Second Sight by Amanda Quick

Caleb could see the small notice.
    Caleb picked up the paper and read the item aloud.

    Photographic Exhibition Held in Nocton Street
    On Thursday evening a large crowd filled the new photographic exhibition halls in Nocton Street. The pictures displayed were widely held by those present to be among the finest and most striking examples of the photographer’s art. Various traditional categories were represented, including landscape, still life, architecture and portraiture
    All were works of exceptional beauty and power, fully deserving to be hailed as High Art. But in this reviewer’s opinion, the pictures that most riveted the eye were the four photographs listed in the catalog as being the first in a series titled
Dreams.
    Although exhibited in the architecture category, the photographs are remarkable in that they combine portraiture, architecture and a metaphysical quality that can only be described as dreamlike. One of the pictures took first prize and deservedly so.
    Mrs. Jones, the photographer responsible for the winning picture, was to be seen in the crowd. She is quite new on the photography scene in London and she has met with nothing short of great success. Her list of clients already includes some of the most discerning members of Society.
    The elegant widow was dressed in deepest mourning, as is her custom. Her elegant black gown accentuated her lustrous dark brown hair and amber-colored eyes. Indeed, it was remarked by several of those present that the photographer is as dramatic as any of her photographs.
    Mrs. Jones’s touching devotion to the memory of her late husband, who perished tragically while the couple was on their honeymoon in the Wild West, is well known in photographic circles. The lady has made it clear that, having lost the great love of her life, she will never love again. All of her attention, sensibilities and emotions are now employed in the perfection of her art to the great benefit of connoisseurs and collectors.

    “Damnation.” Caleb looked up from the article. His already stern features hardened further. “Do you really believe that this is the same photographer that you employed to record the collection at Arcane House?”
    Gabriel crossed the library and came to a halt in front of the Palladian windows. He clasped his hands behind his back and studied the rain-drenched garden. “It could be a coincidence.”
    “I know how you feel about coincidence.”
    “I must be realistic. What are the chances that three months after Miss Milton was hired to photograph the collection at Arcane House, another lady with the same color hair and eyes has set herself up in the photography business in London? I knew Miss Milton was very excited by the size of the fee she received from the Council. I could see that she had plans for the money, big plans, although she did not confide in me.”
    “You can’t be sure it is the same photographer.”
    Gabriel glanced at the newspaper over his shoulder. “You read those comments. The critic called her work striking and powerful. He said it had a metaphysical quality. That describes Miss Milton’s pictures quite accurately. She is a brilliant photographer, Caleb. And then there is the business of the name.”
    “If you’re right, what would have induced her to change her name to Jones?”
     
    Perhaps she was pregnant with his child, Gabriel thought.
    The thought staggered him, triggering a surge of possessiveness and arousing protective instincts he had not even realized he had until that moment.
    On the heels of the possibility came another realization that made him deeply uneasy, it Venetia had taken his name to lend respectability to a pregnancy, she must be terrified.
    Me decided not to mention that potential problem to Caleb.
    “I can only assume that she concluded that she would be better off carrying on her career in the guise of a widow,” he said instead. “You know how difficult it is for any woman to conduct business or make a living