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Marta was, admittedly, incredulous. The way Ewan had verbalised this made her suspicious that he had some sort of secret, a barrier between himself and the outside world. Just as she parted her lips to dig deeper, however, he shot up from his chair, brought his shoulders back, and said, “I hate to leave you alone like this, dear cousin, but I’ve a prior engagement.”
Marta’s heart lurched. It seemed clear now: her cousin yearned to abandon this conversation. They’d flown a bit too close to the sun. She watched as he sauntered out of the garden and disappeared. Marta sat, flummoxed, for a long time, until Laura reappeared in the garden with blood smeared all down her gown. She collapsed next to Marta, grabbed a piece of shortbread, and chewed on it sombrely. Her eyes were fatigued, the blue turning to a strange shade of grey.
“They’re quite exhausting,” was what she said, her words perfectly-formulated German.
“But they’ve taken to you,” Marta returned.
“Yes. Two little English boys have taken to me the way all of the county has taken to you,” she said, grinning wider. She took another tentative bite of shortbread and then grumbled, “It really does lack in any sort of flavour…”
Despite Laura’s adoption of breakfast beans, Marta couldn’t envision Laura grappling with each intricacy of the English palate.
“Your Aunt Margaret will not stop talking about it, will she?” Laura continued. “What a pleasant surprise it’s been. You, a perfect representation of the family. It seems she’s lost all hope with Ewan…”
“What do you mean?” Marta asked.
Laura gave a half-shrug. “He doesn’t seem particularly taken with courting, does he? I spotted him briefly prior to the party. He seemed overly willing to banter along with Baldwin for the long hours, rather than gossip and flirt. But of course, I hardly know him.”
Marta’s cheeks flashed red. An idea brewed up in the back of her mind, one she immediately shoved into the furthest crevices. She wouldn’t acknowledge that sort of thought.
