“Well, not…not much.”
“What then?”
“Well, maybe he… We…”
“Yes?”
“We just…happened to kiss. By mistake.”
“By mistake?” Sephi sniggered. “In a swingboat? How? You fell on top of him?”
“Well, yes, actually.”
Sephi’s eyes crossed. “But then surely that reveals he still has feelings for you?”
Verity sighed and absent-mindedly drew another line. “It was passionate, I concede, that old desire still binding us, but…but it is useless to allow it to develop. For nothing has changed and if I let slip that I am The Witness, or that Locksley is a lie, questions will roll and roll until I am smothered by them.”
Sephi’s elbow was replaced by a comforting hand. “I know I’ve said this before but as I come to know your Lord Stonewold, the more I think you should tell him all. I’m certain he would understand.”
“I spent weeks thinking about it after…” She swallowed hard, her pencil stalling on the paper. “I wanted Miles so much at that time, to be with him, but… I knew then that I could never be enough for him.” She wiped a senseless tear that had fallen. “And now he’s an earl with obligations to his title that demand a bride untouched by the world’s weight, unblemished and undamaged, not a spinster with more baggage than a stagecoach bound for Scotland. No. I am evenmorenot enough for him now.”
Sephi placed an arm around Verity’s shoulders, hugged her tight, the soft scent of violets wrapping about them.
“Youareenough, Verity Seymour. You have a core of strength that astounds me. I…I myself am full of fears and mistrus–”
“Oh, Sephi, no, it wasn’t your fa–”
“But then I think of you, of what you have coped with, and it…it steadies me. Makes me feel braver.” She drew back and wiped Verity’s cheek. “And it is because of your strength that Isay you should consider telling him. Just think on it. You are stronger than you know.”
“If I’m stronger, it is only because of you, Cousin.” Verity smiled. “Very well, I will think on it. But I promise nothing.”
“That will do.” Sephi smiled also. “For now.”
“And you, Sephi?” Verity whispered. “Will you try to believe in yourself? And be open to what the future might hold?”
Sephi nodded and flopped back into the cushions. “According toMr Madrigalat the fair who asked my birth date, ran a finger over some incomprehensible charts, smoked some strange tobacco and then mumbled to himself, my future is to bring life to a man who thinks himself dead.” She sniffed. “I thinkMr Madrigalhad overdone the tobacco.”
They both softly laughed and Verity closed her eyes, felt a sense of peace descend.
Then opened them to her sketchpad, as she oft just drew without thought.
Would it be a wearied soldier? A blackened cannon?
That was odd.
For it was a primula flower. With its finely serrated leaves and pretty petals. Just as she used to draw when young.
Sephi peered at the paper and then grinned. “We should leave for home before Aunt collects another cat, but maybe we’ll pass by Mr Hockliff’s art shop and buy you some new watercolours. Then you could finish that primula.”
With a frown, Verity closed her sketchpad.
She no longer drew flowers.
14
“IN SOME PARTS OF LIFE, FLOWERS ARE SCATTERED, WITH PROFUSION, THE ROAD IS SMOOTH, AND THE PROSPECT PLEASANT: BUT IN OTHERS (AND I FEAR THE GREATER NUMBER) THE ROAD IS RUGGED, BESET WITH THORNS AND BRIARS, AND CUT BY TORRENTS.”
(LETTERS TO HIS SON BY THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. LONDON. JANUARY 15, 1754)
