Page 87 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
Mama winked at her daughter. “I’ll leave you two now.” She eyed Foster, who stood in the corner, statue-stiff and ever-vigilant, then left the room.
“Mama has been wonderful,” said Madeline.
Lord Oliver stood with his hands locked behind his back and smiled. “I can see as much.”
She knew his smile was forced. She bit her bottom lip and turned towards the settee. “Did you see the new portrait of Uncle Roger? We just received delivery yesterday.”
“It’s a fantastic likeness.”
“It is, isn’t it? I thought so too. He’s a new artist, this one. Oh, I can’t remember his name.”
“Aren’t we lucky to live in a world with such fine talent?”
She turned to him. “We are.” Again at a loss, she returned to the painting. “I could never understand how an artist combines different colours in order to give the impression of a single colour. You see the cravat? It is a red one. I’ve seen Uncle Roger in it many a time. Here, look closely. There’s a streak of black, and again there, and here’s a blot of white. But when you look at the whole, all you see is red.”
“One must have a singular eye for it.”
“Yes ...” She played with her fichu, knotting it up in her hand.
“Madeline,” he said, and she turned. “I’d like to visit your father now.”
“Wait,” she said impatiently. “I’m sorry. I’m a foolish girl, Oliver. Incredibly foolish. And I’m ashamed of the things I said that night at Vauxhall.”
“Let us not dwell upon it.”
“But we must if we are to move forward. Tell me your thoughts.”
He looked up at the painting. “My thoughts are these, Madeline. I believe you are like that solid colour from a distance. When one is so fortunate as to get close enough, one can see the many varied colours that make up the one.”
“Somehow,” she said with unease, “I take that to mean something not entirely complimentary.”
“You are correct,” he said. “That night at Vauxhall, you revealed many colours where I thought there was only one. You must understand that it was my own fault in that I could not see it in the first place and was jarred at the revelation.”
“But none of it was true, Oliver.”
“Madeline, I cannot be with you if I am constantly subject to the effects of changes in your feelings towards your parents.”
“You say that like I am a fickle creature without true emotion.”
“I never said that.”
“Oh, but you meant it alright. And it was my fault, I know.” She spun around to face him. “Oliver, let us try once more. What is the saying about getting back up on the horse?”
He chuckled. “And which one of us is the stubborn mule in this situation?”
She felt herself flush and turned her head down. “Why, I am, of course.”
“If you can be so humble, then I can certainly give it another go.”
She felt emboldened by these words and straightened her body reflexively. “Then it’s settled. The old Oliver and Madeline are dead. Long live the new Oliver and Madeline.”
“Vive l’amour,” he said.
Chapter 62
“Why, Papa,” said Madeline, “you’re looking about as well as you ever have.”
Dr. Brightman looked up from her father’s bedside. “As God is my witness, I share the same sentiment.”
