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CHAPTERNINETEEN
Rain poured down in droves. Edwina found herself restless by midmorning the next day. Fergus remained holed up in his study with Simon, catching up on days’ worth of business. Her book could not distract her, so she wandered the halls, stopping at each window to peer into the fog that had descended over Hillow House.
The whole house stayed quiet. After breakfast, all the servants seemed to disappear, occupying themselves with quiet chores elsewhere. Edwina moved from room to room, wondering how she could entertain herself.
After her venture with the flowers, the gardener and housekeeper managed to keep every vase in the house filled with fresh blooms. They took care of it, so she did not have to. While she appreciated it, she struggled to think of what else to do. She had never really enjoyed embroidery or other needlework nor did she have paints. She missed the days when she could sit by her father’s side, handing him tools as he worked.
When she stepped into the parlor, she felt a pause, wondering why the room still felt so lifeless. Looking up the walls, she remembered noticing that the hall was empty of art. Surely there should be portraits for a dukedom of as long a lineage as Hillow. She should have seen something of the Duke’s parents or at least his forefathers. Perhaps the art had been stored somewhere as there were no paintings, no décor of any type on the walls.
Wandering the halls, she looked in linen cabinets and storage rooms on the upper floors until she came to the attic. She had never ventured into an attic before, not even at Haverton House, and her heart hammered in her throat though she could not tell why. Pushing the door open caused a waft of dust to fill the air, and she coughed, covering her mouth.
From the dust, she knew no one had ventured into the attic for many years. Light streamed in from vents under the rafters, but she could not see much into the dark corners under the steep roof. So she walked forward carefully, the beams groaning under her steps.
A pigeon took flight over her head, startling her into a shocked cry. She looked around, wondering how the bird made it into the attic. Her heart thumped in her chest, and she paused for a moment, trying to steady her nerves. After she calmed slightly, she looked around again.
There were a few crates, some old furniture, and unused candelabras strewn across the attic floor. However, a stack of frames caught her eye, leaning against a column. There had to be dozens of all shapes and sizes. Hurrying to the stack, she flipped through each painting. One caught her eye, a portrait of a woman with a baby in her lap and a boy standing by her side. The gold plate on the frame read, “The Duchess of Hillow with her sons, Alasdair and Fergus.”
Her heart leaped, seeing Fergus as a baby, his eyes painted piercingly blue. The woman had the same eyes. There was no denying the woman was his mother. Determined, Edwina pulled the frame from behind the others, despite its weight. She tried to blow some of the dust off, and the cloud came up on her face, making her cough again.
The painting must have measured three or four feet tall and only slightly narrower in width. Edwina grasped either side of the frame and took a few steps with it before she had to set it down again. Finally, after several tries, she managed to get it to the top of the stairs. With a sigh, she looked down the steep staircase, wondering how best to get it down. She knew she probably should call for a servant, but afraid they would dissuade her, she hefted the portrait again and carried it down, taking painstakingly one step at a time.
When she reached the upper floor, she made the same attempt with carrying the portrait down to the lower levels, determined to bring it to the parlor to herself. However, she had broken into a sweat once she reached the lowest floor. Panting, she rested at the bottom of the back stairs, only for a maid to stumble upon her.
“Your Grace, do you need help?” the girl asked, shocked. “Did you carry that yourself?”
“Yes,” Edwina gasped, waving her hand like a fan in front of her face. “I want it brought to the parlor.”
“Let me get help!” the maid cried, turning.
“No!” Edwina protested. “No, please, I think you could help me just get it a little further.” The maid hesitated, looking down the hall.
“Just grab the other side, and I shall take this one,” Edwina told her, taking one side of the portrait for example.
The maid caved, taking the other side of the painting like Edwina asked. They shuffled into the parlor in far less time than Edwina would have managed on her own. Laying the painting against a wall, Edwina stepped back, putting her hands on her waist to take a deep breath.
“My, it is filthy!” the maid exclaimed. “Let me get my dusting cloth.”
She hurried from the room, leaving Edwina to study the portrait again. Fergus’ mother was beautiful and had a kind smile on her lips. On the other hand, both boys looked terribly serious, staring back out of the portrait with stern expressions. She wondered if they just wanted to look respectable for their portrait or if both Fergus and his brother had been serious children since childhood. The maid quickly returned and immediately started dusting the frame of the portrait. Edwina stood watching while she kept trying to cool down.
“Should we have this hung up somewhere?” the maid asked as she finished.
Edwina looked around the room, trying to imagine where the portrait would look the best. Finally, she pointed to an empty portion of the wall. “Over there, perhaps.”
“Let me get a footman,” the maid recommended, hurrying from the room again, taking her dusting supplies with her. Edwina only had to wait a moment before the maid returned with a footman.
She watched with amusement as the footman and maid tried to hang the painting, bantering quietly with each other as they worked. They tried not to let Edwina hear them by whispering and giving each other looks. She became so engrossed in watching them that she did not hear steps behind her.
“There!” the footman said, turning to Edwina as he asked, “How does that look…” His face fell as he turned, morphing into a look of horror. Edwina spun around to face Fergus.
“Care to explain to me what is going on?” he asked her coldly, his blue eyes piercing into her. The maid and the footman dipped quickly from the room, leaving Edwina alone to face the Duke.
“What are you doing?” he asked more sternly. She panicked, not considering that the Duke might get angry at her for hanging the portrait. Of course, she thought there had to be a reason the paintings were stashed away in the attic, hidden, but his anger surprised her.
“Darling, I just could not help it,” she breathed, trying to smile. She looked back over her shoulder at the painting. “I found it in the attic, and it was just too precious not to bring back out.”
“Why were you in the attic?” he demanded.
“I was bored,” she confessed, trying to maintain her sunny disposition. “With the rain, I felt trapped indoors. I was just exploring.”
