Page 19 of The Trouble with a Dare

Sterling stared at the posy in her hands. He’d gone very still. Grace watched him, uncertain of what had upset him but certain something had. Indeed, he didn’t answer for such a long time she felt sure she had unwittingly cracked the lid of some Pandora’s box.

“I shall throw them away,” she said, for whatever troubled him, she knew he would not tell her, but she could not have him uneasy in his own home.

“No!”

She jumped a little at the sharp command and turned back to look at him. He rubbed the back of his neck, frowning a little.

“No, don’t do that. You… You’re right. They are lovely. I should like to see them in the house.”

Grace hesitated as he moved closer to her and touched a calloused finger to one bloom, so carefully it barely stirred beneath his large hand. “That’s ragwort. I always thought it was an ugly name for such a pretty flower. They used to use it for dye years ago. Mustn’t have it near the cattle or horses, though. It’s poisonous.”

“Oh,” Grace blushed, feeling foolish. Was that why he’d looked so shocked?

“It’s all right so long as you don’t feed it to them,” he said with a smile. “And this one is cow parsley.”

“I know that one,” she said, feeling strangely breathless at his nearness, at the gentle way he spoke to her.

“You must have a care though, for hemlock looks very similar, and that’s deadly poison. Even touching it can burn your skin. You can tell from the stems.”

Grace watched as he carefully drew a stalk from the bunch and showed her.

“See, the stem is pinkish and triangular. Hemlock is round and hollow inside, and its stem is green with purplish splotches. Hemlock leaves are shiny too, cow parsley leaves aren’t.”

“Did your gran teach you that?”

He nodded. “She did. I… I got into trouble once for bringing home a bunch of poisonous weeds.” She watched as he gave a shrug, his lips quirking. “I just thought they were pretty, so I gave them to my mother. I couldn’t sit down for a day or two after that. Gran took pity on me and decided I ought to know better.”

Grace stared at him in horror. “She… She beat you for bringing her flowers?”

Sterling looked away, giving another shrug of his big shoulders. “Mistakes like that can have consequences, I suppose. She didn’t want me poisoning myself or the animals.”

There was an ache in her chest as she looked up into his stern, uncompromising face. “How old were you?”

“I don’t know. Seven, maybe.”

“Oh, but you were just a boy. You wanted to please her,” she said, angry on his behalf. “If my son ever brought me flowers, I should be touched and pleased. I certainly would not beat him for it.”

Dark eyes studied hers for a moment, inscrutable. “You’ve a soft heart. It’s as well to learn the dangers in life.”

“To learn them, yes, but not to be punished for not knowing them when you’ve never been taught any better.”

He nodded and then looked away from her before adding quietly, “Our son.”

Grace’s breath caught. He was correcting her.

“Our son,” she whispered, daring to smile at him.

“I need to wash before we sit down. You had best put them in water before they wilt,” he said, before moving away from her. Grace watched him go, with a flicker of hope in her heart.

Chapter 7

Dear diary,

Papa knows all. He tracked me down in the garden and sat down beside me, and just looked at me. You know how, that look which makes you certain he knows every wicked thing you ever did in your life, so you may as well tell him. I did, of course. It’s impossible to tell him even the smallest fib, so I admitted I’d defied him and read the blasted book. Oh, and he was so kind it made me utterly wretched. I would much have preferred it if he’d scolded me and sent me to bed with no supper, but no. He said I’d suffered enough and now I knew why he’d forbade me to read it for he’d wanted to protect me from such distress. That turned me into a watering pot, naturally.

I had to tell him it was a quite marvellous story though and despite the horrid dreams I could not entirely regret having read it. The villain was quite deliciously wicked after all, and I was dreadfully cross with the heroine for not running away with him instead, and especially for betraying him to the hero, who murdered him in such a gruesome way. I mean, the hero was a decent fellow, I suppose, but appallingly dull.

Papa looked a little ill then, and I asked him if he’d eaten something that didn’t agree with him. He said no, but I’m not certain if I believe him. Unless perhaps he was remembering the horrible scene too and it made him queasy, though I’ve never known Papa to be squeamish before.