I found Isabella in her painting room, a space flooded with afternoon light that transformed the ordinary into something magical. She stood before her canvas, paintbrush in hand, her brow furrowed in concentration. She hadn't heard me enter, and for a moment, I simply watched her work, admiring how at peace she looked.
"Your technique has improved," I said finally.
Isabella startled, then smiled when she saw me. "Evangeline! You scared me." She set down her brush and wiped her hands on a nearby cloth. "I didn't hear Alistair announce you."
"He said you might be here. I asked to surprise you." I moved closer to examine her painting—a landscape of the gardens with delicate attention to the play of light through the trees. "It's beautiful."
