His wife moved closer to him on the bench, and he felt like the tallest man in England.
“Do you miss the city?” he asked her.
“No.” She shook her head firmly.
“I thought you might, seeing as you’ve only ever lived there.”
“Well,” she shrugged (sadly, for some reason, he thought), “things change.”
Talbot’s imaginary height deflated at the thought that he had ruined life in London for his wife.
“I don’t think we have to go back yet, but that might change any minute. We are debating a very important bill in Parliament,” he said, trying to impress his wife again.
“Oh?” she perked up and, against his manners and better judgement, he told her about it.
“And the King is now trying to dissolve his marriage to Queen Caroline?” she asked incredulously when he was done explaining.
“And deprive her of the title of Queen consort, yes. He even postponed the coronation because of it.”
“What do you think the decision will be? Do you think she did it?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m inclined to vote against the bill. There simply isn’t enough proof of the alleged adultery yet.”
“I hope it isn’t true. I’ve always liked her,” Lizzie said and then both were silent for a while.
“Well, I hope you won’t be called back to London yet because this place is breathtaking,” Elizabeth concluded as they arrived back at the house.
*
After dinner, they retired to the library, which, to Elizabeth, felt like the most lived-in part of the manor. Numerous paintingsadorned the walls, and Talbot told her that he liked purchasing them.
To look at them,he said matter-of-factly when she’d askedwhy.
Elizabeth struggled with the concept and felt it was a waste of money, but it was his money to waste, so she said nothing further.
She slowly walked along the walls of the room, peering into every single painting as if one of them would reveal to her the secret of why her husband liked looking at them, when she came across one that halted her steps.
It was a painting of a woman holding a small child. The woman in the painting gazed at the babe with such reverence, awe, and love that it made Elizabeth’s throat tighten for some reason.
“Is this your mother?” she asked Talbot.
“No,” he seemed surprised that she would think that.
“Is it by a famous artist?”
“I have no idea. I bought it at a gallery in Bath.”
Elizabeth was no closer to comprehending why this painting was so prominently displayed.
“My mother is on the Continent,” he added, as if he were justifying himself to her. “In Italy, last I heard.”
“Did she not wish to stay here after your father died?”
“Something like that, yes. He died in the war, in Spain.”
“That must have been so difficult for you both.”
Talbot stared at the painting. It seemed to Lizzie that he couldn’t even hear her responses.
