Page 57 of Romancing the Artist

They said no more while on the steps.

Her fingers grazed the stone wall as they made their final ascent into one of the oldest parts of the house. It hadn’t started as an attic, but as the third floor of the first castle. The ceiling arched above them, held in place by ancient timbers and expertly hewn stone.

The windows were large rectangles without glass. A servant had come ahead of them, sent by Lady Inglewood, to throw open wooden shutters and draw back thick, ancient curtains. The dust still danced in the air, lit by the late-morning sun.

Caroline’s breath caught as she surveyed a long, narrow room filled on all sides with boxes, furnishings, wardrobes, and empty frames.

Edward stood behind her, near enough she felt his breath against the back of her neck as he said, “This could take a while. Unless we have a treasure map.”

“The wardrobes,” she said and wished for a cup of tea. Her throat had gone dry, somehow. She didn’t shiver. Nor did she leap away from him. Caroline remained completely calm, outwardly. Inwardly, things were another matter altogether. Perhaps she ought to have waited for Lady Inglewood. “We might find old costumes there, Lord Inglewood said.”

Edward stepped around her, and only then did Caroline realize she’d turned into a statue of sorts. He went deeper into the room, the boards creaking softly beneath his feet. “You hoped for a toga? White sheets or drapes would capture that effect, would they not?”

“And a belt,” she added, finally stepping after him. “A dark cloak, too. Maybe some sandals. And sheets wouldn’t work. The cloth will need to drape a certain way to look right. I can only do so much with my imagination without seeing true folds and sensing the weight of the robes.”

He opened the first old wardrobe, a tall thing with a faded pattern painted along its doors. It smelled of lavender and dust. He reached inside and took out a bright green coat with gold embroidery on its cuffs and along the hem. “What in the name of all that is holy is this monstrosity?” he asked, holding it at arm’s length.

Caroline gasped. “Oh my goodness. The earl’s great-great grandfather wore that coat in one of his paintings. It’s in the family gallery.”

Edward shuddered and put it back inside, but his hand emerged again holding twin slippers he had taken from a shelf. They were a match to the coat, with thick heels of at least three inches height. He raised his eyebrows. “Was that earl’s great-great grandfather especially short?”

She snatched the shoes from him. “No, you silly man. All the gentlemen wore heels in those days. The French started it.” She placed them back on their shelf and then rifled through the rest of the fabric. “But we aren’t dressing you like a man from eighty years ago.”

“Thank goodness for that. Those shoes are a danger. I’d turn an ankle,” he quipped, and she darted him another annoyed look only to find him grinning at her. He stretched to take a box from the top of the wardrobe and brought it down, pulling the lid off and then slamming it closed again. “I found his wig.”

Unable to help it, Caroline burst into a fit of giggles. “No. Surely not.”

“I did.” He turned from her and opened the box, bent double, and then raised up again. He turned around, a massive white cloud of hair upon his head. The wig was impressive, or would have been were it not coming loose in several places.

“Oh, that’s terrible.” Caroline snickered and stepped back. “And it looks as though it’s as heavy as a sack of flour.”

“It’s quite comfortable, actually.” He grinned, and without warning started pulling his coat off. He had to raise his hand twice to steady the wig before he cast his coat aside, atop a chair missing one arm, and then went into the wardrobe to pull out the coat again. He put it on with ease, as it was quite voluminous. “There. What do you think? Forget painting Atlas. Turn me into a dapper gentleman from seventeen-hundred-and-fifty.”

Caroline laughed aloud and then tried to smother the sound behind her hand. “Edward, you look ridiculous. Take all of that off!”

“You don’t want me to try the shoes?” He feigned disappointment.

“No. Please leave the shoes where they are.”

“But what of the pantaloons?” He reached inside and pulled out a pair of the most ridiculous looking trousers she had ever seen. There were tassels at the hem. “I shall look like a gold-gilded lime.”

“A lime?” The image that conjured up in her mind nearly made Caroline fall over. But the color was right for it, and Edward laughed, too, before striking a heroic pose.

“There now. See. If I stare off into the distance, I am the very picture of a hero, am I not? Admiral Nelson, Herakles, that George Washington person the Americans are always going on about—”

“Edward, stop.” Her lungs were beginning to ache with her effort to stifle the laughter that kept coming, especially when he held a hand over his eyes and pretended to be staring off into the distance. Heroically. “You are too horrid. We have work to do.” She came forward and held her hands out to remove the wig herself, still giggling.

Edward bobbed his head away. “You will spoil all my fun, Cara. I must try the shoes!”

The use of a name she hadn’t heard since leaving her family startled her. “What did you say?”

He grinned. “I will wear the shoes.”

He hadn’t realized what he called her. She glowered at him. Fine. She wouldn’t bring his attention to it. But those shoes…

“Absolutely not.”

“I shall.”