Page 21 of Things We Do for Love and Science
“One of the most famous painters of her era. She was from Switzerland originally but lived and worked all over Europe, including England.”
“Pretty valuable piece of art then, wouldn’t it be?”
He laughed. “I can guess the direction your thoughts are taking, but even if I have to leave this house with nothing but the shirt on my back, I will not sell the two Kauffmanns.”
“Two?”
“Yes, the one next to his, Emmy’s portrait, is also painted by her.”
Delia moved to the painting of a tall, redhaired woman in a dusky blue floor-length gown of classicist silhouette. Her hair was piled up in a shower of curls, her neck adorned by the hessian emerald and diamond necklace, and soulful brown eyes gazed warmly at the viewer. “Wow. She was a beauty.”
He smiled. “You wouldn’t sell those two either, would you?”
“I suppose not, if I were able to imagine ever owning anything as beautiful or as valuable.”
They continued to stroll along the gallery, he detailing the odd colorful incident in this or that ancestor’s life and she following along. Most Renwoods were rosy, well-fed, and plain, but every couple of generations, the line produced a stunning creature like Edwin or, it had to be said, Gabriel.
Strange to think these pieces of art depicted his actual relatives—the gallery was one lavish family album.
“I can’t get my head around the fact that you’re related to all these people.” She bit her lip. That sounded stupid.
“Well, ah, I don’t have any emotional connection to most of them.” They came to stand before the portraits of a handsome couple in their forties. “Except for these two, of course,” he said, his voice small and low. “Delia, meet my parents, George and Julia Kirwan.”
Moved by the sadness in his eyes, she squeezed his upper arm. He was the last in a long line of Renwoods, and the burden of saving the family seat rested solely on his shoulders. “I’m sorry you lost them so early.”
He turned to her fully and took both her hands in his. “Thank you for your friendship.”
Caught in his intense gaze, she was lost for words.
“I, ah...” She pulled free from his grasp and walked over to his portrait. “Any Irish blood in the Renwood family?”
“Not that I know of.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
“Your surname, Kirwan, one of the fourteen tribes of Galway.” Didn’t he know any of the history? His family name was common enough in Ireland.
“A tribe of Galway?”
“Yes, the Kirwans were Normanized Irish Gaels. I have an Irish granny, in case you’re marveling at my in-depth knowledge of Connaught surnames.” She left it there. No need to go into detail about how much she admired his Celtic coloring.
The patter of raindrops on glass panes made her aware of the change in the weather. She turned to the window facing his portrait and pressed her palms on the marble sill. “It’s lashing out there. Good thing our painting session was early today.”
“We have great timing.” He studied her face and didn’t make any move to end her visit.
Her heart thumped a little faster. She pushed away from the sill. “I’d better get home. There’s a pile of assignments I need to mark for tomorrow. Would you mind leading the way? I’ll never find the vestibule on my own.”
A warm laugh rolled from his throat. “No problem. Follow me.”
