Page 70 of The Gentleman Was Right
Belinda gestured to the painting. “It’s finished.”
“And if I had wanted to share it, I wouldn’t have covered it and placed it in the corner.”
“If you didn’t want anyone to look at it, you wouldn’t have left it out at all. You know as well as I do how easy it is to hide a painting.” She tapped on her chin. “I’d be willing to bet every single member of our family has taken a peek since you shoved it in the corner. I caught Louisa staring at it just yesterday.”
His shoulders fell, and his expression turned almost weary. “You’re right. I could have packed it away. It’s just—I haven’t painted much lately, and I suppose that I’m proud of it.”
“You should be. It’s gorgeous,” Violet assured him. Whatever challenges she was wrestling with internally, she couldn’t allow him to doubt his talent.
The tips of his ears turned an unexpected shade of pink. “Thank you.”
Their eyes locked.
Time slowed.
Thankfully, Belinda coughed, and they both blinked, dropping their gazes to the floor.
Violet couldn’t remember the last time she’d been truly embarrassed, but she felt heat rise into her cheeks. If Belinda hadn’t coughed, Violet might have stared at him all night.
“You should take it with you,” Belinda said.
“Yes,” burst from Violet’s lips.
“You should display it,” Belinda added.
Violet nodded, but Edward only shrugged.
He’d said he was proud of the painting, so why wasn’t he excited to take it and display it? She started to ask but realized the tightness in her chest had receded somewhat during their conversation, and she was loathe to say anything that might bring it back.
“I’ll need to wrap it up if I’m going to transport it,” he said.
“That’s easy enough,” Belinda agreed.
As he started preparing it to travel, Violet considered where they ought to hang it.
Ultimately, their bedchamber seemed like the best option. It was the only place where she could stare at it without interruption.
ChapterTwenty-One
Violet peered at her reflection in the mirror the next morning and was not at all impressed by what she saw. Her gown hung loosely off her shoulders, hiding her body to the point that she appeared almost shapeless. The pleasing shade of green that it had once been had faded to the color of murky pond water while the frayed cuff on her right arm gave the illusion that she either didn’t care how she looked or couldn’t afford to freshen her wardrobe.
The fact that neither was true hardly mattered.
Looks could be deceiving.
Or they could be telling.
Her sister and her husband had tried to tell her how dull her wardrobe made her appear, and she’d unfairly snapped at them both. She’d been going through the motions for so long, she’d stopped caring how much of her vibrancy had been lost. Or how much she’d changed. The intolerable way she’d allowed herself to be diminished by Basil’s faithlessness stopped now.
Attempting to bring some color to her pale skin, she pinched her cheeks, but the touch of pink it yielded was not much of an improvement. She might never be a beauty, but her current blandness was unacceptable. The fact that her appearance so often matched her mood was equally deplorable.
She had let Basil win for too long, and because she had, she hadn’t appreciated herself like she deserved. In turn, she hadn’t made the effort to appreciate Edward as he deserved. She wasn’t sure exactly how she was going to fix the damage she’d caused, but she knew where she was going to start.
With herself.
She stripped her gown off and dropped it at her feet. Her chemise was not in better condition than her gown, so she added it to the growing pile on the floor. When she was bare, she stood shivering in the cool air as she studied her reflection again.
Her paleness was somehow less offensive when it wasn’t being leached away by the dull fabric of her gown. Reaching up, she released the pins that held her hair in a tight knot at her nape, and it tumbled around her shoulders, loose and heavy. The lack of color in her skin made the red of her hair seem even more vibrant than usual, and now that her slight curves were visible, she looked more like a woman than a shapeless log.
