I spent the better part of the drive convincing Liza that I’d never again attempt swimming, that I’d never risk my life, nor do anything else on the list alone. Even writing in my journal.
I also promised to keep Mr. Winston in line and to take whatever blame was necessary should any of this end poorly.
When we turned onto the half-circle drive where carriages and coaches waited, I was out of breath. Liza’s eyes were closed as she took steadying breaths through her nose, muttering continuously about how her dearest friend had nearly drowned. Somehow, Mr. Winston had come out entirely unscathed, despite being the brains behind this disastrous evening.
How he planned to accomplish so great a thing as hanging an unnamed artist’s painting in an opera house was still a mystery. But we were here. And he was right. What other chance would I have?
Our horses slowed their pace, the carriage gently rolling toward the grandiose building with six pillars lining its front.
The opera house. My heart picked up its pace. We were nearly there.
“What inspired you?” Mr. Winston asked me, his words cutting through the impending darkness and Liza’s audible breathing. He held the cylinder carrying my painting in his hands. “When you painted this.”
I shifted in my spot, picking at my skirts nervously. “The grove of trees that separates my father’s estate from Ivy Manor—but of course you know it well. A patch of wildflowers grows there every year. You see remnants here and there in summertime, but in spring, there are hundreds of them.”
Liza shifted in her seat, but I didn’t dare look for her reaction.
“Liza and I used to make crowns from the flowers. The grove was a refuge for us as children. We could stay hidden there for hours.”
“From our governesses, to be specific,” Liza said, still gazing out the window. “Mine was a tyrannical, dream-crushing devil woman. Remember her eyebrows, Ros?”
“Eyebrow, you mean?” I could not help but laugh. My own governess had been equally terrifying. She once tied a thin board to my neck that would prick the underside of my chin if I let my posture fall during tea.
I shook my head at the memory and then nodded to the cylinder again. “I love those white daisies and blue forget-me-nots. I suppose I wanted to immortalize that feeling of freedom, and the naïve hope that one’s responsibilities could be forgotten for a time.”
“I do not think that is naïve,” Mr. Winston said.
“But of course it is. You cannot run from life.”
There was a moment of silence, then he shifted in his seat. “I like how you painted the sky,” he said.
“Blue?” I smiled, feeling clever.
“Sunny.” He narrowed his eyes for a moment, then leaned in, filling the air between us with the scent of fresh soap and bergamot. “It’s open, and there’s not a cloud in sight.”
“It is a metaphor for our friendship,” Liza said. “Or was. When we were open and honest with each other.”
I winced. I deserved her rebuke. “Liza, please forgive me. I promise to never hide a thing from you again. With Mr. Winston as my witness.”
Mr. Winston held a hand to his heart as though to pledge his promise as well.
She swatted at his arm. “And you have been sneaking out of the house every morning? Must I sleep outside your door from now on?”
He winced. “Please, do not.”
Liza leaned back and huffed.
He poked her knee. “Would you ever have known had we not told you ourselves?”
“IpromisedI’d look after you and keep you out of trouble.”
“Then trust me,” he said. “I am as good at staying out of trouble as I am getting into it. And I promise we will have no trouble tonight.”
I squeezed her arm, and Liza finally gave in, leaning her back to my shoulder.
Mr. Winston looked out his window. Light from the lantern hanging just outside lit his face, and I caught myself studying him. He was handsome in an obvious sort of way, but there was something more. Something that was starting to feel familiar.
I watched as his lips turned down. His eyes faded, and his shoulders drooped. He harbored more than he let on, but he rarely let it show. Whether I approved of his hobbies or how he lived his life, he’d come to my aid more than once and without asking for anything in return. Somehow, someday, I would repay him. Even if he never made it back home.
