Chapter 22

The chaos that followed the Dowager Duchess's arrest was only just beginning to die down, and life was slowly returning to normal, as it had now been a week since the event.

Frances stood in the grand hallway, gazing at the portrait of Christopher's father that hung above the fireplace. The late Duke had a stern but kind face, much like his son. She could see the resemblance and the weight of expectations that had been passed down.

Christopher entered the room quietly and stopped behind her. "What are you thinking about?" he asked gently, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I was just thinking about everything that's happened," she said softly.

"By gazing at a portrait of my father?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It is not that."

"Then what?"

"Well, I was wondering why it is not the case that your family portrait is not here. This place is usually reserved for one."

"Perceptive, as always." He shot her a smile. "Do you really want to know the reason?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Then I will show you."

Christopher offered her his hand, and she took it without hesitation. He led her down the hallway and up a flight of stairs, to a part of the manor she hadn't explored much. They stopped in front of a large door, which he opened with a key from his pocket.

Inside was a room filled with covered paintings and a few old, dusty furniture pieces.

"This is the gallery," Christopher explained, leading her to a large, draped canvas at the far end of the room. "These are family portraits, some of them quite old."

"Oh…"

Frances began to look around. She had not seen anything like it before. The room held years and years of memories of the Grant family. It felt like she was a part of history just by being here.

"There is one particular portrait I would like you to see."

He pulled away the dust cover, revealing a portrait of his family. He was just a child, and so was Peter.

Frances gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth as she took in the image. "Oh, you were so little. How come this portrait isn't hanging outside?"

Christopher shrugged his shoulders. "You know why. When my mother and father separated, it became too painful for him to look at it. As such, he had it removed, and it has been hidden away since."

Frances touched his shoulder gently, seeing how this was an emotional moment for him.

"In a way, this portrait represents the last time that my family was truly together," he admitted softly. "We were never really much of a happy family, but in this painting, we pretended to be."

Frances felt a surge of protectiveness towards him. It was clear that this was a painful memory for him, and she wanted to do something, anything that could make it better.

"I have an idea."

Christopher looked at her, confused. "If you are suggesting that we hang the portrait and give it a new life, I will have to stop you right there…"

"No." She shook her head. "How about a new portrait?"

"What do you mean?"

"We talk about moving forward and leaving things in the past. But one of the best ways to do that is to replace it with new memories. The spot above the mantel, where the former Duke's portrait is hanging, it feels like it's waiting for something—a new beginning."

"What are you suggesting?" Christopher asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I've been thinking that we should have a family portrait made. Something that captures us as we are now, and what we're building together. What do you think?"

Christopher pondered her suggestion for a long moment. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

"I think it is exactly what we need." Frances smiled. "We are a true family now, and every family needs a portrait."

"I do wish for your beauty to be captured for all eternity." He smiled, touching the side of her face gently.

She laughed at his comment, shaking her head. He always knew the right thing to say.

"I think the children will find it fun to do, as well."

"Sitting for a portrait?" Christopher laughed. "You misjudge how much of a long and boring task it is."

"Good, then it will teach them patience. Which they could very well use…"

"Well, if this is what you want, then I can arrange for a well-known portrait artist who can come to the manor and start as soon as we're ready."

"I would love that," Frances said softly. "Thank you, Christopher."

* * *

A few days later, the estate buzzed with excitement. The renowned artist, Mr. Hawthorne, had arrived, traveling from Scotland where he now resided.

Frances had spent the entire morning ensuring that everything was perfect, from their attire to the setting where the portrait would be painted.

Christopher found her in the drawing room, adjusting the flowers on the mantel. "I think you have overprepared a bit…"

Frances turned to him, a soft smile playing on her lips. "There is no such thing as being overprepared. We should make sure everything is perfect so that the next generation can look at us and remember," she replied. "I just hope the boys are up for it."

Christopher chuckled, nodding towards the hallway, where Edwin and Ernest were peeking around the corner, their eyes filled with curiosity. "I think they're more excited than we are."

Frances laughed. "Well, let's not keep them waiting, then."

They gathered in the grand drawing room, where the artist had set up his easel and paints. The twins were dressed in their best outfits, their eyes wide as they looked at the artist at work.

"Wow," Ernest breathed. "Are you really an artist?"

Mr. Hawthorne nodded gently. "Yes, and you are going to be my subject. Are you ready? You should get seated now."

Christopher and Frances joined them, and together they sat for the portrait.

"Relax your pose," Frances said to Edwin, who in turn dropped his shoulders. "Not so much."

"Relax, Frances." Christopher chuckled. "You need not worry so much. We are in the best of hands, as the artist is known for his work. Is that not right?"

Mr. Hawthorne nodded. He seemed a man of a serious disposition and did not look like he was going to joke around with them.

"Please, hold still so I can begin."

"Of course," Frances said, tapping the twins on their backs. They straightened up, and all four of them gave their best smiles.

Mr. Hawthorne began his work, capturing their likenesses with swift, sure strokes.

Frances and Christopher stood behind the twins, where Christopher's arm was draped protectively over her shoulder. In front of them stood the twins.

They looked like a real, happy family.

But unlike how the happiness had been a farce when Christopher had sat for that family portrait years ago, this time the happiness was real.

"Hold still, boys," Frances whispered gently, trying not to break her expression as Ernest wiggled slightly, his curiosity getting the better of him. "We want to look our best."

"But what if he paints me with my eyes closed?" Edwin asked quietly, causing both Frances and Christopher to stifle their laughter.

"There is no such thing."

"But what if!"

"Hush, now."

The children continued to move around, causing the artist to glare at them more than a few times. It was an imperfect moment, but somehow, it made it all the better for Frances.

There was no pretense here. They were being captured exactly as they were.

* * *

Two weeks later, the portrait was completed and ready to be unveiled. The family gathered in the drawing room for the grand reveal.

Mr. Hawthorne seemed quite proud of himself, standing next to the portrait and waiting for the family to settle down in anticipation.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his hand poised to pull away the cloth covering the painting.

Frances and Christopher exchanged a look, their hands intertwined.

"We're ready," Christopher declared.

Mr. Hawthorne removed the cloth, revealing the portrait. Gasps of admiration filled the room as everyone took in the image.

The painting was a perfect depiction of their family. Frances's gentle smile, Christopher's proud and protective stance, and the twins' innocent joy were all rendered with exquisite detail.

It did not look staged, and the artist had done a great job at making sure that their likeness looked natural.

"It's beautiful," Frances whispered, getting overwhelmed with emotion. "More beautiful than I ever imagined."

Christopher wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "It's perfect," he agreed softly. "Just like our family."

The twins stared at the painting, their eyes wide with wonder.

"Which one is me?" Edwin asked, causing the duo to burst into laughter.

"The one on the right," Frances told him.

"No, that is me," Ernest claimed.

"No, dear. I am sure that is Edwin." Frances looked back at the painting. Now she was confused, too.

Christopher chuckled, bending down to their level and looking between the boys and the painting. "I think Mr. Hawthorne has captured both of you so well that it's hard to tell," he said.

Edwin pointed to the painting again. "Maybe we can be both," he suggested.

Frances laughed, nodding in agreement. "Yes, maybe you can," she said warmly. "It doesn't matter who is who. What matters is that you're together, just like in the portrait."

Mr. Hawthorne, who had been observing them quietly so far, perhaps waiting for further praise, let out an annoyed sigh.

"I must say, Your Grace, I have rarely encountered such a challenge," he began, pointing to the portrait with an exasperated expression. "I spent hours—no, days—trying to capture every tiny distinction between your delightful offspring. And yet, here we are, unable to identify who is who!"

Frances bit her lip, trying to stifle her laughter. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hawthorne. It's just that they're so identical, even we sometimes mix them up."

Mr. Hawthorne waved his paintbrush, clearly agitated but trying to maintain his professional demeanor. "It is not a matter of mere similarity, Your Grace. It is an artist's nightmare! One of them has a slightly more rounded nose, the other a subtly different arch to the eyebrow—subtle yet important distinctions! And I thought I had captured them perfectly."

"You did capture them perfectly, Mr. Hawthorne. So perfectly, in fact, that even their parents can't tell the difference," Christopher chimed in, chuckling to himself.

The artist threw up his hands in a gesture of mock despair. "Well, if you cannot tell them apart, then what hope is there for a mere painter?" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "I shall have to go down in history as the man who painted the unidentifiable twins!"

Edwin and Ernest started to giggle even more, causing the artist to get even more angry.

"We can switch places whenever we want!" Edwin declared mischeviously.

"Yes! We'll keep everyone guessing!" Ernest agreed.

"So then, by that metric, this painting is a greater success," Christopher said to the artist, trying to make him feel better. "I think it might be your best work yet. Well done!"

"Well, thank you," Mr. Hawthorne grunted. "But I think I shall avoid identical twins in future commissions…"

They were still laughing by the time he left. But it was now time to hang up the portrait, and for that, Frances was very excited.

They all gathered around the mantel to witness the sight. Christopher had clasped her hand tightly, and the twins watched in fascination, still arguing about who was who.

With careful precision, the staff lifted the portrait into place.

"Careful," Frances cautioned.

And then finally, it was hung up.

She took in the sight, growing emotional again. "It is so perfect."

"This is just the beginning," Christopher said softly, his voice filled with pride. "There's so much more to look forward to."