[Lord John's expression pinches slightly. In truth, he had not even thought to look for Isobel. A fact which he does feel somewhat guilty for. Though Isobel herself would insist that his main priority be Willie. Speaking of which.]
In truth, it is my son for whom I had been searching. I do not suppose...
[John reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the portrait held within. Unfolding it from its protective handkerchief before holding it out towards her. Young William Ransom stares up at her in return. A young boy, perhaps nine or ten, with a soft childish tenderness still lingering about his face and his hair a soft chestnut brown. Yet if she looks hard enough she might recognize the slanted blue eyes looking boldly out over a straight nose a fraction of an inch too long, or the high Viking cheekbones pressed tight against smooth skin. The tilt of his head holding the same confident carriage as that of the man who had given him that face.
Or perhaps she may only see a stranger's son. The recognition of her husband's son in the young boy's portrait is entirely up to her and her alone.]
I do not suppose you have seen him about the city at any point in your travels?
no subject
[Lord John's expression pinches slightly. In truth, he had not even thought to look for Isobel. A fact which he does feel somewhat guilty for. Though Isobel herself would insist that his main priority be Willie. Speaking of which.]
In truth, it is my son for whom I had been searching. I do not suppose...
[John reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the portrait held within. Unfolding it from its protective handkerchief before holding it out towards her. Young William Ransom stares up at her in return. A young boy, perhaps nine or ten, with a soft childish tenderness still lingering about his face and his hair a soft chestnut brown. Yet if she looks hard enough she might recognize the slanted blue eyes looking boldly out over a straight nose a fraction of an inch too long, or the high Viking cheekbones pressed tight against smooth skin. The tilt of his head holding the same confident carriage as that of the man who had given him that face.
Or perhaps she may only see a stranger's son. The recognition of her husband's son in the young boy's portrait is entirely up to her and her alone.]
I do not suppose you have seen him about the city at any point in your travels?