The way Fiona mumbled and avoided his gaze only deepened Giles’s dubious frown. “But I thought paintings relaxed you. Art galleries are like home to you.”
“Well, yes, but if you take me into a room like this, filled with nothing but the finest paintings, of course it’s going to be a bit overwhelming.”
This was nothing like going to an art gallery, where she knew to mentally prepare herself for all the art. Her visit to this room was a sneak attack. She hadn’t had a chance to brace herself, and as a result, she drowned in the sea of famous art. It was a turmoil that she only felt because she loved art so much.
“That’s how it works?” Giles asked. Fiona confirmed that it was. “So…you’re not feeling ill.”
“No. I’m fine.”
Giles still did not seem entirely convinced, but Fiona’s insistent tone was enough for him to finally take a step away from her with an understanding nod.
Now free of the distraction of his embrace, Fiona looked around the room again with a tiny sigh of relief. As she beheld the paintings once more, Giles saw the joy he’d anticipated return to her face.
“This is like a dream come true,” she said. “But I wish I’d had some time to prepare myself.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize!” Fiona insisted frantically. “I’m not upset! I guess I just don’t handle surprises well.” In fact, it was only recently, when she and Giles started seeing each other regularly, that Fiona learned she was not built for surprises. Her brain and body froze before she could react. It was frustrating; she’d thought she was more composed, more competent, than that.
Huh? But wait a minute…
She thought about it again and realized something: She always seemed to freeze up when Giles was near her. That meant that the problem lay not in Fiona but in Giles. She recalled the glimmer of mischief she had seen on occasion in his grayish-blue eyes, and a thought occurred to her.
Did he do things to shock her for fun? That was possible, wasn’t it?
“That much is clear,” Giles said. “You freeze up a lot.”
“Huh?”
“In the beginning, whenever I did this…” Giles brushed the backs of his fingers against Fiona’s cheek. His smile was blindingly bright, but only because he was backlit by a window and Fiona was looking up at him.
“Lord Giles—”
“I wasn’t teasing you.”
“No, you definitely were!” I hate being right!
Fiona’s plea seemed to have no effect on Giles; he just laughed at her. Fiona was only beginning to realize how jovial Giles could be—yet another fact about him that she would never have learned without spending so much time with him. She knew it was only her lack of experience that made her such an easy target, but she still looked away from Giles in a huff and turned her attention back to the art.
“Want a closer look?” Giles asked.
“I’m fine here, thanks. I might forget to breathe again.”
“Ah.” He gave another chuckle. Fiona didn’t think she was being particularly funny, but Giles’s laughter was infectious, and she had to admit that she didn’t mind that.
Then, mid-laugh, something caught her eye. Oh! This painting… “The second one from the edge is a Balmain. From his younger years, I believe?”
“You’ve got a keen eye, to spot that all the way back here,” Giles said.
“Well, his style is unique. You know, I’m so happy his work survived.”
“Yeah, his name was removed from the records for a while there.” For all his insistence that he was no art expert, Giles’s eloquent answers made it clear that he knew a lot about the pieces in his family’s collection.
In Poiret’s case, her work was lost because of the war, but sometimes an artist’s style or motifs were denounced as the world and society evolved. As for Balmain, religion made his situation particularly precarious. He had devoted his life to the church, painting realistic and devout art. But his work, which so freely expressed his emotions, was adamantly criticized. During the long period before the public came to accept his art, some hard-liners named him a target to be purged and sent him on the run many times.
It was possible that owners of his art were similarly impacted. Fiona had never heard anything about the Earl of Bancroft fielding protests from the church, but maybe that information just wasn’t publicly available. And even if they weren’t ever direct targets, the danger of one day becoming targets remained. They kept the painting despite the risk, a fact Fiona now marveled over. The painting itself was not illegal, but she saw resentment in it over society crushing what was one hailed as sacred. Fiona sat there in awe of the artist who continued to paint when his life was in danger, the art that survived the tumultuous times, and the collectors who protected it. Her eyes were blurry with proud tears when she finally turned her gaze to the next painting in line.
They have some very old paintings here…but they’re all in excellent condition.
There was a window behind the sofa, but it was positioned strategically to avoid getting any direct light on the paintings or glass display tables. And though the room was perpetually shut, the air was neither musty nor dusty. It was clear that a great deal of care was put into preserving the room’s environment. They really did treat these paintings like treasure.
Bancroft was a long-standing house, and it was therefore a house that had known many struggles beyond the recent war. To overcome all that and maintain a collection in such exquisite condition was no mean feat. Moreover, the collection was varied, containing pieces that were simply beautiful alongside historical and dramatic pieces. The Bancroft family collection was well worth its fame.
“Lord Giles, which painting is your favorite?” Fiona asked.
“Huh?” Giles looked surprised at Fiona’s innocent question.
“Are there any you like in particular?” There were landscapes, still objects, all sorts of subjects, and with a variety of colors and motifs, a person was bound to find a piece that spoke to them.
After a moment’s thought, Giles pointed at a painting. “Well… See the hound in that hunting painting?”
“The white and brown one?”
“I used to have a dog that looked like that,” Giles said dispassionately, staring at the painting.