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‘I’ll have a ginger sandwich please, Ianthe.’ Aunt Sophoria’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘So, Mr Felstone, I understand that you’ve been giving my niece swimming lessons?’
‘Yes.’ Robert looked unperturbed. ‘We made a deal.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Swimming in exchange for poetry. I said that she couldn’t live in Whitby and not swim. She said I couldn’t criticise poetry until I’d actually read some. So...’ He finished the last bite of his sandwich and then sat up, brushing his hands together as he turned towards her. ‘Ready for my side of the bargain?’
‘Now?’ She regarded him with astonishment. ‘Where’s your book?’
‘I don’t need one.’ He tapped his forehead.
‘You memorised it?’
‘It’s not very long, but it’s my favourite. Pay attention, Matthew. It’s time for some poetry.’
‘Poetry?’ Matthew shoved the last crumbs of a pie into his mouth. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s important to learn new things.’
He gave her a wink and then fixed his eyes on the horizon, clearing his throat before reciting the verse in a strong, clear voice. Ianthe held her breath in amazement. It was her poem. ‘To Ianthe’, Shelley’s sonnet to his newborn daughter, words that perfectly described the awakening of new love. Not that she ought to read too much into that, she warned herself.
‘That was wonderful.’ Aunt Sophoria was the first to congratulate him. ‘You ought to have been an actor, Mr Felstone. Such wonderful enunciation.’
‘That’s my poem.’ She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. ‘The one I was named after. You found it.’
‘You told Violet Harper it was by Shelley.’
‘But you remembered.’ Her cheeks flushed self-consciously. ‘My parents said it expressed how they felt when they had me.’
‘I think it suits you very well.’
His gaze held on to hers for a few moments before Matthew interrupted. ‘Can you help me build a sandcastle now?’
‘Philistine.’ Robert sighed and heaved himself to his feet. ‘Save me some food, ladies.’
‘We can’t promise.’ Aunt Sophoria gave a knowing chuckle once they were out of hearing. ‘Still think he’s not capable of love?’
Ianthe looked away, resisting the temptation to hope. ‘It’s just a poem, Aunt. It doesn’t mean anything. And besides, the truth behind it wasn’t so beautiful.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Shelley left Ianthe’s mother for another woman before she was even born.’ Her mouth twisted slightly. ‘So much for words.’
‘Your parents still liked it.’
‘They were too romantic for their own good, remember?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that, dear. Their romantic sensibilities worked for them, but there are lots of different types of love. One for everyone, I like to think.’
Ianthe looked down at her fingers, twisting them together anxiously. ‘He married me because he thought I was respectable, Aunt. What if I tell him the truth and he doesn’t want me any more?’
‘It’s a risk, dear, but you can’t live your life pretending to be someone else. And it seems to me that he rather likes the real you. You ought to give him the chance to really know her.’
Ianthe stared out to sea, watching a flock of seagulls swoop down to land on the water. Maybe it was possible. Maybe he could care for her. Maybe she would tell him the truth.
Just as soon as the deal with Harper was over.
Chapter Fourteen
