For all that Thea had held fast to that belief in the face of Frederick’s rejection and her parents’ disapproval, she couldn’t help but feel just how hopeless it all was.
“And how can it turn out right if even he turns his back on me?” she whispered.
“He is doing what he feels is right. He said he cannot marry you, not that he doesn’t wish it, and in time, he will soften. Just as your parents will,” said Mina, her hand holding fast to Thea’s. “They are angry now because they are afraid for you and your family. That is all. I cannot imagine they would truly prefer you to marry another when it would make you so unhappy.”
Mina squeezed her hand, her thumb tracing a slow, reassuring line across Thea’s knuckles. “Even if it takes time, these things have a way of mending themselves. Perhaps not inthe manner we wish, nor as quickly as we’d like, but hearts are stubborn things. They do not surrender easily.”
Thea stared at their joined hands, a faint tremor running through her fingers. A part of her wanted to scoff and tell Mina she was being naïve—the world was far less forgiving than she believed—yet the earnestness in her cousin’s voice kindled a fragile warmth inside her chest.
“Do you truly think so?” she asked at last, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Mina smiled faintly, though her eyes glistened. “I do not know what will come, but I know you, Althea Keats. You are not one to surrender without a fight.”
The words settled deep within her, quiet but firm, and something within Thea stirred. Not hope. This sentiment was far too determined a thing to be something so delicate and fragile. No, this was the familiar spark of resistance that had carried her through every argument today. Her throat still ached from weeping, her eyes burned, but beneath the exhaustion lay a stubborn pulse that refused to dim.
Thea’s fingers tightened around Mina’s hand, the gesture small but certain. Perhaps Mina was wrong. Perhaps the world would not right itself. But even if it didn’t, Thea could not abandon her feelings and let them die. She would not.
Nothing was final until Frederick married another.
Chapter 26
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the climbing roses that framed the stone terrace, scattering pale petals across the flagstones; their rich scent mingled in the air, which hummed with bees and birdsong. Beyond the balustrade, the gardens stretched outward, encasing them in a world of greens, purples, pinks, and yellows.
It was a day meant for leisure and laughter, and Thea had arranged everything accordingly. The table was placed in the perfect position, allowing them a touch of breeze without disturbing their task, and a plethora of supplies sat atop it. Slender sable brushes were arranged neatly in a row, their polished handles gleaming in the light, alongside cakes of watercolor paint in shades of vermilion, ochre, and ultramarine.
For drawing, a leather roll of pencils lay unfurled beside a scattering of pastels in every hue imaginable, and a few sheets of paper were weighed down at the corners with smooth stones to keep them from lifting in the breeze.
Though none of the artistes preferred easels, there were three standing at the ready, should they wish to abandon their seats. But then, it would take them farther from the selection of biscuits, cakes, and tea.
In short, it was an artist’s paradise, and by every outward measure, it was a perfect afternoon, yet Thea had never felt less at ease.
Mina leaned back, her brush hovering above the board upon which her painting was affixed, and looked at it with narrowed eyes, her head canting this way and that as she examined the subject before setting another streak of blue across the horizon. On Thea’s other side, Phoebe’s pencil moved briskly, each stroke traveling across the page with determination, as though afraid that the rose she sketched would sprout legs and scurry off the table if she didn’t act quickly, and the rest of the tools she’d brought were arrayed with precision, like soldiers awaiting their mistress’s command.
Glancing at her paper with a frown, Thea stared at the half-formed shape. Her mind was so occupied with her guests and everything else of late that she’d neglected her subject, as was evident from her inept rendering. Not bothering to begin again, Thea picked at the painting.
Mina worked with delicate precision and hummed contentedly to herself, oblivious to Phoebe’s tight-lipped focus, who (in turn) radiated an air of patient endurance that made Thea’s stomach knot. It was like trying to make two magnets meet at the wrong ends, and no matter how she turned them, they simply repelled.
This was meant to be a pleasant afternoon, and having faced so many battles of late, Thea needed a clear victory. What miracle of social engineering would it take to make the afternoon bearable? If her two dearest friends could not bond over their shared love of art, then truly, what hope was there? Despite being surrounded by sunlight and birdsong, she felt a wall standing between the two as solid as stone.
“How lovely the light is today,” Thea said at last. “It makes everything seem so—so alive.”
Mina murmured agreement without looking up. Phoebe nodded once, the faintest curve of her mouth acknowledging the remark before she returned to her work.
Pressing her lips together, Thea’s gaze wandered to the edge of the garden where a pair of butterflies danced above the lavender. It ought to have been perfect—the setting, the company, the gentle hush of summer all around them—yet somehow, that perfection only made the silence louder.
Thea dipped her brush into the water, stirring idly, and watched the color swirl away in pale ribbons. If friends could be blended as easily as paint, she would have found the right balance by now. But no matter how carefully she mixed, Phoebe and Mina resisted one another, and she could not fathom why.
With a sigh that she hoped went unnoticed, Thea bent over her painting, willing herself to believe that, in time, the day might yet right itself. After all, surely even the most stubborn colors found harmony in the right light.
Thea lifted her head, searching for topics to draw the pair out. Something that was bound to interest them both. Her gaze flicked between Mina’s serene concentration and Phoebe’s tense precision, and her resolve faltered. How could two such excellent women, both clever and kind, find so little to like in each other? It was utterly baffling. Still, she could not just sit there watching them work in polite misery.
Clearing her throat softly, Thea forced a smile. “Have you seen Mrs. Drew’s new acquisition? Mama, Mina, and I called there earlier this week, and she showed us the painting she purchased from London. It reminds me of the landscape hanging in your parlor, though not nearly as striking.”
“The Drews purchased it this morning, so it will soon hang alongside their London acquisition.” Phoebe’s words were clipped and cool, and her pencil moved in quick, decisive strokes, as though each line might strike down the thought itself.
“They did? I hadn’t realized…” Thea’s words faltered.
But Phoebe’s lips pulled into a wry smile that was more bitter than happy, a single brow arching upward. “The vultures are beginning to circle. Though the bulk of the estate is to be sold at auction, some of the nicer bits and bobs will be snatched up piecemeal as they pick over Dunsby Hall’s carcass. It will be a feast.”
