“Well, you know me. And I don’t know how long you’ll stay?”
His brow furrowed.
“Use your scope. Look at the stares.”
The man didn’t take my hint to look at the passersby who glared or those who casually peered our way. He motioned for me to follow him down the path.
I did and tried to focus on nothing but the flowers and the towering planes.
When ten minutes or so passed with no talking, I stopped. “The trees seem brave, sir. Braver than you and I.”
He worked his jaw, like it had become stiff. “Trees don’t speak. They could be petrified.”
“Still braver. We’re walking side by side, not touching. Their leaves touch. They share the lane, and we merely travel along it with a wide gap between us. I’d say they are braver.”
He gaped at me. It felt as if this was the first time he’d allowed himself to do so for more than a glance. Did he approve of my straw bonnet with rose-colored trim, my pale blue gown with a matching ribbon in my hem? Mama’s trunk and Scarlett’s talent for sewing made this outfit stylish and well fitted to my curves.
“Nothing wrong with a little quiet, Georgina. You get to hear the birds and how the wind talks to the branches.”
Mark moved a little closer, and then began walking.
Deeper in this section of Hyde Park, with no viewing eyes, he stopped again. “How are you this morning? I had to pretend I didn’t see the vile cartoon at the coffeehouse I visited this morning.”
“Oh. My sister Scarlett said the Gilroy cartoon was littered on a bench at the Royal Society.”
“How did she go there? I thought it was just for men. Maybe I misheard something Livingston, my science friend, has said.”
He folded his arms. “Miss Scarlett Wilcox does seem to get out a great deal. And for a younger sister, that’s impressive.”
Oh. Oh. I’d said too much. “Um. She visited someone or something. But she was mortified for you and your family as well as ours, and she let us all know.”
“What did she say?”
“Oh, nothing too important. Something along the lines that this was a defeat for women all over the world. I heard words such asmisogynisticandfarceand why would I have to be portrayed as a freed slave.”
Looking at it again, with the Blackamoor women saying “Massa,” I realized this was worse. Oh, goodness. “Gilroy drew me as an enslaved woman with her slaver.”
My limbs froze. The stories my father told me of the time before—when he had been enslaved, before earning money for his freedom—washed over me. Wanting to vomit, I shivered and looked away.
Mark took my hand. He wrapped it about his forearm. “Steady yourself.”
He was well muscled in his dark emerald coat. “Sounds as if she gave you a truthful mouthful.”
“Scarlett is very matter-of-fact. She doesn’t temper her opinion. If she could be a man of science, well woman of science, she’d be one. And as far as her critique of Gilroy’s horrid drawing, I can’t fault her logic.”
“Umm. Neither can I.” He led me off the path and into a grove of trees, then released me. With a finger to his lips, he took his treasured tube and looked through it.
Without a word, he drew my chin to the direction he’d spied, then put his viewing barrel to my eye. “Look up,” he whispered. “Do you see it?”
I did. A cute little creature, a bird with a yellow breast and bright blue feathers on his head. “So pretty.”
“You are. And it is. He looks a little thin. He’ll fatten up from the insects buzzing around all the flowers in the park.”
Reaching for the scope, his sleeve cut across my bosom. Though the touch was brief, my breath seized. I didn’t realize how close we were watching birds.
I had no complaints and looked at him describing his favorite habit.
“Look at the yellow feathers upon her breast . . . stomach . . . the bird’s stomach.”
