The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,25

widened, and his cheeks turned pink as he beamed at her.

Something uncurled inside her, reached for the light of his smile. She had never thought to be a wife, much less a mother. She had a hard enough time getting along with her own mother. But perhaps the key ingredients were commonsense, encouragement, and love.

Those, she could manage.

~~~

Linus had thought he’d undergone the worst the day could throw at him—the apology to his son, his defeat to Abigail—but Miss Chance had other ideas. He’d just escorted Mrs. Rand to the door when the spa hostess approached.

“Another appointment?” he asked with a smile.

Her smile was much sweeter than anything he’d ever managed. “No, sir. An invitation. I hope I may count on you and your son joining us for our wedding and the festivities afterward.”

He’d already determined that none of the guests were able to refuse her, but he’d thought himself immune. Now the need to agree tugged at him. She had been an enormous help to him at the spa, but a wedding? He wasn’t sure he was ready to attend one. It would only remind him of what he’d lost when all he wanted was to be happy for what she’d found.

“Someone should watch the spa,” he demurred.

She raised her finely shaped brows. “I expect most of the guests will come to the wedding, as will the members of the Spa Corporation board. I’m sure no one would mind if we closed. And you will have to do without me for a few days afterward while Lark and I take our honeymoon trip.”

He had yet to meet her betrothed, but he knew the fellow fortunate indeed. “The Lakes District, perhaps?” he suggested.

“No,” she said without a hint of disappointment to miss the scenic wonders there. “Lyme Regis. I want to compare their shops and assemblies to ours.”

He laughed. “No one could ever claim you aren’t devoted, Miss Chance.”

“To my village and to my groom, sir,” she promised. “Please say you’ll come.

He could not make himself refuse.

Nor could he keep Abigail abed. He continued to check on her every morning and every evening, and she continued to press against any bounds he might suggest. Before the wedding even arrived, she had convinced him she could reopen her shop on a permanent basis and undergo fittings for her gown. But, though he appreciated the truce they’d found, he held his ground on painting.

“I need to finish a canvas as a wedding present for Jess and Lark,” she protested two days before the wedding as they stood in her sitting room, her mother helping settle Ethan at the dining room table. “It will only take a few hours.”

“Before your injury, I saw you with paint spattered on your cheek and in your hair,” he argued. “Do you know the sorts of chemicals involved? I will not chance them reaching your wound.”

“Very well,” she agreed, dropping her gaze.

That had been too easy. He knew how readily she disobeyed orders the moment he left her. There had to be some way he could protect her.

“Perhaps it would help if I saw where you create your works,” he said.

She blinked. “I don’t usually allow anyone to see the paintings before they’re done, but very well. This way.”

She led him through a door and down a short corridor to a room off the shop. Wide, multipaned windows looked south and let in light muted only by the shade of the building next door. Every wall was eclipsed by massive canvases, leaning here, on easels there. Some were blank, the creamy white waiting for inspiration. Others had charcoal sketches outlining ocean, cliff, trees, and clouds. A few bore the mark of her brush, showing the power of waves, the peace of moonlight.

He’d seen her work for sale in the shop and knew the hold the landscape paintings could take on him and anyone else who viewed them. The one closest to the door drew him even now. The focus was on a choppy sea, with the moon huge on the horizon, the light gilding a path toward the viewer.

“That’s the one I intend to give Jess and Lark,” she said. “I call it A View Forward. It seemed fitting for their marriage.”

“They will be delighted with it,” he assured her. He turned to meet her gaze. “And they will understand when you deliver it late.”

She sucked in a breath, and he held up one finger. “I have seen the pieces in your shop and those in this