Read Online Shadows of Doubt by Elizabeth Johns - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Johns
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able to keep an impassive face. Hopefully they would not ask to see her work. She would never confess to painting Mr. Abbott.
"Run along then. We will chat when you return." The Dowager took a seat. “Oh, Gwen,” she called after her as she fished around in her reticule. “This is for you.” She handed Gwen a letter.
Gwen dipped a curtsy and hurried off to her room to read it. She felt the need to escape more acutely today. With her mother growing worse and no one to help her, she needed the brief reprieve. She did not know how she could handle the situation if she did not have the Dowager.
She took a seat and opened the letter.
Dearest Miss Lambert,
Do you miss me yet? I wrote this letter before I left, for I hope you will miss me dreadfully and long to have something to remember my unparalleled wit by. I am sure I am at this moment toiling away in the humid heat of Washington, dreadfully sunburnt and wrinkled. I will have by now rebuilt one wing of the house single-handedly, having felled each tree and hand-crafted each board with master craftsmanship. I will also perform the task of smithy and forge the nails with my bare hands. I would that I had your skill with paint and brush that I could capture my own work of art, for I am certain you imagine I exaggerate.
Yours,
Andrew Abbott
“I'm surprised he doesn't claim that as well. Silly man,” she said out loud, laughing. She penned a reply to send with the Dowager today.
Dear Mr. Abbott,
For shame. I never knew what I was missing before you upturned my world. Now I expect you to arrive my doorstep any moment with a grandiose plan for the day. Instead, I am ill-content to do my chores, if you can imagine. Caring for my mother is the only unburdensome part of my day, I cannot bring myself to jest of her. I fear she is weakening in mind and body and there is nothing to be done. I hope your hands have not become rough and calloused, but I confess I admire such a skilled man. In fact, there are many needs around here I will happily compile a list for your edification that you may complete upon your return. Do make haste.
Affectionately,
Miss Gwendolyn Lambert
She folded the note and readied it to send with the Dowager. Then she hurried with anticipation of painting a small portrait of Mr. Abbott. He had left six canvases of varying sizes, and she would use them sparingly to make them last. However, she could not help wanting to capture his likeness. She would likely not see him for a very long time—if ever again—and wanted something to remember him by when she was old and grey. She scoffed at herself: already an old maid!
She walked to one of her old favourite spots. One of the few places she had not been with Mr. Abbott. She trekked all the way down to the Avon and found a shady tree in the park where she set up her painting things. She had always adored water. Watching it run and sparkle had always been soothing to her. Another of Earth's majesties that many took for granted.
She quickly began to apply the paint lovingly over the charcoal sketch she had made of Mr. Abbott as soon as he had left. The likeness was remarkable, and made her heart clinch with aching as it longed for him. She must try to find a way to cease her thoughts and fantasies, for she knew nothing could come of them. She would hold onto that week with him fondly for the remainder of her days. Even if his offer was not a proper one, he had given her a momentary escape from the tedium of chores and invalidism. If only her heart had remained unaffected, the week would have been perfect.
She studied the blue eyes that held their signature twinkle, surrounded by long lashes and a few small scars he must have received in the wars. His nose was not perfect, but had a minor bend to it, and his mouth held a slight upturn to one side indicating his ready humour.
How she needed that humour right now. “Oh, Andrew,” she whispered his name intimately as she thought of him to
"Run along then. We will chat when you return." The Dowager took a seat. “Oh, Gwen,” she called after her as she fished around in her reticule. “This is for you.” She handed Gwen a letter.
Gwen dipped a curtsy and hurried off to her room to read it. She felt the need to escape more acutely today. With her mother growing worse and no one to help her, she needed the brief reprieve. She did not know how she could handle the situation if she did not have the Dowager.
She took a seat and opened the letter.
Dearest Miss Lambert,
Do you miss me yet? I wrote this letter before I left, for I hope you will miss me dreadfully and long to have something to remember my unparalleled wit by. I am sure I am at this moment toiling away in the humid heat of Washington, dreadfully sunburnt and wrinkled. I will have by now rebuilt one wing of the house single-handedly, having felled each tree and hand-crafted each board with master craftsmanship. I will also perform the task of smithy and forge the nails with my bare hands. I would that I had your skill with paint and brush that I could capture my own work of art, for I am certain you imagine I exaggerate.
Yours,
Andrew Abbott
“I'm surprised he doesn't claim that as well. Silly man,” she said out loud, laughing. She penned a reply to send with the Dowager today.
Dear Mr. Abbott,
For shame. I never knew what I was missing before you upturned my world. Now I expect you to arrive my doorstep any moment with a grandiose plan for the day. Instead, I am ill-content to do my chores, if you can imagine. Caring for my mother is the only unburdensome part of my day, I cannot bring myself to jest of her. I fear she is weakening in mind and body and there is nothing to be done. I hope your hands have not become rough and calloused, but I confess I admire such a skilled man. In fact, there are many needs around here I will happily compile a list for your edification that you may complete upon your return. Do make haste.
Affectionately,
Miss Gwendolyn Lambert
She folded the note and readied it to send with the Dowager. Then she hurried with anticipation of painting a small portrait of Mr. Abbott. He had left six canvases of varying sizes, and she would use them sparingly to make them last. However, she could not help wanting to capture his likeness. She would likely not see him for a very long time—if ever again—and wanted something to remember him by when she was old and grey. She scoffed at herself: already an old maid!
She walked to one of her old favourite spots. One of the few places she had not been with Mr. Abbott. She trekked all the way down to the Avon and found a shady tree in the park where she set up her painting things. She had always adored water. Watching it run and sparkle had always been soothing to her. Another of Earth's majesties that many took for granted.
She quickly began to apply the paint lovingly over the charcoal sketch she had made of Mr. Abbott as soon as he had left. The likeness was remarkable, and made her heart clinch with aching as it longed for him. She must try to find a way to cease her thoughts and fantasies, for she knew nothing could come of them. She would hold onto that week with him fondly for the remainder of her days. Even if his offer was not a proper one, he had given her a momentary escape from the tedium of chores and invalidism. If only her heart had remained unaffected, the week would have been perfect.
She studied the blue eyes that held their signature twinkle, surrounded by long lashes and a few small scars he must have received in the wars. His nose was not perfect, but had a minor bend to it, and his mouth held a slight upturn to one side indicating his ready humour.
How she needed that humour right now. “Oh, Andrew,” she whispered his name intimately as she thought of him to
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