“Shameful, I’m sorry.” I leaned against the windowsill. “I suppose two years is more than enough for proper mourning.”
She looked up with her lips drawn in a line, noI thought so, or awe type of smile, nothing. Instead, she held me, pulled me to her bosom and let me cry.Uzimmie! Uzimmie! She truly saw my heart!
“Jemina, you’re not horrible. You’re human.”
There was something so good and decent about being understood, of someone letting you be weak without being made to feel small.
Patience wiped my face with a lacy cloth. “He rescued us from Bedlam and has helped us in so many ways. One of us was bound to fall for our hero.”
I started to laugh, but in my head the images of that day in Bedlam danced. “He whisked us from evil. It was so dark, leaving under shadows of the melancholy stone angels of the gate. I stumbled and he caught me. Up in his arms, our barrister carried me to his carriage. The first time I’d seen the moon in two years. The first time in two years a man held me, and I felt safe.”
“It’s fine to like Ashbrook. You do no disservice to Cecil St. Maur. Your husband would want you to move forward.”
“How do you know, Patience? What if he were mean or selfish—”
“Or sick, like my first husband.” My friend picked up my sketch, a bowl of mangoes. “You may never know. But we have confirmation that your husband is gone. You’re free, Jemina.”
“Am I, Patience? I can’t stand that I have feelings for a man whose proven again and again he’ll hide things to protect me. How am I to trust myself if he reminds me that I’m feeble?”
She put her hand to my cheek. Soft coconut radiated from her skin. “Then he’s not the one. Busick taught me this. If Ashbrook doesn’t make you feel as if you can have the world and be yourself, then you have to get over him. I’ll help any way I can.”
The tension in my neck felt like fire. I didn’t want to not think of him and his rare smile. “Maybe these feelings will pass. I should draw more fruit. Maybe that will soothe me.”
“What about flowers? Trumpet-shaped pink hibiscus or bright orange poincianas with their furry green leaves. You’re a good artist, Jemina. My sister, Charity, she was a good one too.”
Never did I ever like it when shadows filled Patience’s eyes, so lost and sad they became. As if I were Ashbrook, I distracted her, whipping jet-black charcoal under her nose. “Such a chalky, ashy smell. It amazes me that it can create such wonders. I might have been trained. My fingers seem to remember.”
“You had to be amazing. Your watercolors of fruit are the best.”
“Watercolors? No, I’m better at sketches.” I tapped my nose. “Wonder if I should tell Ashbrook I want to paint. I should write to him about my new goal.”
Patience put down my sketches. “He’s bothered by your suitors, especially Willingham.”
“What? Ashbrook is jealous?”
“Yes. I asked him.” She fiddled with the sash of her robe. “He’s forthcoming when asked a direct question.”
“Direct? He’ll just distract me, like always.”
“Maybe you’ll get another hug.” Patience rolled up one of my flopping tendrils. With a tug, she pinned it back in place. “Your curls must be beautiful, bronze and scarlet and draping about your neck. More suitors will be calling in the morning.”
“Suitors, men coming for my twenty-thousand-pound dower. That’s Ashbrook’s fault too. He mentioned it in front of Lady Bodonel and now all of London knows.”
“It stopped my mother-in-law’s vicious treatment of you. I think he did it to protect you but underestimated the consequences of the town’s largest gossip knowing you have a fortune.”
“See, everything comes back to Ashbrook.”
Patience folded her arms. “I guess this means you’re not going to give up on him.”
“Can’t I deny liking him till the end?”
Her sigh was heavy—a smidge sad. “Alas, some things can’t be denied. Oh, how the duke makes me fret sometimes.”
Her tone sounded very sad, and it rocked me, spinning like a boat beat by waves. “What has happened? You and the duke aren’t fighting?”
“Lord, no. Well, no more than our typical complaints, but my husband conveniently forgets I’m not one of his secretaries or lieutenants. And I’m not his recruit.”
“That’s normal Repington. What’s the matter, Patience?”
