Page 12 of Fair as a Star

He took her hand briefly once more and pressed another kiss to it. She supposed the touch of his lips should have made her pulse leap or her heart flutter. It did neither. She felt absolutely nothing. Nothing when he kissed her hand. Nothing when he made them a curt bow, and took his leave.

She watched him depart, neither regretful, nor relieved. Merely…empty.

“Well!” Winnifred huffed. “The least he could have done was allow me to finish my sentence. I expect he’d have let you do so, had you made more than a peep.”

“About your horse? How could I? I only just learned of the creature.”

“He’s not my horse,” Winnifred said. “I’m destined to have none of the things I want. Not Vesper. Not a Worth gown. If Aunt Hortensia had decided to make me her pet last year instead of you, then perhaps I—” She broke off, her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a Jealous Jenny.”

“You’re not a Jealous Jenny.” Beryl linked her arm through her sister’s. “You’re a Willful Winnie. You always have been.”

“It did hurt to be left behind. I so desperately wanted to go with you.”

“I know, dearest. But you wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as you imagine. You and Aunt Hortensia are like oil and water.”

“Were you always in her company?” Winnifred asked. “Every minute of the day?”

“And well into the evening, too,” Beryl said. Her aunt had been disposed to keep a close eye on her.

“How tedious. Still, I think I might have endured it. Especially if there was a new wardrobe weighing in the balance. I adore beautiful things.”

“Naturally.”

“And you’re not to think it’s because I have some addle-brained notion of catching myself a husband. I won’t end my youth as an ornament on some gentleman’s mantelshelf. I should wither if I was consigned to such a life. I should die.”

Beryl was surprised by her sister’s adamance. “What do you want out of life?”

“Recognition,” Winnifred said without hesitation. “I want to ride the fastest, and row the hardest. I want to be the best—and to have everyone know I’m the best. As good as a man, anyway. I can’t stand being condescended to.”

“You sound as though you’re speaking of someone specific. Has a particular gentleman been condescending to you?”

Winnifred fidgeted with one of the silk bows on her overskirt. She didn’t answer, asking instead, “Don’t you bristle at it, Beryl? At always being treated as if you were a child, merely on account of having been born a woman?”

“I don’t much care for it, no, but I can’t say I let it distress me.”

“Because you’re already distressed.”

Beryl didn’t reply. There was no need. Winnifred scarcely stopped for breath.

“Can you find nothing to bring you joy?”

“Many things bring me joy.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have gone away. I still can’t understand why you did. Unless… Was it because of Sir Henry? Have you fallen out of love with him?”

Beryl let her gaze drift over the garden. Unfocused. Unseeing. “No. It’s not that.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you had. He’s an infuriating beast at times. Did you know, he insists I take a groom with me when I ride Vesper? Even within the Park? I declare, he thinks he’s our father.”

“Not mine, I trust.”

“No, that would be rather awkward, wouldn’t it? But he presumes to act as my father. And I don’t care for it at all.”

“Shall I speak to him about it?”

“Don’t you dare. I’ll not have him learn that he’s managed to ruffle my feathers. It is I who mean to ruffle him. If you must know, the two of us are engaged in a private war. So private he’s not even aware of it. But I mean to win all the same.”

A smile quirked Beryl’s mouth. It was a genuine one this time. “Have a care how you wage your battles. Henry’s good humor only stretches so far.” Her smile dimmed. “Speaking of which…”