stand. “We won’t be long.”
“See that you’re not.” Bennett took out the yo-yo to pass it from hand to hand. “Dinner’s in an hour.”
“We all know your priorities, Ben.” Eve bent to kiss his cheek before she left the room.
“I could use a walk myself.” Rising, Alexander nodded to Reeve. “I’ll help you round up the children.” They were barely out the terrace doors when a servant appeared in the doorway.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness. A call from Paris.”
“Yes, I’ve been expecting it. I’ll take it in my office, Louis. If you’ll excuse me, Lady Hannah.” Taking her hand, Armand bowed over it. “I’m sure Bennett can entertain you for a few moments. Bennett, perhaps Lady Hannah would enjoy seeing the library.”
“If you like to look at walls of books,” Bennett said when his father was gone, “you can’t do much better.”
“I’m very fond of books.” Taking him at his word, Hannah rose.
“All right then.” Though he could have thought of a dozen better ways to while away an hour, he took her arm and led her through the corridors.
“It’s difficult to believe that the museum could have finer paintings than you have here in the palace, Prince Bennett.”
“Le Musée d’Art has a hundred and fifty-two examples of Impressionist and Postimpressionist paintings,including two Corots, three Monets and a particularly fine Renoir. We’ve recently acquired a Childe Hassam from the United States. In return my family has donated six Georges Complainiers, a Cordinian artist who painted on the island in the nineteenth century.”
“I see.”
Noting her expression, Bennett laughed. “As it happens, I’m on the board of the museum. I may prefer horses, Hannah, but that doesn’t preclude an affection for art. What do you think of this?”
He paused in front of a small watercolor. The Royal Palace was beautifully, almost mystically painted. Its white, white walls and turrets rose behind a pink mist that enchanted rather than concealed the building itself. It must have been dawn, she thought. The sky was such a delicate blue in contrast to the deeper sea. She could see the antiquity, the fantasy and the reality. In the foreground were the high iron gates and sturdy stone walls that protected the palace grounds.
“It’s beautiful. It shows love as well as a touch of wonder. Who was the artist?”
“My great-great-grandmother.” Pleased with her reaction, Bennett drew her hand into the crook of his arm. “She’d done hundreds of watercolors and had tucked them away. In her day, women painted or drew as a hobby, not as a profession.”
“Some things change,” Hannah murmured, then looked back at the painting. “Some things don’t.”
“A few years ago I found her work in a trunk in one of the attics. So many of them had been damaged. It broke my heart. Then I found this.” He touched the frame, reverently, Hannah thought. She looked from his hand to his face and found herself caught up in him. “It was like stepping back in time, generations, and discovering yourself. It could have been painted today, and it would look the same.”
She could feel her heart moving toward him. What woman was immune to pride and sensitivity? In defense, she took a small step back. “In Europe, we understand that a few generations are only a blink in time. Our history stands before us, centuries of it. It becomes our responsibility to give that same gift to each new generation.”
Bennett looked at her and found her eyes almost impossibly deep. “We do have that in common, don’t we?In America, there’s an urgency that can be exciting, even contagious, but here, we know how long it takes to build and secure. Politics change, governments shift, but history stands firm.”
She had to turn away from him. It would only cloud the issue if she thought of him as a caring, sensitive man rather than an assignment. “Are there any others?” she said with a nod toward the
“See that you’re not.” Bennett took out the yo-yo to pass it from hand to hand. “Dinner’s in an hour.”
“We all know your priorities, Ben.” Eve bent to kiss his cheek before she left the room.
“I could use a walk myself.” Rising, Alexander nodded to Reeve. “I’ll help you round up the children.” They were barely out the terrace doors when a servant appeared in the doorway.
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness. A call from Paris.”
“Yes, I’ve been expecting it. I’ll take it in my office, Louis. If you’ll excuse me, Lady Hannah.” Taking her hand, Armand bowed over it. “I’m sure Bennett can entertain you for a few moments. Bennett, perhaps Lady Hannah would enjoy seeing the library.”
“If you like to look at walls of books,” Bennett said when his father was gone, “you can’t do much better.”
“I’m very fond of books.” Taking him at his word, Hannah rose.
“All right then.” Though he could have thought of a dozen better ways to while away an hour, he took her arm and led her through the corridors.
“It’s difficult to believe that the museum could have finer paintings than you have here in the palace, Prince Bennett.”
“Le Musée d’Art has a hundred and fifty-two examples of Impressionist and Postimpressionist paintings,including two Corots, three Monets and a particularly fine Renoir. We’ve recently acquired a Childe Hassam from the United States. In return my family has donated six Georges Complainiers, a Cordinian artist who painted on the island in the nineteenth century.”
“I see.”
Noting her expression, Bennett laughed. “As it happens, I’m on the board of the museum. I may prefer horses, Hannah, but that doesn’t preclude an affection for art. What do you think of this?”
He paused in front of a small watercolor. The Royal Palace was beautifully, almost mystically painted. Its white, white walls and turrets rose behind a pink mist that enchanted rather than concealed the building itself. It must have been dawn, she thought. The sky was such a delicate blue in contrast to the deeper sea. She could see the antiquity, the fantasy and the reality. In the foreground were the high iron gates and sturdy stone walls that protected the palace grounds.
“It’s beautiful. It shows love as well as a touch of wonder. Who was the artist?”
“My great-great-grandmother.” Pleased with her reaction, Bennett drew her hand into the crook of his arm. “She’d done hundreds of watercolors and had tucked them away. In her day, women painted or drew as a hobby, not as a profession.”
“Some things change,” Hannah murmured, then looked back at the painting. “Some things don’t.”
“A few years ago I found her work in a trunk in one of the attics. So many of them had been damaged. It broke my heart. Then I found this.” He touched the frame, reverently, Hannah thought. She looked from his hand to his face and found herself caught up in him. “It was like stepping back in time, generations, and discovering yourself. It could have been painted today, and it would look the same.”
She could feel her heart moving toward him. What woman was immune to pride and sensitivity? In defense, she took a small step back. “In Europe, we understand that a few generations are only a blink in time. Our history stands before us, centuries of it. It becomes our responsibility to give that same gift to each new generation.”
Bennett looked at her and found her eyes almost impossibly deep. “We do have that in common, don’t we?In America, there’s an urgency that can be exciting, even contagious, but here, we know how long it takes to build and secure. Politics change, governments shift, but history stands firm.”
She had to turn away from him. It would only cloud the issue if she thought of him as a caring, sensitive man rather than an assignment. “Are there any others?” she said with a nod toward the
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