Oh, Garrett, it’s stunning.” Her voice fell to almost a whisper.

Forging ahead, Garrett moved the painting and leaned it against the wall. Natalie rose again and removed the burlap from the painting behind it.

“Oh, that is the one!” Lady Eleanor cried out. “That is the one I told you about, Natalie. Notice the life in it. I’ve always remembered how this painting made me feel. It is as though she were painting the colors of the sun itself, during autumn. You think you ought to be able to smell decaying leaves. It is so…alive.”

The large lump that formed in Garrett’s throat threatened to choke him as he uncovered the paintings. All in all, there were over twenty, each of them a great work to be appreciated. These were created by his mother. His mother! His initial reaction of a connection with his long-deceased mother was gradually replaced with a sense of awe.

She was not only an artist; she’d been a genius.

Natalie opened the last container, a trunk, and after removing a few gowns, pulled out some stacks of paper. “Oh, look, here are some drawings of people—portraits. Such talent, Garrett!”

Lady Eleanor had been staring at one of the paintings, but upon hearing Lady Natalie’s words she walked over to look through the drawings. Grasping one of them with shaking hands, she let out a soft exclamation, “Oh, Arthur!”

Natalie examined the portrait. “Do you know him, Lady Eleanor?”

The older woman blinked back tears. “My brother,” she said. “He is Arthur, my brother.”

Sifting through the papers, Natalie placed several of them atop a table near her. “There are others of him, Lady Eleanor. All of these! They are all portraits of your brother!”

Garrett peered over Natalie’s shoulder to get a better look at the drawings. They were all of a young man in several different settings, drawn from different angles.

“He was very handsome, Aunt,” Natalie said as she examined a few of them. And then she jerked back and hastily stuffed the rest of the pages into the bottom of the trunk. Lady Eleanor did not notice. She simply gazed at the first couple of pages, perhaps lost in her memories.

“My dear Arthur,” she said softly, touching the drawing as though she could caress the face of the man within it.

Garrett retrieved the stack Natalie had discarded. The portraits were of the gentleman in the nude. He smiled for the first time that day. No wonder she’d put them down so quickly.

“What happened to your brother, Lady Eleanor? Why would Lady Hawthorne make so many renderings of his likeness?” Natalie asked the questions before Garrett even considered them.

Lady Eleanor found the chair she’d uncovered earlier and sat heavily upon it. Looking at Garrett, she hesitated before speaking. “Before Lady Cordelia married Lord Hawthorne, she and my brother had formed an attachment.”

Natalie regarded one of the drawings with a perplexed frown marring her smooth forehead. “What happened, do you know?” Natalie prodded Lady Eleanor.

“Arthur was killed.” She stared at one of the drawings and brought one trembling hand to her mouth. “I have not seen his likeness for so many years. And it is such a wonderfully accurate likeness.”

Garrett stepped forward and crouched in front of the older lady. She was quite shaken by this discovery. He’d not realized that there had been such a connection between his mother and Lady Sheffield’s family. It made him feel closer to the elderly lady somehow. “Would you like to keep them?” He indicated the drawings. “They are of more value to you than to me.”

She reached out her hand to touch him on the cheek. “You are such a dear young man. Cordelia would have been so very proud of you.” And then, before he could feel awkward, she dropped her hand. “I would be grateful to keep a few.” She turned back to the drawings and pulled out three. “Just these, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“It is my pleasure to give them to you.” His sentiments were sincere. Lady Eleanor did not have a great deal of family left. He was glad to give her such a touching reminder of her brother.

Blinking, Natalie made a fuss of brushing the dust from the front of her dress. “I believe that is everything. Shall I send for some manservants to repack these?”

Garrett considered the room’s contents. “No, I’ll see to them myself.” In fact, he needed to spend time with the paintings alone. He reached out and grabbed Natalie’s wrist to keep her from hurrying away. “Thank you.” He wanted her to know he was glad she’d been with him today. He held her gaze and hoped she understood.

With a rueful smile, Natalie nodded slightly. “Thank you for sharing them with me, with us.” Lady Eleanor stood by the door. Natalie pointedly glanced at her wrist and, feeling reluctant, Garrett released it.

When she reached Lady Eleanor, Natalie took the older lady’s arm and then turned back to Garrett for a moment. “I will have somebody come, after a while, to see if you need any additional supplies.”

And with that, she took her leave.

After the door closed, Garrett sat on the chair vacated by Lady Eleanor. He looked around at the amazing artwork his mother had left to him and wished that instead he could have known her. The paintings, though, made her seem more real to him than ever before. His father had ordered portraits made of her so Garrett knew what she’d looked like, but these paintings, they were a part of who she was. She’d poured herself into this work. She’d loved nature and the passionate wildness it possessed. She’d seen the world in a unique light, in unique colors.

Remembering something important, Garrett turned back and held up one of the gowns which Natalie had set aside. He unfolded it so that the hem fell to the ground. The dress consisted of ivory satin and lace, with tiny pearls decorating the neckline and bodice. Was this her wedding gown?

Garrett brought the garment to his face and inhaled deeply, again hoping to catch a lingering scent of the perfume she might have worn.

It smelled of camphor and decay.

The lump in Garrett’s throat won. He sat down and allowed something to break inside him.

He wept.