that if I looked for long enough I would be able to figure it out."
"Did you figure it out, then?"
"No. And that's the thing; no one will ever figure it out. But we'll all keep looking and wondering."
For a moment Caroline looked at him . "That's what I've always thought great works of art should do. It's not the painting or the sculpture itself that matters; it's what the work encourages the viewer to feel."
If he'd tried to have this conversation with any of his siblings—even Eleanor—they would have laughed or come to the conclusion that the Mono Lisa must have reminded him of some chit he'd pursued. Not only did Caroline Witfeld listen, though, but she also understood. And at the moment, he very much wanted to kiss her.
"Oh, oh!" Sally Witfeld struggled to sit upright while her daughters piled a mountain of pillows behind her. "I saw… I had a vision that Lord Zachary was safe."
"He is safe, Mama," Violet said, patting her mother's hand. "He carried you upstairs."
"Such gallantry! Girls, isn't he gallant? And so strong!"
And he'd nearly broken his damned back . Zachary stepped forward. Time to do his part for Witfeld family harmony. "I'm pleased to see you're recovering, and I apologize if I distressed you." He glanced sideways at Caroline. "The trip from London tired me more than I realized, and I badly needed some fresh air."
"Poor lad," Aunt Tremaine said succinctly behind him, but he ignored her. Except for Caroline and Anne, no one could hear his aunt anyway with all the commiseration going on, and they knew the real story.
He sketched a quick bow. "And now if you'll excuse me, I have a dog to see to."
That was only one of his tasks this afternoon. He also had to come up with a campaign to render seven—no, six—rather silly sisters marriageable.
Harold still pranced about the garden. He was easy to track; small piles of uprooted flowers followed a rough line around the entire perimeter. In the south corner, his valet tugged on one end of a branch while the dog yanked at the other.
"Reed!" Zachary called, and the valet straightened.
"My lord! This… I'm sorry, my lord, but if you insist that I continue to watch over this animal, I must regretfully tender you my resignation."
"What? Nonsense. You've dealt with me for years. A dog is—"
"My lord, with all due respect, I do not think that is a dog. It is a demon. And I—"
Awkwardly Zachary put a hand on his valet's bony shoulder. "No worries, Reed. Go inside and have a cup of tea; I'll see to Harold."
"I will understand, sir, if you don't want me to continue in your employ."
"I don't intend to speak of this again. Harold is in need of some instruction. I will give it to him, and until then any and all nonsense from the dog is my fault; not yours. Is that clear?"
"Y-yes, my lord. Thank you."
Once the valet had gone, Zachary looked down at Harold. "You nearly cost me a fine valet," he said.
Harold wagged his tail and woofed.
"Yes, that's all well and good, but we are going to get some things straight. Come along."
He patted his thigh, leading the way across the garden. When he turned around, though, Harold's face was buried in a loose pile of daisies.
"Harold, no!"
The dog looked up at him, wagging again. This was going to be interesting. He'd trained horses to race, but they'd already been broken to the saddle and knew right from left and how to trot and gallop on command. Harold obviously knew nothing about being a proper dog.
"Come here, Harold. Come." He patted his thigh again.
This time he wasn't even surprised when Harold rolled onto his back and kicked his feet in the air. Damnation. When Melbourne had told him to get a dog, he'd been so angry and frustrated that he'd gone to the first source he'd thought of: Lord Rothary and his hunting bitch, who'd apparently gone off with a neighbor's mutt. It hadn't even occurred to him that the unwanted pup would be completely untrained. So now he had two problems—an untrained dog, and a
"Did you figure it out, then?"
"No. And that's the thing; no one will ever figure it out. But we'll all keep looking and wondering."
For a moment Caroline looked at him . "That's what I've always thought great works of art should do. It's not the painting or the sculpture itself that matters; it's what the work encourages the viewer to feel."
If he'd tried to have this conversation with any of his siblings—even Eleanor—they would have laughed or come to the conclusion that the Mono Lisa must have reminded him of some chit he'd pursued. Not only did Caroline Witfeld listen, though, but she also understood. And at the moment, he very much wanted to kiss her.
"Oh, oh!" Sally Witfeld struggled to sit upright while her daughters piled a mountain of pillows behind her. "I saw… I had a vision that Lord Zachary was safe."
"He is safe, Mama," Violet said, patting her mother's hand. "He carried you upstairs."
"Such gallantry! Girls, isn't he gallant? And so strong!"
And he'd nearly broken his damned back . Zachary stepped forward. Time to do his part for Witfeld family harmony. "I'm pleased to see you're recovering, and I apologize if I distressed you." He glanced sideways at Caroline. "The trip from London tired me more than I realized, and I badly needed some fresh air."
"Poor lad," Aunt Tremaine said succinctly behind him, but he ignored her. Except for Caroline and Anne, no one could hear his aunt anyway with all the commiseration going on, and they knew the real story.
He sketched a quick bow. "And now if you'll excuse me, I have a dog to see to."
That was only one of his tasks this afternoon. He also had to come up with a campaign to render seven—no, six—rather silly sisters marriageable.
Harold still pranced about the garden. He was easy to track; small piles of uprooted flowers followed a rough line around the entire perimeter. In the south corner, his valet tugged on one end of a branch while the dog yanked at the other.
"Reed!" Zachary called, and the valet straightened.
"My lord! This… I'm sorry, my lord, but if you insist that I continue to watch over this animal, I must regretfully tender you my resignation."
"What? Nonsense. You've dealt with me for years. A dog is—"
"My lord, with all due respect, I do not think that is a dog. It is a demon. And I—"
Awkwardly Zachary put a hand on his valet's bony shoulder. "No worries, Reed. Go inside and have a cup of tea; I'll see to Harold."
"I will understand, sir, if you don't want me to continue in your employ."
"I don't intend to speak of this again. Harold is in need of some instruction. I will give it to him, and until then any and all nonsense from the dog is my fault; not yours. Is that clear?"
"Y-yes, my lord. Thank you."
Once the valet had gone, Zachary looked down at Harold. "You nearly cost me a fine valet," he said.
Harold wagged his tail and woofed.
"Yes, that's all well and good, but we are going to get some things straight. Come along."
He patted his thigh, leading the way across the garden. When he turned around, though, Harold's face was buried in a loose pile of daisies.
"Harold, no!"
The dog looked up at him, wagging again. This was going to be interesting. He'd trained horses to race, but they'd already been broken to the saddle and knew right from left and how to trot and gallop on command. Harold obviously knew nothing about being a proper dog.
"Come here, Harold. Come." He patted his thigh again.
This time he wasn't even surprised when Harold rolled onto his back and kicked his feet in the air. Damnation. When Melbourne had told him to get a dog, he'd been so angry and frustrated that he'd gone to the first source he'd thought of: Lord Rothary and his hunting bitch, who'd apparently gone off with a neighbor's mutt. It hadn't even occurred to him that the unwanted pup would be completely untrained. So now he had two problems—an untrained dog, and a
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