"I could not possibly. Lady Wayworth would never forgive me."
"Mother is not listening. She is too busy interrogating Mr. Crawford about his shipping investments."
This was, unfortunately, true. Lady Wayworth had cornered Helena's father at the other end of the table and was subjecting him to what appeared to be a thorough financial inquisition.
"Very well." Martin settled back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. "The tree-climbing incident. Vanessa was thirteen…"
"Fourteen," Vanessa corrected wearily.
"Fourteen, my apologies. And she had decided that she could climb the old oak in the garden faster than Edward."
"I could climb it faster than Edward."
"She could not, in fact, climb it faster than Edward. What she could do was get stuck approximately thirty feet off the ground, clinging to a branch and refusing to come down."
"The branch was unstable. I was being cautious."
"She was terrified." Martin's voice was warm with remembered amusement. "Absolutely frozen with fear. Edward had to climb up and talk her down, branch by branch, while she clung to him like a particularly stubborn barnacle."
"That is a gross exaggeration."
"It took two hours," Edward added helpfully. "Father was on the verge of enlisting every available man to help.”
"It took forty-five minutes at most."
"Time moves differently when one is watching one's sister dangle from a tree limb, threatening to fall to her death at any moment."
"I was never in danger of falling to my death."
"You were in danger of giving Mother an apoplexy, which amounts to roughly the same thing."
Lord Deane was laughing now, genuine, warm laughter that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You have quite the adventurous spirit, Lady Vanessa. Lily pads, tree climbing…what else did you attempt?"
"Nothing worth mentioning."
"There was the time she tried to teach herself to fence," Edward offered. "Using Father's ceremonial swords."
"We agreed never to speak of that."
"Did we? I do not recall agreeing to anything."
"You agreed implicitly when I promised not to tell Mother about the incident with the neighbor's daughter and the…"
"Very well then,” Edward's expression shifted rapidly. "We will not speak of the fencing incident. Or any other incidents. In fact, I believe we should change the subject entirely. Martin, how is your estate? Any new developments in agricultural drainage?"
Martin laughed…a real laugh, warm and unguarded and Vanessa felt something twist in her chest. She so rarely heard him laugh like that. Usually his amusement was controlled, contained, filtered through layers of social performance. Thiswas different. This was the laugh of someone genuinely delighted.
"Nicely done, Edward," he said. "Though I notice you still have not told us what happened with the neighbor's daughter."
"And I never will. Some secrets must be committed to everlasting secrecy.”
"How very intriguing."
"I prefer 'mysterious.' It sounds more intentional."
The soup course arrived, providing a welcome distraction from the increasingly weighted conversation. Vanessa seized the opportunity to collect herself, focusing on her plate while her cheeks slowly returned to their normal color.
The soup was, as Martin had observed, excellent, a rich brown broth with hints of herbs and a depth of flavor that spoke to the skill of their cook. But Vanessa barely tasted it. Her mind was too occupied with replaying every word Martin had spoken, searching for hidden meanings that probably did not exist.
