Page 122 of His Greatest Treasure

It just meant that, without him, somehow I reverted to being… me. I got things wrong.

Kingsley grabbed one end of the frame and said to Matilda, “Grab the other end.”

They lifted it and I crawled free and stood, brushing myself off and wondering if I could look dignified again any time soon.

I was so used to everyone fussing over me, petting me and treating me like I was breakable that I actually stood there for thirty seconds, waiting.

Nothing happened.

Matilda and Kingsley lowered the frame to the ground with a soft bump and Matilda said, “I don’t think the portrait is damaged. The frame might be a bit chipped. Do you want us to turn it over and check?”

On the basis it was face-down, and I didn’t want to see my father’s cold eyes again, I shook my head. “No, leave it for now.”

And then I waited again, feeling strange.

Kingsley stood back and eyed me. His gaze was analytical and appraising as it scanned down my form, checking for injury.

“You hurt?” he asked at last.

“Only my pride,” I confessed.

He shrugged. “Glimmer won’t bitch at me so much for letting your pride get injured as he would if I’d let anything else bruise.”

I snorted out a laugh. He sounded so calm and practical. He didn’t seem mad at me at all for dropping that portrait and he wasn’t looking at me with pity, either. I turned to Matilda. She wasn’t even looking at me; she was studying the back of the portrait.

When she felt my eyes on her, she looked up.

“Oh, sorry. Are you okay? I thought you would be.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You know, we would have helped.”

“Helped?” I asked, as though the concept was totally foreign.

“Yes, to take the last Lord Somerville’s portrait down. Have you decided what you want your portrait to look like.”

“My portrait?”

Was it my imagination or was I echoing a lot of things today?

Matilda gave me aquizzical look.

“Your portrait to hang there,” she said, and pointed at the empty space on the wall. “Lord Somerville’s portrait always hangs there.”

“Oh, um, yes. That was why I took it down. I’m getting the space ready for me.”

Matilda nodded as though she believed me but Kingsley looked wryly amused. He was going to be annoyingly perceptive, wasn’t he?

“Would you like us to take the picture out of the frame, ready for storage?”

“Yes, would you? That would be great.”

That way, I wouldn’t need to look into those chilling eyes ever again.

With Kingsley and Matilda doing that, I hurried out of the grand hall and made my way up to Aunt Silvia’s studio. When I knocked, she called me inside and was engulfed in that smell of dry paint that always lingered there.

“What can I do for you, Alfie?”

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