“Oh…” His lips and shoulders wilted. “You can’t help. I understand.”
“No. No, you do not understand.” Miles stood and crossed to place hands to his cousin’s shoulders. Straightened them back up. “Of course I will help. In any way I can. What I’m sorry for is that you were the one who got left behind. I hardly saw you as a child and we…forgot you. I went to war. Dair went to the Continent and you were left here with Aunt Mildred. When we came back, neither of us saw the true you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t stand up for myself, I know that. I c-couldn’t against Father – he was so much stronger than I. And with Mother, it’s just easier to comply. I was ill a lot, the headaches blinding me, and I could do nothing but sleep. But these tinctures are working magic – I bought them at the fair, you know.”
“Well…” Miles clapped him on the back. “I cannot pretend that explaining this to your mother will be pleasant.”
“I know. She’ll rant and shout before going deadly silent, but that is when you must be careful as then the scheming starts.” His brow furrowed, candlelight reflecting in his blue eyes. Once Miles would have said they were nothing like his brother’s but at this moment in time, they’d cooled to that same winter’s lake. “She’ll ask me to wait, say it’s all in my loins, that Julietis socially beneath me and I should give it time but…” His jaw tightened. “I remember Dair being told to wait when he wished to marry the doctor’s daughter. The arguments with Father…” He shuddered. “Father insisted Dair embark upon the Grand Tour first and then if he still felt the same… But by the time he returned, she’d died of a fever.”
“Dair has never recovered from that, has he?”
Jeremy shook his head. “No, he hasn’t. She came to the house once to see Father, after Dair had left. It was raining and the girl was soaked to the skin. I do not know what happened but she ran from the front door in tears. I often wonder if that contributed to the fever. I remember Dair returning, his face when he was told… He spent the entire night at her grave, you know.” A deep gulp. “So I’llnotwait for Juliet.”
“I shall help all I can.”
“Oh, gads will you? I’d so appreciate it, Miles.” He beamed.
“We should also talk of finances.”
A blush stole over his cousin’s face. “Hmm, I’d be grateful as I still need to reassure Mrs Tait, you see. We are to invest Juliet’s dowry but also… There are my compositions.” He cleared his throat. “Juliet…well, she gave me such encouragement that I-I approached a musical venue. And do you know, they purchased some. For a fair sum too. And they would like more.”
Miles thought the day could not have more surprises. “Bloody well done, Jeremy. Just let me know what you need and I’ll help all I can. In any way I can. And be there at your side, Cousin, when you talk with your mother.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Miles. It’s all I ask.” He wiped his brow. “Juliet… She sees something in me. She sees more. I know I can’t be like Dair, all suave and dashing. Or like you, brave and strong. But I-I think I could be someone. Just someone who is truly me.”
Miles clapped him on the back. “I think so too. And that is someone I will always be proud to call my cousin.”
31
“MEN ARGUE. NATURE ACTS.”
(VOLTAIRE)
Asunset of crimson lake, vermillion and Naples yellow spilled through Verity’s conservatory windows like honey and she just stood bathed within it.
She had found her muse.
A meow from behind her concurred and Verity glanced over her shoulder to Colonel Brandon, curled inside a plant pot, paws stretching, a deep purr rumbling from his chest.
With a smile, she returned to the central haven of her conservatory. Dusk would soon steal that last blush of sunset, and so three lanterns had also been lit by her easel and the canvas she had been working on since midday.
APlumbago rosea– or to be exact, the flower stem that Miles had decapitated with his boot three nights past.
Three nights that had seemed, at times, no more than a moment ago, for she still felt his touch upon her skin, his kisses on her lips. Yet the day-lit hours had seemed to stretch into an eternity, worry for him consuming her thoughts.
She lifted a hand to the canvas, felt the rough texture of a petal beneath her fingertip as rather than use watercolours, she’d turned to oils.
With the former, one layered colour to capture the soft delicate luminosity of the petals, but with oils…
Textured and vibrant, the flowers spoke with richness and drama, not delicate or soft but tangible and tough.
This was what she would paint now. Not blooms untouched by the world, but those that had endured it.
She unscrewed a pot of marble dust and placed it on the ledge of her easel, for the addition would reflect light and add an effervescence to the petals. Lifting her brush once again, she tilted her head, comparing the Venetian red pigment against the flower stem set in the vase upon the iron tabl–
A forearm clamped her throat.
Breath fractured and the brush fell from her fingers.
