While she managed the lamp, he grabbed for his tools, flipped the painting over, and carefully worked the canvas free of the framing. “I left a mark. The tiniest of marks.”
“Because you were that good,” she teased.
He grinned up at her.
“How confident of you.”
He studied the edges, talking. He’d mimicked the colors and brush strokes. He knew Lopez de Arteaga’s work, knew the Seville school. He’d seen it once in Mexico, before coming to England. The patina was worn, but the painting had suffered rough handling, so it might still be his.
Finally, he set the painting down and shook his head. “It’s not my work.”
“It never was your work, Fox. Your work has far more—”
“It’s the real painting. It’s the original.”
Her heart fell. “She swapped them.” Perry swallowed hard.Oh, Mama.
She reached for the painting. The canvas felt heavy in her hands.
Perpetua, the glowing noblewoman, knelt looking heavenward, while her darker-skinned maid, Felicity, joined her in prayer from her place in the shadows. In the ultimate sacrifice, saintly, loyal, Felicity had refused freedom, had surrendered herself to the Roman persecution.
Mama couldn’t even give up this dark somber painting to save Father.
Or Fox.
She squeezed her eyes against the tears that welled. Fox had been trapped by his loyalty, by his love for her mother. He’d been used and almost killed by the French so many years ago, by Carvelle the month before, by Sir Richard today.
The painting slipped from her grip and his arms came around her.
Her heart pounded so fiercely,Fox could feel each beat, and her silent sobs rattled against him.
He’d accepted the likelihood of Lady Shaldon’s betrayal years ago. It was all too fresh for Perry, but she would sooner or later, forgive her mother.
Perry pushed away from him and wiped her eyes. “I’m so very sorry, Fox.” She sniffed and swiped at her nose. “How you must hate us.”
“No. Never.”
She sucked in a deep breath and winced.
“You need rest.” He glanced at the bed. Farnsworth had at least made it up.
He led her to the bed but she stopped, digging in her heels.
“Fox.” She took his hand and looked up at him. “I release you from any promises. I’m ashamed that I forced your hand after the comfort you gave me. It was wrong of me.” She shook her head. “You don’t want to marry. I won’t be that selfish.”
“You don’t want to marry me?”
“Oh.” She gasped. “More than anything.” She blinked out tears. “You’re right though. I don’t care about theton, but I also want Father’s blessing.”
He dropped to his knees and her eyes widened. “Then, Perpetua Everly, will you marry me? I’m confident your father has already come to terms with the idea.”
“Oh,” she said again. “May we live here? Or…do you want to return to America?”
She would miss her family if they did. And, he…well, he’d been gone from his home almost half his life.
“Home will be where you are, Perry.” He got up, led her to the bed, and seated her there, then he pulled the knot loose on her belt. “Now are you going to say yes?”
“Oh.” She pushed him back and climbed upon him, and he was lost.
