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“Ana was about to tell me about Nigel Rougeau.” That made Ana look up.
“She was the one who found the box,” he explained.
“We weren’t trying to pry, I swear,” Patience said. “I put the box on the bureau while I was organizing your drawer and Nigel—the cat—knocked it on the floor. We saw the name when we were picking up the mess. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, dear. It was probably Nigel’s way of demanding attention.” Ana gave a long, sad sigh. “He never did like being kept a secret.”
She meant Nigel Rougeau. Realizing this, Stuart and Patience exchanged a look. Apparently cats and their namesake shared personality traits after all.
“Maybe it’s time I told our story,” Ana said, smoothing the sheets again.
“Should I leave?” Patience asked. “Let you talk about family business...”
“No, dear. You can stay,” Ana told her. “You’re like family.”
Stuart could tell Patience was still wavering, so he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the chair next to his. “Please stay.”
She looked down at their joined fingers. “This is okay, too,” he said. “She knows.”
“Oh.” The blush returned.
“Nigel loved when women blushed. He used to say every woman’s cheek has its own special shade. He was a painter I knew in Paris.”
“You were his model. The painting on the wall.”
“He and I preferred the term muse. Our relationship was far deeper than artist and model.” She sighed. “He had such talent.”
The reverence in her voice took Stuart aback. “Why didn’t you mention him before?” he asked. Why keep a man she so clearly worshipped a secret?
“Some things are too painful to mention.” Next to him, Patience stiffened. They both understood all too well what Ana meant. “You don’t have to tell us now, either,” Patience said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “We’ll understand.”
“No, I want to. I’m sure he’s furious that I’ve stayed quiet this long.” Ana spoke in the present tense, as if he were in the room with them.
“We met the summer I graduated high school. I was on a grand tour, being bored to tears with tours of cathedrals and palaces and had sneaked away to see some of the more forbidden parts of Paris. Instead, I met Nigel. It was love at first sight. When the tour moved on, I stayed behind.”
Her voice grew gravelly. Stuart reached over and poured her a glass of water. As he handed the drink to her, he saw her eyes had grown wet. “We were going to do great things in the art world. He would paint, I would be the inspiration. The Diakonova to his Salvador Dali.”
“What happened?” Patience asked. The two of them leaned forward, curious.
“Your grandfather happened, of course. You know our parents passed away when I was a child.” Stuart nodded. Losing your parents young seemed to be Duchenko tradition.
“Because he was the eldest, Theodore became my legal guardian. When he found out Nigel and I were living together—Nigel considered marriage a bourgeois institution—he went crazy. He flew to Paris to ‘bring me home.’ Said he would not allow his seventeen-year-old sister to ruin the Duchenko name by living in sin with some two-bit, fortune-hunting painter. I always wondered whether if Nigel had been more successful, if Theodore might have had a different view.”
She paused to take another drink before continuing. “And then, he saw Nigel’s work.”
“The painting hanging in the studio.”
His aunt gave a wistful smile. “That was one of so many studies. Nigel was a student of the human form and being his muse...”
“He studied your form the most.” Patience’s comment earned a blush. It was the first time Stuart ever saw his aunt color in embarrassment.
“Your grandfather was doubly furious. He told me in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t come home and live like a proper lady, he would destroy Nigel’s career before it had ever started.”
Patience gave a soft gasp. “Surely, he didn’t mean...”
“I’m sure he did,” Stuart replied. “Grandpa Theodore could be ruthless when he wanted to be.” Didn’t matter who was involved. His sister, his grandson.
Reading his mind, Patience squeezed his hand, the gesture replacing the emptiness inside him with warmth. Grateful, he pressed her fingers to his lips.
“What did you do?” he asked Ana, knowing the answer.
“What could I do? I was only seventeen. If I refused, it would be the end of Nigel’s career, and I couldn’t do that to him. He was born for greatness.”
