A blank stare exposes everything.
A wide grin conceals it.
Oh, but now I must speak.
A wide grin plus an unsettling period of extended silence is also revealing.
But speaking is much harder than smiling.
It requires cogent thought.
Mama, you will be unsurprised to learn, was less skilled in teaching me how to think cogently. Her instruction never went beyond the smile.
I turn around.
I have to!
It is impossible to lie to him when he is regarding me with all that weary patience, as though he knows a falsehood is coming. His green eyes are so bright and lovely and understanding, and I want them to be dark and ugly and annoyed so that I do not feel like a monster for inventing a story out of whole cloth.
Whole cloth!
Yes, yes, yes, I think, hurling myself toward the table with all the magazines and grabbing the one on top. I hold it aloft as though it were a trophy and swivel around and say with only a slight breathlessness, “I knew if anyone had the latest issue ofThe Lady’s Magazine,it would be Eleanor.”
It is not ideal, becauseThe Lady’s Magazineoffers more articles on cultural subjects—plays, poetry, fiction, music, et cetera—than I like in a fashion periodical. The reports are extremely worthy and improving to the female mind, but all I want are lavish illustrations of morning dresses and evening gowns, with a smattering of needlework patterns. The only time I read it is when the more interesting options are not available to me, which is not the case now.
But Sebastian wouldn’t know that.
I mean, how would he know it?
It is not as though we have had an extensive conversation about my literary tastes other than to discuss the Kepler biography I am slowly making my way through. Having read it as well, he was eager to share his thoughts on the accomplished astronomer and natural philosopher, and I could not bring myself to admit that the only reason I had begun the book was to join my father and Bea’s weekly discussion about it.
The truth is, I am not interested in Kepler and find his tinkering with Galileo’s telescope design disrespectful. (I realize that his alterations made it a better instrument, but sometimes kindness requires us to allow an inferior product to stand rather than embarrass a colleague with our superior gifts.)
“I am so relieved that my hunch proved correct, asThe Lady’s Magazineis exactly what I am in the mood to read right now,” I add in a giddy rush. “Russell and my mother are on a walk in the park, but I wanted to enjoy a quiet hour with a magazine. You do not think your sister will mind my popping into and taking it without her permission, do you? As she is also gone from the house, I assumed she would never know.”
My grin broadens.
How proud Mama would be!
Sebastian steps into the room and frowns.
That is right: He has the temerity to frown when I have done so much hard work to maintain the appearance of good cheer.
All those smiles gone to waste!
“Why are you really here?” he asks soberly, and it is gutting. Nobody does sobriety like Holcroft the Holy. “I know it is not for that magazine.”
I plow forward.
Thoroughly in the wrong, I have no option but to act as though I am in the right. “But itisfor this issue,” I insist, glancing at the cover and noting the date of publication. “I did not get to read the April edition, and spring fashions are my favorite because the colors are cheerful but nottoocheerful.”
Sebastian’s brow darkens. “You are lying, Flora.”
I furrow my forehead as if confused by the accusation, but there is not a hint of defensiveness in my tone as I say, “Mama gave the issue to her sister. Aunt Susan was feeling under the weather, and my mother thought the light reading materialwould perk her up. She also sent overLa Belle Assembléeand Maria Edgeworth’s most recent novel.”
Gravely disappointed, he shakes his head. “There is no point in denying it, my dear, because I know for a fact you are lying.”
Stung by the accusation, for I am unduly good at telling a tale when I set my mind to it, I exclaim, “You cannotknow!”
