her long necklace of pearls around a finger, thinking. A snowstorm could be used to bring Micheline Tevoulere and Andrew Selkirk together. The question was where—and how?
* * *
Thomas had gone riding with the king, so Aimée, missing the company of her friend, decided to test the waters and visit the antechamber where Micheline's portrait was in progress.
"May I come in?" she inquired hesitantly from the doorway.
Sandhurst made a sweeping gesture of welcome with one hand, a paintbrush between his fingers. "Welcome, madame."
He smiled. "No doubt my subject is starved for the sight of any face but mine."
Clad in a gown of soft peach velvet parted in front to display a silken leaf-green petticoat, Micheline was looking especially lovely. There was not much sunlight this morning, yet her curls still gleamed softly, and she wore a contented smile that shone even in her eyes.
"How good it is to see you!" Micheline exclaimed, rising to embrace her friend. "I called on you day before yesterday, but Suzette told me that Ninon wasn't well and that you were with her. Do tell me that my little angel is recovered!"
"Little hellion is more like it!" Aimée laughed, returning Micheline's hug. How good it was to see her dear friend glowing, whatever the reason! "Ninon complained of a sore throat, and she sniffled for an hour or two, but I think she's stronger than her father. After a nap she ate ravenously and now is jumping up and down in our chambers in anticipation of the snow!"
"I'm glad to hear it! And I'm so glad you've come. I have missed you, Aimée."
"It's mutual, cherie. I decided that it was time to discover whether all these hours you've spent away from me have been worthwhile. May I see the portrait?"
Micheline glanced up. "Andrew?"
"Why not?" he replied lightly.
Approaching the painter and his canvas, Aimée's eyes traveled lightly over Andrew Selkirk and she almost sighed aloud. Even in fawn breeches and a simple paint-smudged white shirt, he possessed that rare combination of splendid looks and charisma. Aimée couldn't help wondering what effect Andrew Selkirk must have on Micheline, whose heart was like a budding flower that longed to open.
"What do you think?" her friend was asking.
"Just bear in mind that it's far from complete," Andrew interjected.
Aimée turned her attention from the two of them to the unfinished portrait. It was unmistakably Micheline who looked out from the canvas, her exquisite iris-blue eyes filled with longing and sadness. The rest of the face was perfectly Micheline, too, from the proud tilt of her chin with its tiny cleft to the sensuous curve of her lower lip to her abbreviated nose and elegant cheekbones. Aimée was transfixed.
"Parbleu!" she whispered. "It's extraordinary."
"Capturing Micheline on canvas has been a tremendous challenge for me," Andrew murmured as he studied the painting himself for the thousandth time. "Of course, it's impossible—"
"Oh, no, m'sieur, you have had astonishing success!"
"Isn't he talented?" Micheline chimed in. "Look at the background!" It consisted of muted trees that might have been those in the forest of Fontainebleau during springtime. A soft meadow receded from the figure of Micheline, leading to the trees, which were veiled in a thin mist. "Andrew used a technique called sfumato that he learned from a master who trained under Leonardo da Vinci."
Sandhurst elaborated rather absently. "The purpose is to create a dreamlike atmosphere, only for the background. It's thought that this allows the inmost nature of the true subject to be sensed more deeply. The contrast seems to work for Micheline... making her beauty and the radiance of her spirit that much more striking."
"I agree, m'sieur." Aimée nodded, staring up at him. Could Andrew Selkirk truly be in love with Micheline? This painting, that seemed to reach inside her friend's soul, told her that the answer was yes. Aimée resolved to see the other portrait she'd heard that he had brought to Fontainebleau as a sample of his work, so that she might compare the two.
Meanwhile, Micheline had begun to blush, uncomfortable with all the emotion in the air. "How fortunate I am that Andrew was so well trained in Florence! He knows all manner of tricks to make me look more beautiful in this portrait than I could ever hope to be in life!"
Sandhurst merely turned his head and stared at her with brown eyes so compelling that her cheeks flamed. "That's nonsense," he said softly in English. "No amount of training or talent could begin to do you justice, Michelle."