A loud knock reverberated through the walls of Thornrush Manor. Isoline, who had been lounging with a book in the parlor, raised her head curiously. She had been at Thornrush for many weeks, but there had not been a single visitor aside from Tristan, at least not one who used the front door. The postman, the delivery boys, the staff who did not live in the main house, they all used the servants’ entrance with a little bell. A knock at the front door was an event, indeed.

Isoline moved to a room at the front of the house and looked out a window at the black carriage parked in front. The sight of the carriage sent her heart to fluttering as she recalled her accident. She had not even seen a carriage since her arrival—she had not gone anywhere that required one—so she was surprised the sight of one gave her such a flash of anxiety.

The two large, black horses pulling the carriage stomped their feet and made excited noises as one of the grooms treated them to apples. These horses were happy, yet the panicked whinnies of the horses who had pulled her carriage assaulted her ears.

Her breathing became short and quick. She wanted to get away, yet she could not move. She knew she was near to fainting, yet she could not look away…

“Isoline!” Bellamira called, breaking into Isoline’s thoughts.

Her aunt’s voice pulled Isoline from the brink of terror and back to the safety of the parlor.

“Y-yes, auntie?” Isoline asked as she slipped away from the window and toward the door.

Bellamira waved for her to follow her. “Come, come! It has arrived!”

A middle-aged man in a dark suit was handing a long package to Talbot.

“It wasn’t easy getting this out,” the man said. “The whole area is tense, dangerous right now. War is coming, Talbot, I can tell you that.”

“Indeed, sir,” Talbot said, holding the package gingerly.

“War?” Isoline asked. “There is a war coming?”

“Oh, nothing for you to worry about, love,” the man said as he removed his hat and slicked his hair back. “Damn Russians and Turks, they’ll get what’s coming to them in the end, you’ll see.”

Isoline then realized he was referencing the rising tension in eastern Europe. She had not been following the problem in the newspapers too closely. Russia and the Ottoman Empire were far away and the two countries had been fighting over religious matters, something Isoline didn’t bother herself with overmuch. But what did that have to do with the mysterious delivery?

“Matteo,” Bellamira said with a smile as she approached the man with her hand extended.

“Duchess!” the man exclaimed as he eagerly accepted her hand and kissed the back of it. “You look younger every time I see you.”

Bellamira giggled like a school girl at Matteo’s flattery. “Matteo, may I introduce my niece, Isoline,” she said as she motioned Isoline forward.

“Yes, you certainly may,” he said lasciviously as he took Isoline’s hand and kissed the back of it as well.

She smiled politely but pulled her hand back as soon as he loosened his grip enough for her to do so.

“I hope you didn’t have much trouble bringing me the painting,” Bellamira said to Matteo.

“Well, I like to gripe, but it wasn’t too bad. This time anyway. You should tell Miss Ezerbet to get out of there, though. Why can’t she find pieces somewhere safer, or warmer, to hunt for your art, like Florence.”

Bellamira waved him off. “That’s exactly why she is there. She must liberate as much as she can in case the area ends up cordoned off if war breaks out.”

Isoline’s eyes wandered to the doors on the second-floor gallery and she thought about all those beautiful paintings locked away in dark rooms for decades, seen and appreciated by no one. Not her idea of liberty, but she held her tongue.

“True enough, I suppose,” Matteo said. “Well, I better be off. I promised the missus a trip to Bath while we’re in country.” He replaced his hat and turned toward the door.

“Oh, but don’t you want to see what you went to such lengths to procure for me?” Bellamira asked.

“Oh, I saw it,” he said. “Ezerbet showed me when I picked it up and we repackaged it for travel. Not my thing. Damn creepy, really. But whatever makes you happy, duchess.”

“Oh, it does,” Bellamira purred like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Thank you so much for your assistance.”

“Anytime, duchess,” he said as he doffed his hat and breezed back out the door.

“He was an…interesting character, auntie,” Isoline said.

“Well, he’s Italian, what can you say?” Bellamira asked as she turned to Talbot and her treasure. Having not known many Italians—or any—Isoline couldn’t reply. “Let’s have a look,” Bellamira said to Talbot.

“Yes, your ladyship,” he said as he and James worked together to open the package.

“You are in for quite a treat, my darling,” Bellamira told Isoline as she rubbed her hands together. “All the way from Romania! That’s about a far east as you can go before you fall into the Orient.”

Isoline sighed and thought about what an exciting life Miss Ezerbet must lead, chasing down art all over the world.

Talbot finally held the canvas up and unfurled the painting for all to see.

Isoline gasped and held her hand to her mouth.

It was horrifying.

“Exquisite! Exquisite!” Bellamira exclaimed, clapping her hands and laughing like a school girl.

A woman in a white gown with long blonde hair laid prostrate on her bed on a coverlet of scarlet, her head and curls dangling dangerously over the edge. Her arms stretched out above her. She would have fallen off if not for the horrifying beast that sat on her stomach, leering at her with buggy eyes and bulbous nose. Blood red drapes hung behind her, and peeking out from them was a black horse with white eyes.

“A-a-auntie…” was the only sound Isoline could utter. Her throat was closed with shock. She couldn’t imagine anyone painting such a horrid image, much less paying the enormous sum her aunt must have spent not only on the painting, but on Ezerbet’s services and Matteo’s delivery fee.

“I know,” Bellamira said, shaking her head reverently. “Most incredible. Have you ever seen the like of it?”

“I…most certainly have not,” Isoline said truthfully. She shuddered and started to turn away, glad the bestial painting would soon be locked away, never to see the light of day again.

“After I have it framed,” Bellamira mused, “I think I will place it right here in the foyer.” She walked over to one of the walls opposite the front door and indicated a space where a traditional portrait of a man now hung.

Isoline walked over and looked at the portrait. “Now, auntie,” she said. “I am not sure…” She squinted to read the name. “Henry, the Second Earl of Payne, would appreciate his place being usurped.”

“Oh, he was a dreadful old sot,” Bellamira said. “He never liked me. He’s lucky to be here in the house at all.”

“Still,” Isoline said, trying again. “When people come to a grand old estate like this one, they will expect to see portraits of former residents. It’s tradition. I’m sure we can find another place for the new one.”

“Hmm,” Bellamira said, squeezing her chin as she thought. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the parlor.”

Isoline’s heart dropped and she did her best to suppress a disappointed sigh. She was not sure which was worse—seeing the monstrosity whenever she walked in the door or having it hang over her while she tried to carry on conversations. She decided to drop the subject. She was obviously not going to be able to dissuade her aunt from displaying it somewhere in the house.

“Whatever makes you happy, auntie,” Isoline said with a smile and turned away to resume her book in the sitting room.

“Well, I’ll have time to consider it,” Bellamira said. “First, it will need to be framed. Isoline, dear, could you take the painting to Auberon for me.”

Isoline started, not sure which part of the sentence shocked her more. “Auberon?” she asked about first. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He’s an artist,” Bellamira explained. “And he does the framework for his own pieces and any I procure.

“He’s an artist?” Isoline asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course,” Bellamira said. “What did you think he did on the estate?”

“I’ve barely spoken to him,” Isoline said. “I thought he was just another tenant farmer.”

Bellamira let out a bark of a laugh. “Farmer? Auberon? Never! He hasn’t the stomach for such physical labor. He’s a dreamer. A poet, but with a brush.”

Isoline shrugged. “We only spoke for a moment. I really had no idea.”

“Well, we shall put that to rights,” Bellamira said as she walked over to Talbot and asked him to roll up the painting. “You can take the painting to him after luncheon. He will know what to do with it. His cottage is not far from here and I’m sure you will enjoy the walk.” She then walked over and offered the rolled-up canvas to Isoline.

Isoline did her best to still her quaking fingers as she held her hands out to accept the painting. She didn’t even want to be in the same room with it, much less touch the thing. The only comfort she took was in the fact that it would soon be out of the house, if only for a little while.

As Isoline followed her aunt’s directions to reach Auberon’s cottage, she felt butterflies in her stomach. She was excited to see him again and glad she would be able to talk to him and not worry about having to excuse herself hastily, but she knew the man was a danger to her resolve to remain unattached. Not that her father would ever approve such a match. From what Bellamira told her, Auberon had little money and no title or property. He was a good artist, but not a rich or famous one. And he had no driving ambition to be much more than he was. He was happy to create his art and live simply. And while Isoline could find no fault with the desire to live a simple life, she knew her father would.

She shook her head at thinking such foolish thoughts. Who was even thinking of marriage! She had barely said two words to the man weeks ago. She was being ridiculous.

As she crested a hill along the well-worn path, she was able to look down on Auberon’s cottage and the scene it overlooked.

It was breathtaking.

The thatched-roof cottage sat on the hillside overlooking the sea. The waves crashed upon the shore and the emerald grass glistened in the sun. A small rock wall wended its way along the property and a few large oak trees stood here and there. It was a perfect blend of peace, serenity, and majesty. She suddenly understood why Auberon would be perfectly content in this spot.

As she stood, reveling in the view, the door to the cottage opened and Auberon stepped out. He took a few steps forward and placed his hands on his hips as he surveyed the scene before him. He held his head up and took in a deep breath of the salty sea air and his long dark hair fluttered in the breeze. Isoline watched him in surprise. He must see this view every day of his life, yet he still appreciated it. She shifted and accidentally knocked a small stone loose, which audibly rolled down the hillside. Auberon looked her way and gave her a large smile. She smiled in return as warmth replaced the butterflies in her stomach. He raised a hand in greeting as he walked up the path toward her.

“Miss Beresford,” he said. “So lovely to see you again.”

She gave him a small nod of her head. “Please, we are neighbors. You must call me Isoline.”

She did not think it was possible, but his smile grew even bigger at her world.

“I will do that, Isoline,” he said, and her chest swelled.

She cleared her throat and looked out over the view. “It is stunning,” she said. “I had no idea the estate housed such sights.”

“It never grows old,” he said as he turned around and looked back at the sea. “I could live a thousand years and still lose my breath when I opened that door.”

“Have you tried to paint it?” Isoline asked. “My aunt says you are an artist. You must find the view to be quite inspiring.”

He turned back to her. “I could never do it justice. Your aunt must speak far too kindly of me.”

Isoline held out the box with the dreaded painting. “She rarely speaks kindly of anyone, but you are one of the lucky few.”

He laughed as he took the offered package. “Ah, she mentioned she had a new piece coming. Have you seen it?”

Isoline tried to hide a grimace but knew she had failed when Auberon laughed again.

“That bad?” he asked.

“Art is…subjective,” she said. “Isn’t that what they say? Who am I to judge?”

“Still, I’ll have to make sure my frame outshines the painting,” he said. “Would that suit you?”

She sighed in appreciation. “That would be wonderful. Anything to draw the eye away from the horrid beast that dominates the image now.”

“Have no fear, dear Isoline,” he said gallantly. “I will do my best to please you.”

“You are too kind,” she said. “Do you know when it will be ready?”

“A couple of months, I should think,” he said. “I make the frames from scratch, starting with timber from trees right here on the estate. I’ll have to look at the painting and see what sort of wood I should start with, how big a piece I will need…I’m sorry. I’m probably boring you.”

“Not at all,” she said. “I enjoy hearing people speak on the things they are passionate about. It is amazing how even a piece of wood can bring such a light to your eyes.”

“And what of you, dear Isoline?” he asked. “What brings a spark to your eyes?”

Dreams, she wanted to say, but held back. Every conversation she had ever had with a man regarding the nature of dreams only lead to disappointment. She didn’t want to be disappointed by Auberon. Not yet. She wanted to enjoy the fantasy of him for a little while longer.

“I…suppose I am still trying to discover that for myself,” she finally said.

“There is a…true loveliness about you when you are deep in thought,” he said, and she blushed. “I first noticed it when I found you sitting under the tree all those weeks ago. Your face was so…serene. Pensive.”

“How long were you watching me?” she asked.

“Not nearly long enough,” he said. He took a step closer and looked down at her, deep into her eyes. She should have stepped back, but she did not. She felt as though she could get lost in such eyes, as deep and dark as her own.

“Isoline?” he asked in a husky whisper.

“Yes?” she softly replied.

“Would you let me paint you?” he asked.

“Oh,” was all she managed at first. She tore her eyes away and stepped back. The memory of seeing the painting of her aunt so like herself still unnerved her. She had not been back to the room since and was not sure she would return. She hadn’t even been exploring the other rooms as much as she had originally planned because she was worried about what else she might find. While she realized she should be flattered that Auberon wanted to paint a portrait of her, the very idea made her too uncomfortable to acquiesce.

“No,” she finally said. “I…I don’t think so. I’m sure there are many things more beautiful or interesting than me you could recreate with your brush. Like…that squirrel over there.” She pointed to a scurrying critter on the ground by one of the trees.

He looked over at the squirrel and chuckled. “I doubt that squirrel has eyes nearly as expressive as yours.”

“Still,” she said, a bit embarrassed. “I am afraid I must decline.”

“Of course,” he said. “Forgive me for asking.”

“Already done,” she said. “But perhaps one day you could show me some of your work?”

“I would be more than delighted,” he said. “If you ever want to know more about art or if you would like a painting lesson, let me know.”

“Actually,” Isoline said. “My aunt, she has…hundreds, possibly thousands of paintings throughout the house.”

He nodded. “I am aware. She is quite the avid collector.”

“Yes,” Isoline said. “She has given me permission to examine her collection and choose a few for myself. But it has been quite overwhelming. Do you think you could tell me more about some of the pieces and help me choose the best ones?”

“As you said, art is subjective,” he said. “You might personally enjoy a painting by an unknown hermit living on the sea more than one by William Blake.”

She grimaced and did not try to hide it. “I dare say I would dread having a Blake in my quarters.”

He laughed. “Exactly. But I know what you mean. I can certainly use my artist’s eye to help you choose a few paintings for your rooms.”

“What would be wonderful,” she said, nearly hopping in excitement.

“Is there a particular time you would prefer me to call?” he asked.

“My schedule is rather open,” Isoline said. “Other than you and my cousin Tristan, I’ve barely met a soul.”

“I hope to see you again soon then, dear Isoline,” he said with a bow.

Isoline turned back up the path with a spring in her step and thoughts of Auberon in her heart.