A Closed Heart Oster, Camille (ebooks that read to you .txt) 📖

No doubt searching for you this very minute. Go back so you do not distress the poor woman.”

Atticus disappeared and Julius took his seat. He had perhaps spoken a little harshly, but children needed discipline. They certainly shouldn’t be sneaking away. In his heart, he knew that the boy came to see him, and Julius was still at a loss what to do with him. More often than not, it was easier to send him back to the nursery.

The fact that he was wandering out and seeking diversion suggested it was perhaps time for lessons to start. A tutor needed to be engaged. Julius would make some enquiries about good ones.

For now, he returned to his statements.

A short time later, he heard them return to the house. The silence was interrupted by talking, and even laughing. The folly must have met with her approval. “Miss Brightly feels the folly has sufficient light.”

“Does she?” Julius said, but wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by the statement. Perhaps because he wasn’t used to being dictated to.

“We will prepare it this afternoon. Is there a certain manner you wish it to look like?”

Of course there was. “A sufficiently suitable background. I’m sure you can organize it.” Mr. Fuller knew his taste well enough. Julius certainly wasn’t going to run around directing it. On second thought. “It might serve to include the portrait of my great grandfather somewhere in the background.”

“And perhaps a globe to indicate your links around the world?” Mr. Fuller suggested.

“If you see fit,” Julius said dismissively.  With a nod, Mr. Fuller made to leave. “And maybe the statue of Julius Caesar somewhere,” Julius added quickly. It would please his father in case he was watching from somewhere.

“Will you be attending lunch today?” Mr. Fuller asked.

“I had expected to.”

“Then you will have a chance to meet Miss Brightly.”

“Fine,” Julius said and turned his attention back to his work. So it was time to meet the diminutive Miss Brightly.

Chapter 6

THERE WAS A CERTAIN excitement about starting a painting, a heavy anticipation—even for a commission that she didn’t have any personal attachment to. It was still one of her paintings, and it was always important to her to do a good job. The craft had its own rewards, and any work she did needed her very best effort, even if she wasn’t personally enthusiastic about the subject.

Of her craft, she had no doubt. She knew she could paint a good portrait. Even so, she felt uneasy walking into the dining room. It wasn’t for lack of skill, but lack of... belonging. Because Julius Hennington had always felt she didn’t belong. And he was right.

Keeping her back straight and her head held high, she walked into what she understood was the dining room. It was dark. There was a row of windows, but they were up high. By the look of it, this room belonged to an older part of the building. The walls were wood paneled, which added to the somberness. There were other portraits on the walls. Regal looking men and a few ethereal looking ladies. They were older in style, judging by the technique and dress. Paint settled with age. It hardened and changed.

Then she noted Julius standing on the other side of the room. He looked as regal as the portrait of his ancestors. More so than how she remembered him. He’d changed in the intervening years. Become... more still.

“Lord Hennington,” she said with a quick curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance again.”

It couldn’t be said that she didn’t know the appropriate etiquette. It wasn’t often she used it, but this was perhaps the occasion. What else did they have than etiquette?

“Miss Brightly,” he said with a curt bow back.

An awkwardness descended, because she knew they were two people who didn’t particularly like each other. If he knew it too, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps he didn’t care what she thought of him.

“I trust your journey was pleasant,” he said, his voice cool and distant.

There was something a little less animated about him from what she remembered, as if the intervening years had been heavy. Well, he had lost his father, and from what she’d seen, there was no sign of his wife. There was something said a while back about his marriage not being successful, but she hadn’t paid attention—largely because she’d been adamant not to.

“There is some lovely countryside around here,” she said.

“Yes. Please, take a seat,” he said, indicating to the left of the table. A placement had been set for her. It was far enough away from his to suggest no intimacy. Other than the two settings, there were no other. It was only the two of them dining.

Jane took her seat. Mr. Fuller came and assisted her as Julius took his seat.

“This seems to be an older part of the house,” she said for lack of anything else to say. “It’s certainly a beautiful house.”

Julius appeared unaffected by the statement, as if he knew it was beautiful. “I understand the folly will be sufficient for this endeavor,” he said instead.

“It should serve well,” she replied.

A discomfort twisted her gut and she hated it. It was a remnant from their earlier encounter when she hadn’t entirely trusted what would come out of his mouth. With his opinion of her, it was a wonder he wanted her to paint him.

Silence descended between them. What did they have to say to each other? Not much. “There are definitely some signs of spring,” she said out of sheer desperation.

“Yes,” he replied and remained silent. This was going to be a long lunch—an even longer two months.

They were rescued by Mr. Fuller entering with a soup dish on a tray. They stayed silent as Mr. Fuller filled their bowls, and then they ate. It was