Page 70 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
“Such a silly young thing. She’ll realize one day she’ll need more than a big red pout and skintight clothes to hold a man’s interest.” He shook his head. “Now, where were we?”
In addition to the Thornhills on the grand staircase, Gary had a long list of the Hall’s paintings, over sixty of them, ranging from Dutch masters from the 1600s, to those attributed to Joshua Reynolds, to ones painted last century. Real treasures, and definitely worthy of inclusion on a specific website page.
“Now, let me show you something I think you’ll find interesting.” He led her to the painting nearest the roped-off family bedrooms.
Her breath caught. If she’d been dressed in a white gown she might be looking into a mirror. The ethereal-looking woman had light brown hair, pale skin, and green eyes, her face shape not dissimilar to what Liv herself saw every day in the mirror. “Who is that?”
“The model is unknown but believed to be painted by Pre-Raphaelite artist John William Waterhouse, who painted the famous pictures of the Lady of Shalott and Ophelia.”
“I can see the resemblance.”
“So can we all,” Gary said, looking at her.
Her cheeks heated. The woman in the picture was beautiful, if not a little eerie, gazing soulfully out from the garden. At least she was fully dressed and not like some paintings of nudes. Liv peered closer, spying a silver bracelet. What attention to detail this artist displayed.
“Wouldn’t it be good to one day produce a guidebook and have some of these paintings included?”
Gary smiled. “I love how you’re always thinking so much more widely than we could imagine.”
“I think that’s part of my DNA. Or maybe it’s God. He’s all about doing things far above what we can plan or imagine.”
“Hmm.” His face faded, like the reminder of God was not to his cup of tea. “Well, I’ll send you a catalogue of all the paintings soon.”
“Thank you.” Another thing to add to the long list of things to do.
She returned downstairs, to the office she’d claimed as her own, her desk now covered in a rainbow of memos and to-do lists. Honestly, it felt like a scroll unravelling for all eternity. Things kept being added daily, and she had sticky notes galore covering the desk. Camilla had objected, saying the desk was an antique, but Liv had ignored her. Sticky notes broke down her lengthy lists into manageable portions. Bite-size portions, one might say. Enough for each day. Which was how she was trying to live, keeping her attention on those things she could do today, rather than forever worrying about the what-ifs of tomorrow.
“Knock knock.”
She glanced up. Some of the strain in her chest dissipated at this visitor. “Afternoon.”
“Is it?” George glanced at her phone. “Oh my gosh. Has that much time slipped away already?”
“Was there something I could help you with?”
“More like something I can help you with. Come see.”
“See what?”
“Ah, it won’t be a surprise if I tell you.”
She followed George into the Lady’s Parlour—devoid of visitors—and through the secret door into the family area. Then down the back steps into the drizzle and the courtyard. From here she could hear the sound of hammering going on, coming from … the gift shop?
George opened the door—it opened easily now—and waved a hand, like a game show hostess at the prize.
Liam glanced up from where he was building a new set of shelves. The open-backed, light-coloured timber shelves would help make the place look far more inviting, especially now that the walls had been cleaned. Warmer lighting helped make the space look far nicer too.
“I thought you’d be outside in the garden.”
“It’s too damp.”
“And he’s hiding,” George said. “Camilla doesn’t know he’s here, and we’re going to keep it that way for as long as possible.”
Liv chuckled. “You could just tell her to go away.”
“Unfortunately there’s a difference between telling someone that and them actually listening.” George glanced at her brother. “Although if you put her to work, you never know, she might get the hint.”
Judging from Camilla’s perfect manicure Liv had seen—which put her own stubby nails to shame—Camilla wasn’t used to physical labour. Maybe that was a “Good idea.”
