He scowled.
“I assure you, such an age difference did not stop him from pulling our braids or indulging in rowing races on the River Tweed.” I smiled wider at the memory. “Nor did the seven-year age gap between Michael and his older brother prevent Will from joining in our antics, as well. When he was home,” I added as a saddened afterthought. It had been many years since I had allowed myself to think so much about the older Dalmay boy, and the memory of him tugged at something inside me.
My mention of Will seemed to have a similar effect on Gage, for his gaze turned watchful. “You knew William Dalmay, then?”
I nodded. “He was a good man.” I glanced over my shoulder at the Gainsborough portrait. “And a gifted artist in his own right.” I sighed. “Who knows what he would have become had it not been for the war.”
I turned back to find Gage watching me closely. I furrowed my brow in question, wondering why his gaze was now so concerned. He opened his mouth to speak, and then, as if thinking better of it, shook his head.
“Shall we join the others in the drawing room?” he asked, unclasping his hands from behind his back and offering his arm to me.
I stared up at him, wondering if I could force the information out of him that he had decided not to share. I suspected not. Not when his brow had been wiped so clear of any trace that his thoughts had ever turned dark. I knew from experience that this man would not be driven to answer any questions he did not already want to. And so today’s enigmas would be added to the already long list of unresolved business between us.
I pressed my lips together and reluctantly accepted his escort.
At the bottom of the stairs, Gage drew me across the hall toward a set of double doors fashioned from slats of mahogany. One door stood wide open, allowing the tones of a far warmer conversation than the one being conducted upstairs to drift out into the hall.
Our host was the first to see us, crossing the room to take my hand in greeting. And try as I might to focus solely on Michael’s words, I found my gaze wandering over his shoulder to one of five intricately woven tapestries displayed on the creamy walls. They had obviously been designed and crafted with much skill. My fingers itched to trace the threads.
Fortunately, from Michael’s delighted grin, I could tell he did not feel slighted by my interest. “I’m glad our artwork has met with such satisfaction. Our mother must have done an adequate job of selecting accomplished pieces.”
“Indeed. Who is the designer?” I could not stop myself from asking as my gaze was drawn once again to the tapestries.
“Some fellow named Goya, my sister tells me. Procured from one of the Spanish royal palaces.”
I gasped. “Francisco de Goya?”
“But of course,” Laura Dalmay, now Lady Keswick, replied, joining in her brother’s amusement.
I blushed, realizing how rude I was being to take more interest in the tapestries than in my old friends. “Forgive me. I fear I’ve been away from the city and all of its art exhibits for far too long,” I offered by way of explanation.
Laura brushed my apology aside. “It is no matter. I am only glad to see you looking so well.” She took my hand in hers with a warm smile.
“Likewise,” I replied, taking in the sight of the sprightly young girl I remembered all grown up.
She was now a statuesque woman, though with the same light brown hair and charming sprinkling of freckles across her nose she had sported since the age of three. Being a few years older, I could remember when Laura’s mother had begun to despair at the freckles’ unfashionable appearance, but I found them to be charming. Laura was quite beautiful, but in a warm, approachable way that drew you closer rather than pushing you away to admire from afar. No, indeed, her prettiness was best appreciated up close, while basking in her bright smile. She was very much like her brother Michael in that regard.
She nodded to the man standing beside me. “I see you have already met Mr. Gage.”
I glanced up at Gage, who was observing our conversation attentively. “Lady Darby and I are already acquainted.”
Laura’s gaze turned wary. “Really?”
“Yes,” he replied, still looking down at me. “We met at Lord and Lady Cromarty’s house party several months ago.”