The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,51

her mother said. “I knew he’d get the hang of it. Gideon did.”

Abigail seated herself beside Linus on the blanket. He was up on one elbow, legs stretched out, and he had relaxed enough that he could send her a smile.

“Your son is serving in India now, I understand,” he said to her mother.

Her mother sniffed. “He is. I miss him so.”

“We’ve been hoping for a letter for some time,” Abigail explained.

He glanced from her to her mother, and she thought he understood why a letter would not have arrived. From what he’d told her, he knew the sorts of danger Gideon faced.

“Well, I’m glad you could allow Ethan the use of the kite,” he said. “I predict I’ll need to find material for one of his own shortly.”

“Ask Mr. Inchley for a large enough piece of parchment,” Abigail suggested. “He keeps paper for wrapping fish. And the Misses Pierce keep string and rags available. Jess sponsors a kite-flying competition at the spa. It’s something of a tradition.”

“We have a great number of traditions in Grace-by-the-Sea,” her mother put in. “Easter celebrations. Christmas festivities. Weddings.”

As if he was just as eager to nudge her off that topic, Linus sat up. “And a very fine castle. I take it the magistrate approved of us using the earl’s property.”

Abigail tossed her head. “I didn’t ask Mr. Howland. He wouldn’t refuse in any event. He owes me a favor.”

He chuckled. “Are you using your injury to gain unfair advantage again?”

“I must take whatever advantage I’m given,” she informed him.

Especially if it kept him at her side.

~~~

Linus hadn’t been sure what to expect from their picnic. Once again, his heart had overruled his head, and he’d kissed Abigail there in her studio last evening. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he began to have intentions toward her. But a picnic committed neither of them to anything. It was an opportunity to become even better acquainted. He should not see it as a threat.

And he could not remember enjoying a day more. The sun was warm, Abigail’s company warmer, and all seemed right with the world. Mrs. Archer opened her hamper and doled out the feast, and Ethan was persuaded to bring the kite safely down and return for some food. They ate, they talked, they laughed.

As if they were a family.

At moments, his mother and father had found such joy—beside a river in India, around a campfire in America. He had never quite managed it with Catriona and Ethan. Always her gaze had shied away, her thoughts gone to something she found more exciting. He and Ethan had never been enough for her.

Yet Abigail seemed content.

The feeling remained as Mrs. Archer took Ethan back out onto the grass for another try with the kite. Abigail sighed, then leaned back, and the sun picked out the gold in her lashes.

“Did you and your family do this often?” he asked.

She sat up as if suddenly uncomfortable and set about putting the remains of their meal back in the hamper. “On occasion, and usually not with my father. He wasn’t much for family gatherings. He preferred the company of the inn’s public room.”

Her tone had grown sharper. Given what Jack Hornswag had told him, Linus thought he understood why.

“My father was sometimes too tired from his day to do more than come home and sleep,” Linus told her. “I never understood why my mother insisted on accompanying him on his travels, but perhaps a little time together was better than none.”

“I would almost have preferred none, with my father,” she murmured, gaze going to Ethan, who was pelting across the grass as the kite climbed behind him. “He was a carter, carrying goods from the mill in Upper Grace to the cove and back. Perhaps the work grew too difficult, and drink seemed easy entertainment. Perhaps he drank to alleviate physical discomfort. Mr. Hornswag and some of the other men said he was just plain mean. Whatever the reason, he drank to excess and took his frustrations out with his fists—other patrons, the barkeep, acquaintances, even the vicar once. Few attended his funeral, I was told. My brother left us to join the army as soon as he turned fifteen.”

“You and your mother deserve better,” Linus said. “From your father, certainly. Even from your brother. He might have found a way to return.”

She sighed. “I cannot blame Gideon. I would have left too, if I had thought I could find employment. Like Ethan, I’d