“Would you?” Rachel asked excitedly. “Please. What does Marigold mean?”
“Sorrow,’” Jane said simply. “He must have sensed sadness or distress coming from you?”
Fingering the wilting flower, Rachel sighed. “Considering how my parents denied listening to me and my plea not to get married so soon, I would suspect that the emotion was written all over my face. But why would he care?”
“Will you let me tell you what I have observed?” Jane asked, and at Rachel’s nod, she added, “I think he fancies you, My Lady.”
She warmed inside at the allusion that the handsome man liked her, “He would be a first.”
“Does that mean…?”
Fixing her skirt, Rachel sighed. “Nothing could come from it. I admire the man. He is handsome and extraordinarily talented, and he makes me warm inside when he looks at me. Still, he is only here to do a job. And I am slated to marry soon, and I doubt a fleeing fancy with the painter will keep on when I am married.”
“But…” she shook her head. “I want romance and excitement, and, I don’t know, a handsome suitor climbing the moonlit ivy-trellis to see me. Now, all I have—all I will have, is probably a man as sedate as my parents. I am trying so hard to keep the little vivacity I have, one that no one expected me to hold with the family I live in.”
Her tone dropped into despair, and Jane heard it.
“Mr. Smith said that he is willing to listen to my concerns, but I do not know if it is right or proper for me to tell him,” Rachel rubbed her face. “I do not want to paint a horrid picture of my parents.”
“I would think that Mr. Smith would have enough discretion to keep your concerns to himself,” Jane said. “He might be unconventional, but I do not think he would betray you.”
While her gaze landed on the window, Rachel asked, “Are you saying that I should take him up on his offer?”
“I do.”
Perhaps Jane had a point. “I suppose I’ll speak to him this evening. But I would like to rest a little before my session with Mr. Smith.”
While she moved to the bed, Rachel tried to put together what she would say to William that evening—but slipped to sleep before she had gotten a hold of it.
***
The sun was inching down to the horizon, painting the sky in broad swathes of red-gold and vivid oranges. Soon, indigo would be creeping into the fusion, and twilight would set in. William was already seated on a bench, a pad of paper resting on his lap, his hand flying over it.
He looked so intense while drawing, with his gaze flickering up to the sky frantically. It was as if he missed a moment of it; his effort would be rendered void. He looked passionate, so intent and concentrated that Rachel held back on approaching him. She did not want to break his focus.
When he dropped the pen to put the paper aside and massage his wrist, only then did Rachel go to him. A few feet away, he turned to her with a broad smile but did not say anything until she sat on the bench aside from him.
“I’m happy you came,” he said.
Offering him a faint smile, Rachel asked, “May I see what you were drawing?”
He offered her the paper, and Rachel gazed down at an image far removed from the scene she saw before her. The hills were in the background, and so were the clouds, but a flock of rainbirds was spreading out, topping trees, but she found a formation that she believed were Hebrew.
“Mr. Smith—” she paused, then dared. “William, are these Hebrew letters?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s ewe, Hebrew for Rachel.”
Stunned that he knew Hebrew, Rachel shook her head, “Why rainbirds?”
“Because I think you feel the need to fly,” William said, hitting Rachel right in the emotion that she had been trying to hide from him.
“You are right,” she said. “In many ways, I do wish that I had thewings of a bird to fly away.” While handing the drawing back to him, Rachel asked, “Do you know the purpose of the portrait you are creating for me?”
“Not particularly,” he shrugged. “Why?”
“My parents think it is a good way to entice men into courting me,” Rachel said bitterly. “Men that I do not know will be using an image of me to see if they want to be with me or not. And the worst part is that they do not care what I want. They will match me with a man who is as single-minded, boring, and dull as they are.
I want fun, happiness, and pleasure in my life, something—” Rachel stood and paced a little, “—romance, true romance. Is that too hard to ask? After the bland life I am living, how bad would that be?”
