substitute.
Not a forgery, never a forgery, she would never have agreed to that. Her work was her own. But the authorities were not quite so understanding and with her unique portrait of Edward Longshanks, identical in every brush stroke to the original, she was left with no defence. She’d chosen the one painting that stood alone from the usual flat two dimensional works of the period. She’d chosen a painting that at the time of its creation would have appeared scandalous, heretic even. It had called to her in the strangest of ways and the image of the man beneath the crown, t he father and husband , had empowered her to produce her greatest work with uncanny ease. Her career in the art world was shattered along with her trust in mankind. She had seen the smug look on Will’s face when he’d left her to face the music. She’d crawled back to the home that had been hers since the death of her parents and grandparents. And she’d lived in that empty house, just her, the dog and a handful of chickens , until Fly had brought her here.
Chapter Twelve
She woke with a start, her cheeks wet with tears. The room was in near darkness with only the meagre firelight and one small candle struggling to illuminate the shadows. She watched the flickering light dance on the stone walls and took a moment to work out where she was. How strange this was, when she slept she dreamt of the real world and when she woke she was living a dream. Perhaps this was the real world after all? Maybe everything that had happened to ruin her life was merely a nightmare and she had finally woken from it.
She became aware of Edmund hovering at the open door and realised she’d been woken by knocking.
“My lady, we have food ready for yer to eat in the hall. May I escort yer ?”
Grace swung her feet carefully off the bed and tested her leg gingerly. She was cold and starving and would have hopped down the s tairs on one leg if necessary. “Thank you, Edmund, I could eat a horse!”
Someone had been busy in the hall Grace noted as she carefully descended the stairs, one hand securely gripping Edmund’s surprisingly strong arm. It had been swept of the foul smelling straw and the table was lit with candles and set with bowls and a large dish of roasted meat. The fire was well alight and stacked with logs which burned far better and gave out more heat than the broken furniture of her earlier effort. The hall looked more welcoming than when she’d first seen it. A scent of pine logs and wood smoke filled the air, it reminded her of village winters when the fires were lit as soon as the sun’s meagre warmth began to wain . She immediately felt homesick.
Miles rose from his seat at the table as she approached, pulling out a chair for her to sit. She avoided eye contact with him. His attempt at civility left her feeling awkward, as if they hadn’t just spent the last two days in varying degrees of hostility. She took her seat hesitantly. She felt grubby, her hair hung in greasy strands and she was aware of an unpleasant pungency. She would never have sat down to eat in such a state if she were at home. She would have bathed in a bubble bath up to her chin, then dressed in pyjamas and snuggled up with Fly on the sofa in front of the fire.
She cleared her throat. “I need to bathe, is that possible?”
Miles indicated with a slight nod of his head, a bowl of clean water and a cloth next to her on the table and Grace raised one brow questioningly.
“I was hoping for something a little larger?”
“For your hands, Mademoiselle,” replied Miles as he appraised her lazily. She wished he would stop. She wasn’t vain by any stretch of the imagination, but she was a woman and bedraggled to say the least. “I’ll bring something more adequate to your chamber later,” he added slyly.
She shot him an appraising look of her own. Two could play at that game, and quite frankly both he and the boy fairly reeked.
“Thank you. Don’t forget
Not a forgery, never a forgery, she would never have agreed to that. Her work was her own. But the authorities were not quite so understanding and with her unique portrait of Edward Longshanks, identical in every brush stroke to the original, she was left with no defence. She’d chosen the one painting that stood alone from the usual flat two dimensional works of the period. She’d chosen a painting that at the time of its creation would have appeared scandalous, heretic even. It had called to her in the strangest of ways and the image of the man beneath the crown, t he father and husband , had empowered her to produce her greatest work with uncanny ease. Her career in the art world was shattered along with her trust in mankind. She had seen the smug look on Will’s face when he’d left her to face the music. She’d crawled back to the home that had been hers since the death of her parents and grandparents. And she’d lived in that empty house, just her, the dog and a handful of chickens , until Fly had brought her here.
Chapter Twelve
She woke with a start, her cheeks wet with tears. The room was in near darkness with only the meagre firelight and one small candle struggling to illuminate the shadows. She watched the flickering light dance on the stone walls and took a moment to work out where she was. How strange this was, when she slept she dreamt of the real world and when she woke she was living a dream. Perhaps this was the real world after all? Maybe everything that had happened to ruin her life was merely a nightmare and she had finally woken from it.
She became aware of Edmund hovering at the open door and realised she’d been woken by knocking.
“My lady, we have food ready for yer to eat in the hall. May I escort yer ?”
Grace swung her feet carefully off the bed and tested her leg gingerly. She was cold and starving and would have hopped down the s tairs on one leg if necessary. “Thank you, Edmund, I could eat a horse!”
Someone had been busy in the hall Grace noted as she carefully descended the stairs, one hand securely gripping Edmund’s surprisingly strong arm. It had been swept of the foul smelling straw and the table was lit with candles and set with bowls and a large dish of roasted meat. The fire was well alight and stacked with logs which burned far better and gave out more heat than the broken furniture of her earlier effort. The hall looked more welcoming than when she’d first seen it. A scent of pine logs and wood smoke filled the air, it reminded her of village winters when the fires were lit as soon as the sun’s meagre warmth began to wain . She immediately felt homesick.
Miles rose from his seat at the table as she approached, pulling out a chair for her to sit. She avoided eye contact with him. His attempt at civility left her feeling awkward, as if they hadn’t just spent the last two days in varying degrees of hostility. She took her seat hesitantly. She felt grubby, her hair hung in greasy strands and she was aware of an unpleasant pungency. She would never have sat down to eat in such a state if she were at home. She would have bathed in a bubble bath up to her chin, then dressed in pyjamas and snuggled up with Fly on the sofa in front of the fire.
She cleared her throat. “I need to bathe, is that possible?”
Miles indicated with a slight nod of his head, a bowl of clean water and a cloth next to her on the table and Grace raised one brow questioningly.
“I was hoping for something a little larger?”
“For your hands, Mademoiselle,” replied Miles as he appraised her lazily. She wished he would stop. She wasn’t vain by any stretch of the imagination, but she was a woman and bedraggled to say the least. “I’ll bring something more adequate to your chamber later,” he added slyly.
She shot him an appraising look of her own. Two could play at that game, and quite frankly both he and the boy fairly reeked.
“Thank you. Don’t forget
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