She admired his looks, as well as his calm and relaxed demeanor. He was tall, with short brown hair and a trim beard and mustache. When he saw her in her green dress, his face lit up.
“Good morning, Lady Helen,” he said when he entered the room, his hands full with an easel, a bag filled with paints and brushes, a paint palate and an untouched canvas. She rushed to him, holding out her hands.
“May I carry something for you, Sir Anthony?” She offered.
He took a step back at first, gazing at her in wonder. Then he held out the hand holding the canvas. “You could take this canvas before it falls from my fingers, if you’d like.”
“Certainly.” She took the canvas and followed him to the area he was using to paint. He took it from her without a word after he set up the easel. He was still giving her a strange look. She just smiled at him.
“You may go over there and stand while I paint. Do you have a tall stool to sit on or will you be standing for this portrait?”
“I will stand.”
“This could take some time. Several weeks, in fact.”
Her heart thumped, and she held in a gasp. “Several weeks?”
“Yes, my lady. I hope that is not going to inconvenience you.”
“Can we put a rush on it?”
“Put a rush on it?” He repeated. It was a strange phrase he hadn’t heard before.
“Can we hurry with it?” She regretted her use of modern terms. She wasn’t talking like Helen did, that much was for sure. She was glad they were both from Virginia so that her accent would be much the same.
“Yes, madam, if you would like to. I can try to hurry. Put a rush on it.” He grinned slightly, enjoying the new phrase. “However, if you want quality work, it will take at least five sessions.”
She sighed. “All right. You may do whatever suits you, Sir Anthony.”
“Please call me Eric.”
“All right, Eric.”
“Stand here.” He came over to her and adjusted her as if she was a mannequin, being careful not to touch her too frequently and cautious about where he put his hands.
For the next few hours, she stood listening to him. Whenever she wanted to speak, he would shush her abruptly. “You must not move!” He would say in a firm voice. She resisted grinning whenever he said it, mostly because he had usually just asked a question and she was trying to answer.
“How am I supposed to answer your question if you keep yelling at me not to move?” She asked at one point.
“I guess you will not be able to answer my questions then.” He looked around the canvas at her to see if she could tell he was joking with her. She could see it and it warmed her heart. He talked to her about his family, how they had immigrated from France originally but that he had no ties to the country and couldn’t speak the language. She found out he was born and raised here in Virginia, he had two sisters and a brother, whom he adored and that his favorite animal was the horse.
“Such majestic creatures they are, you know,” he said. “They have minds of their own. They will do what they want to do whenever they want to do it. They are free spirits, roaming the mountains around us.”
“I agree.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“You mustn’t move.” This time, he said it very gently.
Five days later, after hours of standing for the portrait, Eve was relieved to hear he was finished.
“Come and take a look,” he said, standing back. “I hope for your approval.”
When she moved around to see the front of the painting, she felt a wave of emotion. It was exactly as she remembered. She would surely be able to get back now.
The problem was that she had come to think of this as her home, this time as her own. There had been no more dances or balls, only standing for the portrait being created with strong hands by a handsome man she had come to adore. His voice was deep and gentle. His words were always encouraging and positive. He held an outlook on life that matched hers, in a way, at least, how she felt when she wasn’t constantly being questioned by a negative, angry man.
“Do you approve?” He asked in a gentle voice.
She looked at him and then back at the painting. “I do.” She breathed.
“I am happy to hear that. Will you be giving it to your father for his birthday?”
She wondered how he knew about that little joke she had shared with her father earlier that week. She laughed softly. “It was never really intended for that but…I might.”
She had been waiting so long for the portrait. But in the meantime, she had fallen in love. The look in Eric’s eyes when she looked at him made her feel as if perhaps the feeling was mutual. She wasn’t sure she could leave now.
“How…did you know I was thinking of giving it to him?” She asked.
He lifted one hand and brushed a lock of her hair back from her cheek. The slight touch sent chills over Eve’s body.
“I talked with him this morning before coming in to finish the portrait.”
“Oh?” She gazed at him, biting her lower lip.