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The sunlight filtered warm and bright through the window casting a diamond pattern across the floor and catching all the dust hanging in the air. It made the whole room seem like it was standing still, preserved in a single moment. Isabel wished it was, so she could remain in the room surrounded by sunlight and the art. She sighed and busied herself tidying up her brother’s art supplies and putting them neatly into his open trunk. When she’d checked on him earlier he’d been sleeping. She was glad, he’d been exhausting himself with all his ravings, he needed the rest. Privately, she preferred when he slept then she could do as she wished without worrying about her responsibility to him— or his former lectures. The guilt at such a cruel thought spurred on her careful packing of his tools. She bundled together several scraps of paper and tucked them against the side of the trunk. She straightened and jolted.
Edith stood at the top of the stairs.
"Miss. Marlowe." She greeted, crossing the room to a table full of papers. "You startled me."
"That wasn't my intention,” she inclined her head with a small smile, moving further into the studio.
Isabel looked down at the rough, incomplete sketch of Edith staring up at her from the top most paper. "It's quite alright. Is there anything I can do for you?"
“You’re packing.” It wasn’t exactly a question but she nodded anyway.
"Yes, a telegram came early this morning. Father is sending a carriage to collect us by the week’s end and poor Jonah is in no state to pack his own things."
"I hadn't realized you made arrangements to leave."
There was something odd in her tone. It had gone too soft. Isabel stilled and looked up. Edith was facing the window, the sunlight bathed her in gold.
"I was intending to tell you at tea this afternoon,” she said after a long second. She gathered the sketching in a neat pile. "I do hope a change in environment will help Jonah regain his senses. It is a shame about the portraits—" Edith hadn’t moved or made any effort to acknowledge her words. A cloud covered the sun, darkening the studio. Isabel cut herself off looking back to Jonah’s drawing of Edith. It was technically quite good but it wasn’t right. She looked too gentle. She ran her thumb across the edge of the paper. "I will miss this place."
The studio was silent. Isabel waited for a moment but Edith made no move to fill it. She went back to her work, delicately rolling up the sketches.
"Stay."
She stopped. "Pardon me?"
"Your brother's leave needn't be yours."
Isabel looked up, eyebrows furrowed. Edith had turned and was watching her impassively, hands clasped and gaze unwavering. She was silhouetted in the haloing light of the window. She blinked, trying to sort through her confusion. “Miss. Marlowe—”
"Edith. We are friends are we not?"
"Of course we are,” she conceded, feeling remarkably unsteady. “Edith."
"Isabel,” Edith returned, swaying closer. She was smiling the way she only ever did when they were alone. It pulled at one side, wide, and far warmer than any sunshine could ever be. But it was not soft, not gentle, the corners were sharp.
She smiled back open and helpless. What she’d give to stay in that moment forever.
"I cannot stay,” the words soured her tongue.
"Why ever not?" Edith tilted her head, leaning against the table. Her hand curled around the edge, just out of reach of her own.
She sent her a flat look and started to roll the drawings again. “My brother is ill—” mad. "It would be improper.”
“You said yourself that the portraits need to be finished.”
“I don’t think I did say that,” she said, reaching for a clip. “And if I did, there are many excellent painters who would clamber for your patronage.”
Edith took the clip from the table before she could, twirling it in between her fingers. “Many excellent painters, hm?”
“I have met many,” Isabel agreed mildly. “I imagine they will do an admirable job.”
“Are you not yourself an admirable painter?”
She snatched the clip back, fingers brushing Edith’s palm. “You’re playing with me.”
Edith shot her another smile, “Only a little.”
Isabel huffed securing the drawing.
“I may tease, dear Isabel, but there is no one else I’d rather complete the paintings. You capture life like no other.”
Isabel flushed, keeping her eyes averted. “Flattery.”
“Truth.”
She bit her cheek to stop the pleased smile from spilling onto her lips. Edith always offered her such pretty imaginings but they were just that, imaginings, fleeting moments, futures that drifted in the air like breath. She shook her head. She grabbed the drawings but before she could turn away Edith reached out and caught her wrist. Her fingers were tight enough to almost be painful. Isabel inhaled. She didn’t let go.
“Do you not wish to stay?”
Isabel held her breath. She could feel Edith’s pulse through her fingertips.
“Of course I do.”
“Then take on your brother’s task, agree to complete the paintings.”
“My brother—”
Edith slid her hand down her wrist until she was holding her hand. Isabel’s eyes shot up and Edith’s gaze caught hers.
“You have done your duty and cared for him as any sister should. Now it is up to the rest of your family and the good doctors they will employ.”
“Your uncle—” she protested.
“Will be pleased I have a companion and to have the portraits complete.”
Isabel shifted. Edith’s eyes remained fixated on her. They stood so close together they were sharing breath. Edith’s voice was quiet, measured.
“The paintings must be completed and you are a painter. We are patrons of the arts and you are an artist. A lady should have companions and you are a friend,” Edith reached out to take her other hand as well, entwining their fingers. “Do me this service, dearest Isabel, and stay.”
Isabel’s breath caught in her throat. Edith watched her, steel eyes like a snare. Her heart pounded in her ears drowning out any rational thought. She could feel Edith’s hands pressed against hers. The sun streamed through the window.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Yes.”
Edith’s expression opened like the dawn breaking. She smiled, beatific, and leaned forward to press her forehead against hers. Skin against skin. Her breath danced softly on her cheek.
“I’ll inform my uncle,” she pulled away slowly, smiling like Isabel had hung the sun in the sky. She vanished down the stairs.
Isabel stood in the afternoon light. The phantom sensation of Edith’s touch lingering on her skin. Ineffectively, she pressed her lips together.
She smiled.