added to Oliver’s opinion that George Turner possessed a balanced temperament.
Oliver took a sip from his cup of tea, noted it was made with the perfect ratio of milk, and then nodded. “The abbey is steeped in history and intriguing artifacts.”
The boy bit his lip. He glanced at his mother swiftly and then back to Oliver. “Do you know if there is a book written about the abbey’s history? I should like to read it if one exists.”
Another biscuit disappeared from the plate as Oliver weighed the value of his answer with the boy’s likely disappointment. However, disappointing the boy couldn’t be helped. “There isn’t one, to my knowledge. If there was, it is likely the former dukes destroyed it. They were intensely interested in preserving their privacy. Many things have been forgotten or hidden away.”
George’s face fell and Oliver was pleased to see he did not pout. He did lean against his mother’s side and took comfort from her embrace. “Guess I’ll never know who’s in the painting or where it was painted now,” he said to his mother.
Oliver frowned. “Is there one in particular that interests you?”
“The one in the other room.”
Oliver stood and returned to the other chamber, George scrambling to follow. When he’d been here before, his attention had been focused on the sleeping boy rather than the contents. There was only one painting, hanging opposite the mantel, so he didn’t have to ask for clarification. It was painted in the fashion of years gone by, a stable, lone horse, and a comely maid hugging a pail to her chest. Some might call it merely pretty. However, thanks to his unending memory, he knew the scene depicted a piece of Romsey history. “The stables of Romsey, as they were before the fourth duchess’s expansion changed them.”
George came to his side, staring up at the painting. “How can you tell?”
“There is a similar painting in the east wing. The rooms once belonged to my grandmother. Clearly she preferred the stables as they once were, too.” He leaned closer to the boy. “Given the maid’s appearance, I believe that could in fact be Her Grace dressed in disguise for the effect.”
“Gawd, you’ve a good eye for detail.”
Oliver smiled tightly. “I remember everything.”
His gaze moved to Elizabeth where she stood at the doorway, hands clenched at her waist as if she were uneasy. Her hands stretched toward her son. “George, that’s enough now. Don’t pester Mr. Randall with your chatter.”
George tugged on his sleeve and Oliver glanced down again. “Will you tell me more about the abbey another day? It must be exciting to know everything.”
Oliver considered the request. He did know quite a bit more about the abbey than most and he was happy to share his knowledge of some of the abbey’s history. However, he should tell a member of the Randall family first rather than an unrelated boy. Yet curiosity burned in the boy’s pale eyes and Oliver sympathized with George’s thirst for knowledge. Without sufficient encouragement, he could soon lose all interest and become disillusioned with study. The idea of a fine mind going to waste disagreed with him.
“Perhaps I misspoke. I don’t know everything,” he corrected. “I simply remember well what I’ve seen with my own eyes and I shall be happy to answer your questions where I can. Shall we meet tomorrow at ten?”
George almost danced on the spot. “Yes, sir.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose, highlighting that his agreement had surprised her. “Thank Mr. Randall, George, and then would you mind fetching my shawl from my bedchamber? I am feeling a little chilled this afternoon.”
“Yes, Mama.” George nodded to Oliver. “Thank you, sir. Excuse me.”
He skipped out, leaving them alone again.
Elizabeth closed the door, hands resting on the wood as if it held her up. “What game are you playing?”
He frowned. “I play no game.”
Her hands curled into fists as she faced him.
Oliver took a sip from his cup of tea, noted it was made with the perfect ratio of milk, and then nodded. “The abbey is steeped in history and intriguing artifacts.”
The boy bit his lip. He glanced at his mother swiftly and then back to Oliver. “Do you know if there is a book written about the abbey’s history? I should like to read it if one exists.”
Another biscuit disappeared from the plate as Oliver weighed the value of his answer with the boy’s likely disappointment. However, disappointing the boy couldn’t be helped. “There isn’t one, to my knowledge. If there was, it is likely the former dukes destroyed it. They were intensely interested in preserving their privacy. Many things have been forgotten or hidden away.”
George’s face fell and Oliver was pleased to see he did not pout. He did lean against his mother’s side and took comfort from her embrace. “Guess I’ll never know who’s in the painting or where it was painted now,” he said to his mother.
Oliver frowned. “Is there one in particular that interests you?”
“The one in the other room.”
Oliver stood and returned to the other chamber, George scrambling to follow. When he’d been here before, his attention had been focused on the sleeping boy rather than the contents. There was only one painting, hanging opposite the mantel, so he didn’t have to ask for clarification. It was painted in the fashion of years gone by, a stable, lone horse, and a comely maid hugging a pail to her chest. Some might call it merely pretty. However, thanks to his unending memory, he knew the scene depicted a piece of Romsey history. “The stables of Romsey, as they were before the fourth duchess’s expansion changed them.”
George came to his side, staring up at the painting. “How can you tell?”
“There is a similar painting in the east wing. The rooms once belonged to my grandmother. Clearly she preferred the stables as they once were, too.” He leaned closer to the boy. “Given the maid’s appearance, I believe that could in fact be Her Grace dressed in disguise for the effect.”
“Gawd, you’ve a good eye for detail.”
Oliver smiled tightly. “I remember everything.”
His gaze moved to Elizabeth where she stood at the doorway, hands clenched at her waist as if she were uneasy. Her hands stretched toward her son. “George, that’s enough now. Don’t pester Mr. Randall with your chatter.”
George tugged on his sleeve and Oliver glanced down again. “Will you tell me more about the abbey another day? It must be exciting to know everything.”
Oliver considered the request. He did know quite a bit more about the abbey than most and he was happy to share his knowledge of some of the abbey’s history. However, he should tell a member of the Randall family first rather than an unrelated boy. Yet curiosity burned in the boy’s pale eyes and Oliver sympathized with George’s thirst for knowledge. Without sufficient encouragement, he could soon lose all interest and become disillusioned with study. The idea of a fine mind going to waste disagreed with him.
“Perhaps I misspoke. I don’t know everything,” he corrected. “I simply remember well what I’ve seen with my own eyes and I shall be happy to answer your questions where I can. Shall we meet tomorrow at ten?”
George almost danced on the spot. “Yes, sir.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose, highlighting that his agreement had surprised her. “Thank Mr. Randall, George, and then would you mind fetching my shawl from my bedchamber? I am feeling a little chilled this afternoon.”
“Yes, Mama.” George nodded to Oliver. “Thank you, sir. Excuse me.”
He skipped out, leaving them alone again.
Elizabeth closed the door, hands resting on the wood as if it held her up. “What game are you playing?”
He frowned. “I play no game.”
Her hands curled into fists as she faced him.
Similar Books
