Still, for all that Giles’s story had resonated with her on a personal level, she was shocked by how hard she had cried over it. She was an adult, and a working woman besides. She ought to be able to control her emotions, and she hadn’t bawled like that in years. Her eyes had been stinging before, but now her entire face burned with shame.
Somehow, she managed to compose herself. “Lord Giles,” she murmured without looking up at him, “I want to look at the paintings some more.”
“Of course.”
Fiona pressed her palms to Giles’s chest, trying to separate her forehead from it. After a long pause, he released her from his embrace, and when their bodies parted, a cool, gentle breeze filled in the empty space around her. She drank in the air, which cooled her head, pretending not to notice the pool of loneliness sinking into her chest.
“S-sorry I lost control there,” she said.
“It’s not a problem,” said Giles. Not wanting him to see her puffy red face, Fiona wiped the tears that still clung to her lashes. Then she stood up from the sofa and walked toward the paintings. Giles followed behind and offered her his elbow. “Allow me to offer you some support.”
He was probably worried she might topple over again, but his words brought a different image to Fiona’s mind.
That one day… The first time she visited this mansion, to return Giles’s cuff links. Noticing her hurt ankle, Giles had offered her the same words and the same gesture—but there had been a stiffness in his voice back then, and a reluctance in his touch.
“You said the same thing to me once before,” Fiona murmured.
This seemed to jog Giles’s memory. “Oh, you’re right. I did.”
The way he smiled down at her, lingering on the memory, made Fiona feel peculiar all over. He didn’t smile like this back then.
Fiona’s gaze traveled up his extended arm to meet Giles’s smiling eyes. The chiseled structure of his handsome face remained the same, but she saw not a trace of the cold marble that had been so apparent at their first meeting.
She lowered her gaze and took his arm. As she did, her eyes landed on the glittering ring on her finger. That hadn’t been there at their first meeting either.
“You know,” she said, “I always wondered—how did you know my ankle was injured?”
Her ankle’s sprain was not that serious, and she thought she was able to walk on it rather convincingly. And Fiona had been walking behind Giles, so he wouldn’t even have been able to see the bandage around her foot.
Giles looked up thoughtfully, consulting his memory. “I just knew,” he said finally.
“You just knew?”
“You favored one leg when you left the garden. I think I noticed that.”
“You mean the night of the prince’s party?”
Startled by this unexpected revelation, Fiona stared shamelessly at Giles’s face. She knew that she was unremarkable in appearance, upbringing, and personality—just a tiny speck in a vast ocean of people. To Fiona, that she was invisible was not a condescending statement but an objective fact. She also possessed not the slightest desire to be the center of attention. She loved admiring art, but she never wanted others to admire her as if she were art. So how—at a lavish royal ball where she was nothing more than the dull daughter of a baron who had not even introduced herself—did Giles both notice and remember her?
“Lord Giles,” she concluded, “you have an uncannily good memory.”
“No, Fiona, I remember because it was you,” Giles said. Fiona froze, stunned by yet another unexpected answer, and Giles pressed on without hesitation. “I don’t remember how many other ladies I met that night or what any of them looked like.”
It must have been Fiona’s dress, then, or her hair. She had not worn the latest design, and she’d only had the bare minimum number of accessories—had her appearance really been bad enough to raise eyebrows? “W-was I really that out of place?” she asked meekly.
Giles chuckled softly and gave her a reassuring shake of his head. “Of course not. I just remembered you, that’s all.”
“That’s all? But how—”
“I don’t need a good reason—isn’t that right?”
“Well, I…” Fiona’s heart fluttered. Those were the words that had kicked off their fake romance. It was Fiona herself who had uttered the words “he doesn’t need a good reason,” and knew deep in her heart that she meant them. “B-but—”
“So, where would you like to start?” Giles asked, bringing her focus back to the paintings on the wall. It was clear he did not intend to elaborate any further.
“W-well… Let’s start at that corner over there,” Fiona suggested. Giles took her over to the corner in question, and Fiona stood in front of the painting there. Despite the bad taste lingering in her mouth, she marveled at the exquisite sight.
Every painting in the room was a feast for the eyes, and soon, she stopped thinking about Giles’s troubling words. Time flew as she listened intently to Giles explain and share personal anecdotes about the paintings, and by the time they had finished taking in every painting, with Fiona having uttered nothing but a string of oohs and aahs, the sun was setting.
“Oh my. That was so beautiful. Thank you so much for bringing me here, Lord Giles.”
“Have you had enough?” Giles asked.
“Oh, yes.” Fiona beamed up at him, all traces of tears gone. “I’ve devoured so much great art that I’m sure to dream about it tonight.”
With a satisfied nod, Giles took out his watch. Now that the time was right, he would finally take her back to the Clayburn mansion. “You can come here anytime to see the paintings. I’ll tell Dalton to let you in when I’m go—”
“No, thank you. You’ve done more than enough.”
Her casual rejection of his offer brought him up short. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” Because it wouldn’t be proper for me to come back!