Shadows of Doubt by Elizabeth Johns Read Free Book Online Page A

whatever you choose.”
    “You shall find yourself with a picture not fit for a nursery wall, sir.”
    “Yes, well, one must have to have a nursery to worry about that.” He coughed into his hand and feigned great interest in her picture.
    She selected Indian yellow, ceruse white and black lead and began mixing the colours with the oil and turpentine. She started over several times, but finally settled on a mixture. She then mixed ultramarine blue with chalk and began the sky. When the brush hit the canvas, she found her rhythm. He was right.
    ***
    Was he out of his mind? Andrew sat back on the blanket and watched Miss Lambert work. She was the most exquisite being he had ever seen and she was completely engrossed in her art, ignoring him. That was not how he had envisioned the day, but she was happy. He watched her transform as she took the brush in her hand; she was radiant, confident, and smiling. And that made him happy. When he could no longer take it, he paced around her for a while and, eventually, he sorted through the basket of food and found some fruit he could distract her with.
    He waved a strawberry in front of her mouth and had to shove it in to get her attention.
    “Oh! Thank you,” she said with the berry lodged in her teeth.
    “I thought you might be hungry,” he said sheepishly and shoved his hands in his pockets.
    “I am, actually. I have not yet breakfasted.”
    “Take a break and eat.”
    “Why thank you, Master,” she said coolly.
    She eyed the canvas, which was now a muddle of blues, yellows and greens.
    “I suppose a few minutes won't hurt. It will allow the initial layer to dry a bit.”
    He helped her take a seat on the blanket and began to fill a plate for her.
    “How much is there left to do?”
    “Several hours’ worth.”  
    Hours? So much for this brilliant idea. He wanted her to pay attention to him. He was desperate.
    “I see.” He must have frowned.
    “Oil paintings are not normally painted in a day, Mr. Abbott. I am doing my best to use thin layers, but most oil paintings do not fully cure for years, decades even.”
    “Decades?” he asked in astonishment.
    “I only need to outline the buildings, and the rest I will finish at home after this layer dries.”
    Thank God.
    “You must be bored to tears. You needn’t wait here with me.”
    “Not at all. I am fascinated. But will it be ready in time for my departure?”
    “I will do my best.”
    “Why is this one of your favourite places to paint?”
    She looked towards the magnificent structure, “I suppose the challenging façade with its iconic columns, defying the bounds of symmetry, standing tall in grandeur over the valley. I normally prefer natural landscapes, but I confess a weakness for Palladian structure.”
    “Then Bath should be your heaven on Earth. I will have to remember that when rebuilding the plantation house, so if you ever visit you will wish to paint it.”
    “If I ever have cause to visit, I will happily paint it.”
    “I can give you cause.”
    Her eyes met his in question for a moment and flickered with some unrecognized emotion, but then she averted her eyes. Her pulse beat strong in her neck and a flush crept over her visible skin, yet she remained silent and looking away. Did she not welcome his attentions? Had he been too bold? He was not one to waste time feeling self-conscious, but her response mattered to him very much.  
    After a slightly awkward pause, she spoke. “I envy you, Mr. Abbott.”
    “That is something I’ve not heard before.”
    “I suppose not in the way you imagine, but to be able to pick and go anywhere you choose at any moment.” She began to stand and he rose to help her.
    “It has its benefits. For instance, when my sisters or grandmother suddenly have brilliant plans for me.”
    She picked up her brush and dipped it in the paint. “Such as escorting a poor relation about town,” she said with a smile.
    “I refuse to countenance that remark. Besides, I would