"Do you prefer the roses or the delphinium, Lady Sophia?" Lavinia asked, pausing along the gravel path to let the girl consider the neat rows of white and blue blossoms.
Sophia barely glanced at the flower beds before lowering her eyes to the slate walkway. "I suppose the roses. They are... less blue."
"A keen observation. Blue is notoriously difficult to grow with any vibrancy, though these are well kept." Lavinia shaded her eyes with one hand, turning her face up toward the pale sun. "What do you say to a lesson out here today? I find fresh air makes everything seem more possible."
Sophia's only reply was the faintest lift of her shoulders.
Lavinia pressed on, leading the way along the path toward the low stone bench overlooking a crescent of spring tulips. Theair was spiced with the scent of new grass and clean earth, and though the morning was cool, sunlight gleamed off every surface. She set her sketchbook and pencil case upon the bench, then turned to regard her pupil.
Sophia stood several feet away, arms crossed over her chest, chin tipped down at a defiant angle.
"Would you like to choose our seat?" Lavinia asked, gesturing with a sweep of her hand to the bench or to the grass beside the flowers.
The girl darted a wary look at her and said nothing.
"The bench then," Lavinia decided, settling onto it and spreading out her supplies with care. "Sit beside me when you wish."
She opened her sketchbook and began outlining the shape of the nearest tulip, letting the silence stretch. Sophia remained rooted to her spot, face shuttered and lips pressed into a line. Lavinia counted slowly to twenty, then added, "Did you know, Lady Sophia, that the first tulips brought to England caused a frenzy? Some bulbs fetched prices higher than a horse."
This earned her a curious glance. "Father says it is improper to discuss money."
"Fortunate for me, then, that your father is not here," Lavinia replied, her pencil moving in looping, careless circles. She didnot look up from her page. "I have always admired the brazen nature of a tulip. It is the only flower bold enough to stand tall on a single, fragile stalk, no matter the wind."
Sophia's gaze shifted to the flowerbeds, and after a pause she perched at the very edge of the bench, leaving a chasm of empty space between them.
Progress, Lavinia thought, and concealed her satisfaction by erasing the last line she'd drawn. "Have you ever sketched from life before?"
"I cannot draw," Sophia said, voice brittle.
"Nonsense. Everyone can draw. What they cannot do is stop worrying about being bad at it."
The girl looked at her from under lowered brows, uncertain whether to take offense.
"Try," Lavinia said, offering her a blank page and a sharpened pencil. "If you prefer, we can sketch the roses instead. They are less blue."
Sophia hesitated, then accepted the pencil with cautious fingers. She peered at the nearest bush and began, awkwardly, to copy the shape of a half-open blossom.
Lavinia returned to her own drawing, making hers deliberately imperfect—a very wide petal here, a slanting stem there. Afterseveral minutes, Sophia peeked over, and Lavinia angled her page to display the untidy, exuberant tulip. "You see? This one looks as if it is about to take flight."
Sophia gave a reluctant half-smile, quickly smothered.
Lavinia decided to press her luck. "What other lessons do you take here at Evermere? Music, I believe?"
"Yes."
"And your preferred composer?"
"Father says Mr. Clementi is the most appropriate."
"Appropriate," Lavinia repeated, with an exaggerated sigh. "What would you play if there were no such thing as appropriate?"
Sophia's answer was nearly inaudible. "Beethoven."
"A woman of taste," Lavinia said, lowering her voice as if imparting a secret. "When I was your age, my mother considered even the waltz scandalous. I practiced in secret, convinced the world would end if I missed a note."
Sophia looked at her with something almost like interest. "Did it?"
"The world?" Lavinia asked. "Not even a little."
