She waved a hand absentmindedly at the floral print on her day dress.
Today, Genevieve’s frock was a bright, frothy pink color. Enormous clouds of peonies and hyacinths covered the fabric, making Genevieve herself look like a lovely little flower garden. Her hair was styled so that corkscrew shaped ringlets curled at her temples and when she donned her bonnet, a large bouquet of pink, purple, and violet posies sat atop the brim.
“It is as I always say, Cousin. Floral arrangements are meant to be decorative only. One should not try to eat rose petals and dandelion weeds.”
Phoebe made a face showcasing her disgust at the thought of plucking a dandelion from the ground and chewing on the stem. “There is nothing wrong with my plate, Gen. I only…”
“Mmm…” Genevieve moaned again, this time with more fervor, as she took another small bite of her lemon cake. After enjoying the morsel, she stabbed another piece with the tines of her fork and offered the nibble to Phoebe. “Try a bite of this, dearest. I know it might not be exactly what you are craving, but it certainly is better than that whole tray of macarons.”
Phoebe inhaled sharply. “Craving?”
“Yes, of course,” Genevieve replied without hesitation. The fork still hovered in the air between them.
What do you crave?
Throughout the entirety of Phoebe’s twenty-three years on this earth, she had rarely heard the term “crave” uttered. Certainly, she knew what it meant, but this particular word was not in her regular vocabulary. Now, when she heard Genevieve invoke it, scenes from her tete-a-tete with the Duke of Talwyn flood her mind.
He wanted to know what I craved…
At that moment, closeted in the balcony room with him, she had been unable to summon the words to reply. He stood so closely that his hot breath had warmed her cheek. When he leaned nearer, she been able to inhale the scent of apples.
It was odd because now, when she tried to recall that smell, all she could picture was an orchard, teeming with apples that were ripening on the branches. The laden boughs were full to bursting, and the fruit shone brightly, ruby red even, in the baking autumn sunshine.
“Phoebe.” The sharpness in Genevieve’s voice drew Phoebe out of her reverie.
She shook her head briskly hoping to eliminate visions of sunbaked apples and the Duke of Talwyn beckoning for her to join him so they might romp through the orchard.
“Hmm…?” Phoebe hummed.
“Are you listening to me?” Genevieve said as she lowered her fork and placed it on the edge of her plate. The crumb of cake she had offered Phoebe a moment ago still clung to the tines. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“I’m feeling perfectly fine,” Phoebe answered in a mechanical, flat tone. “You were asking if I’d like to sample your cake and I was trying to remember if I liked lemons.”
Genevieve guffawed loudly. “Of course, you like lemons. Everybody does. They’re sweet, a little sour, and oh-so delicious.” She giggled as she lifted her finger and pointed at the cups on the table. “Besides, you are drinking a glass of lemonade, so I know…”
“Forgive me,” Phoebe cut in. She rested one elbow on the table, then rubbed a hand across her hairline. “I think… I think I have a bit of a headache.”
“That could be,” Genevieve mused. “I did notice that your hairstyle was coiled and stretched remarkably tight today.”
Phoebe was surprised. She looked up quickly and shot her cousin an alarmed look. “Do I look dreadful?”
“No.” Genevieve picked a white cloth napkin and used it to pat the corners of her mouth. “You look… perplexed.”
Phoebe frowned. “I am,” she admitted.
“Very well.” Genevieve set aside her napkin and pushed her plate to the side so that she could lean across the table a little and not run the risk of getting any crumbs or other stray debris on her day dress. “Tell me what consumes you.”
“I…” Phoebe hesitated.
She wanted to tell her friend that she had not stopped thinking about the Duke of Talwyn since encountering him at the opera the other night. Really, she longed to confess that they had first met at Lord Spencer’s Masquerade, and that he had haunted her every thought ever since, but she could not summon the courage to be so forthright.
They were in a tea shop, after all, that was full of young ladies, their mamas, and others who might not think anything was wrong with innocently eavesdropping on a salacious conversation.
Rather than finish her thought, Phoebe adjusted her posture and forced herself to sit up straighter in her seat.
“You know…” Genevieve mused, “you have been doing that quite a bit lately.”
“What?”
