“Yes. I already told Grandfather I would. And I also told him I want you to stay here at Belford Hall,” he said, finally meeting her stare.
Her eyebrows arched. “I can’t promise for how long.”
“I know,” he admitted. “I can’t ask you to put your life indefinitely on hold for me. But it would give me comfort for now, to know that you’re here with my grandparents. Promise to at least stay for the next week or so.”
She hesitated, her pink lips trembling. “All right,” she said finally.
He nodded once, hoping she saw his gratitude. Realizing there was nothing more to say, he went to get his bags. He moved past her toward the door.
“Ian.”
He had no choice but to look back at her and test his crumbling fortitude one more time.
“Find your way back to me,” she whispered fiercely.
He turned, reaching blindly for the door handle, unable momentarily to breathe.
Chapter Fourteen
She stood before the canvas, her concentration such that she only became aware by degrees that people had entered the room and were speaking quietly to one another. She blinked, moving a tendril of hair off her forehead with the same hand that clutched a pencil.
“Hello,” she called, her voice sounding dazed even to her own ears. She wasn’t annoyed by the interruption for her work’s sake, but she was disappointed. Since Ian had left yesterday, the only real peace she’d gotten was when she finally entered that coveted zone of creative focus.
“Mr. Sinoit was just saying that you seemed to be in a trance, and I was telling him that’s how you always look when you work,” Mrs. Hanson told her with a smile as she arranged a tea tray on a table between two chairs. The housekeeper’s expression turned apologetic. “At least when your work is going well.”
“It is going well,” Francesca said.
“I’m sorry to have interrupted, but you worked through breakfast. It was just James, Short, and myself, and the pair of them talked about Brooklyn the whole time,” Gerard said. Francesca smiled. She’d met the clean-cut, square-jawed Arthur Short, an American who worked for James, last night at dinner, and thought he was very nice. “I missed you and Anne,” Gerard continued with a dry smile. “I thought some refreshment might be appreciated at this point. Anne’s worried that your appetite is going off again since . . .”
Francesca forced a grin when Gerard avoided mentioning Ian and his departure. So . . . they were back to skirting the topic of Ian again. Not if she could help it.
“Since Ian left? Yes, I suppose I haven’t been that hungry. But leave it to one of Mrs. Hanson’s teas to get my appetite going again,” she said, eyeing the scones, Danish, sweet cream, and fresh jam on the tiered porcelain serving dish.
“Shall I pour for you?” Mrs. Hanson asked.
“No, I’ll do it,” Francesca said, sitting across from Gerard. She opened her mouth to ask Mrs. Hanson to join them, but then closed it when she focused on Gerard. As much as it was the norm for her to take tea with the housekeeper, she doubted it was typical for Gerard.
“I’ll just leave you to it then,” Mrs. Hanson said warmly before departing.
“I’m glad to hear your sketching is going well,” Gerard said. “May I have a look after we finish?”
“Please do,” Francesca said as she poured from the china pot.
“I feel as if I haven’t seen much of you lately,” Gerard said.
She studied his face closely as she stirred cream into her tea. “Well, a lot has been going on, I guess. And I’m afraid I can become a bit withdrawn when I’m working on a project. How have you been?” she asked, her concern for his well-being after the shooting audible in her question. “I’ve never really had much of a chance to speak with you in private after what happened with Brodsik,” she said. “It must have been awful for you . . . and still is.”
“It was a shock, certainly,” Gerard said, sipping his tea, his expression sober.
“I haven’t thanked you, either.” She set down the scone she’d picked up, her appetite suddenly fleeing. “If it hadn’t been for you,” she hesitated, not wanting to sound so melodramatic as to say, I might be dead. “Who knows what havoc Brodsik might have created?” she managed to say instead.
“As much as I would prefer that the circumstances were different, I am glad I was able to do what I could to stop him,” Gerard said quietly.
“I would never wish the situation on anyone, but you responded very bravely.”
He gave a small smile and set down his teacup.
“And you? Are you suffering again, with Ian’s departure?”
She blinked at his question, given the fact he’d been avoiding saying Ian’s name in her presence earlier.
“I’m doing all right,” she said, keeping her voice even. “At least he’s agreed to keep in contact this time. With Anne and James anyway. At least we’re not fearful for his life or well-being.”
“Yes, well that’s something, of course.” He paused. She sensed he was trying to broach a delicate subject.
“What is it, Gerard?”
“I’m well aware that you, Anne, and James know of some kind of secret about why Ian became so emotionally disturbed last summer and disappeared. And I understand,” he said, holding up his hand in a placating manner when she opened her mouth to try and explain her silence yet again. “I value your discretion. I’m not trying to pry. It’s just that . . . I came upon Lucien and Ian talking together in the sitting room a few days before he left Belford Hall. They were talking about a man called Trevor Gaines. Ian has apparently bought his house and has been conducting some sort of search in it. I only bring it up because I was very concerned by Ian’s tone. He sounded quite . . . intense. I won’t go so far as to say ‘mad’ but he certainly sounded obsessed with the topic.”