“I believe you may be guilty of colour discord.”
That wasn’t an answer; he’d neatly sidestepped the question, but she wasn’t offended on either count. “I happen to like bright colours. The brighter the better.”
Indeed, the asylum had only allowed grey, as they believed gay colours overset the mind. Tosh. As soon as she had arrived at Stonebridge, she had set light to the drab dresses and, since then, if it didn’t make you wince, she didn’t wear it. It made her feel alive – alive and happy. “You seem to prefer earthy colours?” she ventured.
“Boring, you mean? Mud and grass.”
“No. I see earth and moss.”
“I beg your pardon?” He blinked.
“You misunderstand my colour predilection. I’m not saying everyone should wear bright colours. You should wear whatever you are most comfortable with. Colour choice probably changes with life and circumstance. I do not find your apparel boring. I like it. Brown reminds me of the rich earth – a strong and dependable colour. Green is mossy – subtle, deep, it can grow in the most unfavourable circumstances, yet it survives…beautiful.”
Both the maid and Lucas were staring at her, their expressions unfathomable. Had she just made a fox’s paw? She searched her words for anything Benedict might have scolded her about.
“No one else sees me in that way. It is one of the most charming things anyone has ever said about my clothing.” Lucas’s eyes met hers with tenderness and regard.
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean…well, I did, but I’m really not–”
“Are you trying to tell me that you’re not charming? I must disagree. You are like those sugared comfits you keep eating from that little bag in your reticule: bright and most appealing.”
His words made the breath catch in her throat. And he claimed he was dour. No one could say such things if that was true. “They are almond comfits though: sweet on the outside but hard and nutty beneath.”
“I like contrast,” he murmured. “Bitter and sweet; hard and soft; smooth and rough–”
A splutter and shuffle of skirts from the maid broke the tension.
“Oh, we are at the curate’s,” Rosalind said hastily. “A word, Major, about Caleb – he is quite a young chap and the murder of his betrothed has hurt him greatly. I wouldn’t say it was impossible that he may leave his religious calling.”
Grey eyes surveyed her. “Are you telling me to go gentle?”
“Yes.”
He held out his hand for her to descend the carriage. “Very well, I shall try.”
Caleb Rowland looked like every young woman’s dream.
Indeed, Lucas thought grumpily, there must be something in the water of this village.
Everyone was perfect – handsome, pretty, prosperous and whole. No wonder someone had gone on the rampage. He immediately chastised himself – he was turning bitter, something he had vowed never to do. It was Miss Trewent’s fault: she was fussing around the man, as though he was a china doll.
The curate was a chitty-faced fellow. Blue, guileless eyes looked bewildered, as though he had just discovered the world was an ugly place at the advanced age of twenty-four. His hair was coal-black, throwing his pale lily-white face into an almost angelic beauty – it made Lucas want to heave.
He’d asked a fewgentlequestions, and although he understood Miss Trewent’s request, he wasn’t going to rattle anything loose if he kept it…gentle.
“Was it possible your betrothed was seeing another man?” He felt, rather than saw, Miss Trewent’s eyes narrow at him.
The man-boy turned his blue orbs on Lucas with utter misery. “A-another man?” he stuttered. “No… You don’t understand. We loved each other.”
Raising his eyes to heaven, Lucas noticed a spider eating a fly. He empathised with the spider. Everyone vilifies him, but he was just doing what he had to.
“Did Miss Risley act in any unusual way before she died? Say she would be somewhere and then be late, for example? Disappear? Be mysterious?” Anybloodything, he thought.
“No. She was perfection. Always punctual, honest and…now gone.”
The man collapsed into a wild sob, and Lucas gritted his teeth again.
Was it possible this was an act? If it was, it was a good one, he thought as the man blubbered all over Miss Trewent’s hand.
