Love Comes in Three

Chapter Thirty-Five "Sunday in the Sanctuary"

            It was a quiet, warm Sunday afternoon, Lord and Lady Edgehill were visiting with other members of Society at the gardens. Freddie had taken Patience out for a carriage ride in the fresh air so I was left on my own. Thomas has not returned since he left the previous evening and I hadn't seen Leah since breakfast so I went to look for her in her sanctuary.

            The house was strangely solemn, even with the number of servants about, I felt quite alone in the solitude. If I had thought about it, I was sure that I could hear my heart beating as I climbed the stairs. Even if Leah was painting busily, I would still have company, I could listen to her hum as she happily dabbles some still life or hear her frustrated grunts when she's having trouble reaching the desired result of brush strokes. The important thing is I would not be lonely.

            As I walked the hallway past the family rooms, I stopped to listen by Leah's door and heard nothing. I knew she did not want to spend the day in the park with her mother, but I had not heard if she made other plans. I tiptoed to the practice room door, not wanting to disturb her if she was deep in concentration, I crept in as quietly as I could. I heard the jostling of paintbrushes and smiled to myself as I closed the door softly. I knew better than to say anything that could startle her so I moved as gently as I could. She kept a space open for me to sit and watch, close to the easel so we could talk but not angled well for me to see. Leah didn't like having an audience until she was done, and even then she didn't seem ready to show her work, but she does paint wonderfully.

            Today's work must be more difficult than others because the rustling of paints and jostling of brushes sounded more fervent. I tucked my book against me and stepped softly closer, ready with a nod and a smile when I caught her eye. When I got closer to the easel I finally heard words, "No! That's not right!" I stopped, stunned. That was Thomas' voice, not Leah's. I moved to the side so I could get a better look beyond the canvas and there he was. His jacket was off and slung over my chair, he still wore his vest but it was unbuttoned. His shirt was messily tugged about, his sleeves rolled closer to his elbows and it looked as if he hadn't slept in day or so. His hair was a bit wild and untidy but still the soft curls were there. He had a smudge of paint on his cheek and as he concentrated on his strokes, he bit the corner of his lip. If there was a way to capture the way he looked just then, I wanted it. I wanted to keep this vision with me for the rest of my life, Thomas the painter.

            "Ahem," I softly cleared my throat, making sure that I was far enough away not to see his work although I wanted to more than anything see what he was secretly painting. He was too intent and did not hear me, so I cleared my throat again, a bit louder.

            "Marg . . . Miss Woodbridge?" his voice cracked in surprise and he fumbled with the brush that was in his hand, "What are you . . . how did you . . . hello," he smiled my favorite smile after his moment of confusion passed. He walked towards me, I could clearly see that he was a messy artist, several colors of paint on his hands. He leaned over and gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek.

            "Why didn't you tell me you were home?" I asked trying to wipe the smudge from his cheek.

            "Well, I got home late with this idea in my head and I could not leave it be . . . so I came here . . . "

            "Late? How long have you been awake? It's Sunday afternoon," I asked taking in the tiredness of his eyes, circles slowly beginning to show.

            "Sunday?" he breathed and ran one hand through his hair, "Shall we say a few hours then?"

            "Hmmm," I said giving him a sly look, "So what have you been doing?" I looked past him towards the canvas but did not move. I was sure that he would be like Leah and guard his progress most defensively.