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"I would not say you are entirely helpless," Jonathan corrected and, placing a bookmark in the book he had been reading, he laid it on the nearby bedside table and stood up.
"What are you doing?" Gabriel asked curiously when his brother travelled across the room to the mahogany desk and pulled open the top drawer to remove some paper. He returned to the bed with the wooden writing tray, an inkpot and quill, and of course, the paper. Carefully, he laid it upon Gabriel's lap and suggested, "I think perhaps it is time you write her a letter."
"How am I to do that?" Gabriel protested, lifting the broken arm that was still tightly bandaged with a fresh cloth that had been changed just that morning.
"You have been stuck in bed for more than two weeks now," Jonathan stated. “You have done nothing but moan about being unable to do anything and now I give you the opportunity and you shove it back in my face.”
Gabriel opened his mouth to protest that it had not been his intention to do so, but his brother raised a hand and shook his head to stop him. "Do not give me excuses or apologies. Just give it a go. I shall even dip the quill for you."
With that, Jonathan gripped hold of the quill from its rest and dipped it in the inkwell. Stroking off the excess, he held it out for Gabriel to take. For a moment, all the earl could do was stare at it. Then, finally, he took it, though not before he noticed his brother's fingers. Around his fingernails were the remnants of colour that he had obviously failed to scrub off.
"You have started painting again," he commented, even as he took the quill awkwardly in hand. "Might that have something to do with a certain friend of Miss Julia's?"
Though his voice was lightly teasing, Gabriel was quite relieved to see the remnants of paint upon his brother's fingers. It had been a long time since he had seen it, not since Jonathan's paintings had begun to gain traction and notability and he had hated the attention and hung up his paintbrush.
Remembering the smile on his brother's face in the gallery that night at the musicale when he had seen his own painting hanging in an English home, hundreds of miles from where he painted it, Gabriel could never understand why his brother had ever given up.
"She has inspired me, yes," Jonathan responded, though it was clear from the redness in his cheeks that he was slightly embarrassed by the fact. He quickly shoved his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat, as if to hide them and the fact they were stained with paint.
"In truth, I never imagined one could find such inspiration here in England."
Gabriel scoffed at his brother's words because it turned out that he felt exactly the same way. Ever since he had met Miss Julia, it had become more and more apparent that England had far more to offer him than he ever could have imagined before setting sail from Italy. Though then he had never imagined himself becoming an earl quite so soon, either.
"Will you give to her whatever it is you have painted?" Gabriel enquired with a raised eyebrow. He was more than a little curious as to what kind of painting she might have inspired his brother.
"I have not yet decided," Jonathan replied with a shrug, still looking somewhat uncomfortable. "I fear nothing could compare to the work she has already seen."
"Then maybe you ought to have told her that painting had once belonged to you," Gabriel suggested, inhaling deeply at his brother's lost opportunity. "Better yet, that you were the reclusive and annoying, sorry, anonymous artist."
The two brothers laughed together at that and for the first time since he had become an earl, Gabriel felt as though he was truly connecting with his brother. For so long, both of their minds appeared to be too far into protecting themselves and dealing with all the new rules they had to follow.At least one good thing has come from my accident,he thought, though his heart still ached at the loss of his father's pocket watch.
Determined not to let his emotions get the better of him, he asked his brother, "Have you seen her recently?"
"Who?" Jonathan questioned, looking stunned as though he had been lost in his own thoughts.
"Your inspiration," Gabriel responded, clucking his tongue against his teeth.
"No, not since our walk," Jonathan admitted, and it was clear that the answer pained him as much as it had Gabriel upon remembering the last time he had seen Miss Julia.
"Then perhaps I might have an excuse for you to do so," Gabriel offered with a smile and, delicately, he began to write.
Chapter 10
It had been weeks since Julia had laid eyes upon Lord Sutthers or his brother. Though she had heard about the earl's accident, she did not think it nearly bad enough to warrant that she had not seen him even in the bookstore or in town while she and Chelsea had been Christmas shopping.
Yet rumours continued to circulate that the earl was still bedbound, and she grew more and more apprehensive that maybe it was just an excuse to hide from her. After all, the last time they had laid eyes upon each other, he had kissed her in such a passionate way that she could not have misunderstood his intention.
Oh, how I long to kiss him again,she thought with a great and powerful exhale as she sat in the window seat of the drawing room with the very same John Locke book resting in her lap. Somehow she felt as though the book itself was keeping him close to her and whenever she fingered through the pages, she remembered the note that had fallen out of them.
She was absentmindedly gazing out of the window, one hand stroking the pages of the book while her chin rested upon the other, when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a commotion coming from the townhouse next door. Though at first her view was obscured by the thick foliage that grew between the houses, she sat up and caught sight of her best friend hurrying down the steps, wafting what looked like a cream envelope in her hand.
"Hey, watch where you are going!" a poor gentleman exclaimed as Chelsea barged right past him on her way to Julia's door. Feeling her friend's excitement, almost as though it were her own, Julia placed the bookmark in her book and clambered from the window seat. Racing from the drawing room, ignoring the exclamation of a passing maid, she raced to the front door to answer it before her friend could even knock.
Chelsea did not look entirely surprised to see her standing there when she finally arrived at the top of the porch steps, looking flustered and out of breath.
"I… I have word from… from Mr. Tatford!" Chelsea stuttered as she almost doubled over to try to catch her breath. Excitement surged through Julia anew and she helped her friend into the house with her arm slipped into hers.
They had barely sat back in the drawing room, once more on the window seat, when Julia insisted, "Well, what is it? What news have you?"
