***
Isabella was not surprised when she found Sebastian at the end of the trail of footsteps. Something had told her that he was the kind of person who would enjoy a solitary walk around the gardens at dawn, even in this cold weather.
As she approached, she felt a sense of trepidation. Perhaps he would prefer to be left alone? But now that she had found him, she could not resist the urge to speak to him. It was too good an opportunity to miss, to get to know him better. She ignored the nagging voice in her head that told her she should not be out here alone with him. She could scarcely have stopped herself from walking toward him; the pull of him was so strong.
Her heart began to beat a little faster as she came closer. Should she speak first or wait for him to say something? Her mouth was dry, and she was afraid that even if she did speak, all that would come out was a squeak.
“Good morning, Lady Isabella,” he said, saving her from the turmoil of having to decide what to do.
She smiled and returned his greeting. “Good morning, My Lord. You are out and about very early today.”
“As are you. It is wonderful out here, though. So still and quiet.”
“I am sorry if I am disturbing your solitude,” she replied, then looked at him closely to gauge his response. She promised herself that if he seemed reluctant to talk, then she would withdraw and leave him to his reflections.
But he shook his head. “Not at all,” he responded. “I am glad you are here, as it means I can ask you about this fascinating statue. Do you know how your family came to own it?”
She looked at the statue and remembered the many hours she had spent gazing at it, in much the same way as Sebastian was gazing at it now. It really was marvellous and something of a hidden treasure in the extensive grounds of the Evermere Estate.
“It is rather special, isn’t it,” she said, stepping a little closer to him. The statue was in the middle of the walled garden, set in a small patch of paving stones central to the grass, and it rose out through the snow rather majestically. The statue’s marble was dusted with snow, but the features of the two lovers were still clear to see.
“My father had it sent home from his travels on the continent many years ago,” she went on. “I believe that he found it in Greece and fell in love with it, then arranged for it to be sent home on a cargo ship.”
“On a cargo ship!” Sebastian said, a note of surprise in his voice. “Yes, I suppose that is the only way it could be transported. I have never really thought about the practicalities.”
Isabella nodded and was quiet for a while, waiting for Sebastian to say more.
“I was just remembering my own father and how much I used to enjoy his stories. He knew all the Greek and Roman myths, the stories of all the gods and goddesses.”
Isabella frowned. He spoke in the past tense about his father, as if he had passed away, but she did not want to ask him too much about his past; she did not want him to think that she was prying.
He saw the look on her face, though, and gave a weak smile. “You are wondering if he is still with us, I expect. The sad truth is that he died a few years ago.”
Isabella let out a soft sigh.
“I am very sorry to hear it, My Lord.” She wanted to reach out to him and place a comforting hand on his arm, but she held back. Of course, she could not do such an intimate thing out here in the garden when they were alone together. And besides, she had no idea if he returned her feelings in the slightest. As he stood there in front of the statue, gazing up at it in awe, she could not take her eyes off him.
Chapter 11
Now that she had mentioned his father, Sebastian thought he should not let the moment pass. Somehow, he should try to talk about the fact that their fathers had known each other and see if she could shed any light on what had happened all those years ago.
But he could not tear his attention away from the statue or her face. He found himself looking between them with a kind of awestruck wonder.
“It really is astonishing that such a thing should be hidden away here in this garden,” he mused. “I am sure you know the story of Eros and Psyche as well as I do.
“Indeed,” Isabella said, stepping a little closer to him. Her cheeks were pink with the cold, and her eyes shone enthusiastically. “It is one of my favourites.” She paused and glanced at him, then turned her gaze back to the statue. “The suffering they went through to be together, all the obstacles they had to overcome. It is a very romantic story.”
Sebastian had to fight the urge to step closer to her, to take her hand. He knew they should not really be out here together alone in the pale dawn light, but somehow he could not force himself to walk away. And this talk of romance was not helping him to take control of himself, either.
“I wonder, though,” he said softly, “if the people of Greece feel that artifacts like this should be left where they belong.”
“Where they belong?” Isabella echoed. She moved forward and brushed some snow from the statue, revealing the face of Eros, chiseled to perfection. “I cannot imagine the statue belonging anywhere but here.”
“Do you not think, though, that there is something anomalous about a statue from Greece being here in a garden in England?”
Isabella paused, a thoughtful look on her face. “Do you know, I have never really thought about it, and I know I should have done!”
Sebastian shook his head. “Not at all. It is so ingrained in us, the traveller’s right to bring home souvenirs and memorabilia. Sometimes, though, I look at my collection and wonder whether I should have left everything where I found it.”
