People were loath to abandon what made them comfortable. And shewascomfortable in this life, with enough awareness to understand that her perceived difficulties were someone else’s paradise. But that was not an excuse to keep her feet where she’d been planted.
She thought of an exchange she’d had with the gardener once, when she was young. It was the summer before she met Lachlan. Weston was away touring schools, her father was heaven knew where, and she was–again–all alone.
After sneaking out early from a lesson, she’d gone to the pond to feed the swans stale breadcrumbs where she discovered the gardener, Mr. Treadwell, tending to a long row of heirloom roses.
He was weeding, and as she sat on her haunches to watch (a very unladylike position, but what Miss Hardgrave didn’t know wouldn’t get a ruler struck across Brynne’s backside), she’d noticed that he had missed one.
“There,” she’d said, pointing at a spindly white flower that clearly did not belong amidst the cultured roses. “Should I pull it?”
“That’s not a weed, Lady Brynne,” Mr. Treadwell had said in his deep, somber voice. He’d scratched beneath his plain cap, and smiled kindly at her.
“Then what is it?” she’d asked, frowning.
“That’s a wildflower. A daisy. See the yellow center?” At her nod, he’d gone on to say, “It must have blown in on the wind when it was a small seed and germinated there.”
“But why don’t you remove it?”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
A secret was a very important thing indeed, and she’d nodded seriously. “Yes.”
Mr. Treadwell had cupped his hands around his mouth. “Because the daisy doesn’t know it isn’t a rose. And as long as we don’t tell it, it will continue to grow where it was planted.”
She’d considered that for a moment. “But it’s in the shadow of that rosebush. Wouldn’t it be happier in a wide open field? By the stone wall, or the meadow across the way. There’s plenty of room there.”
“Maybe,” he’d said. “But if we were to try to move it, there’s a high likelihood it wouldn’t survive the journey. Best to leave it where it is, Lady Brynne. It’s safer here than it would be anywhere else.”
But as she’d looked more closely at the daisy, and noticed how its leaves were already beginning to wilt, Brynne had wondered if it wasn’t more humane to give it a chance to blossom in the sun than to let it slowly perish in the shade.
“Weston,” she said abruptly.
“Yes?” he asked, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth.
She pushed her chair back. “I need to blossom.”
“In the middle of breakfast?”
“I don’t want to marry Lady Martha Smethwick.”
Her brother’s dark brow furrowed in bemusement. “I should hope not. Brynne, are you sure you’re feeling well? You still seem…out of sorts. Should I call for Mrs. Grimsby? Or a doctor?”
“No doctors,” she said as she stood up. “But I will need Mrs. Grimsby. I’m going away, and there are some things I’d like to go over with her before I do.” She took a deep breath. “Weston, I need to tell you something.”
“I already know,” he said briskly. “And I think it’s brilliant.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “You–youdo?”
“Yes. I saw your latest painting of the seascape where we went on holiday last year. You’re talented, Brynne. Very talented. And theÉcole des Beaux-Artsis the best in the world. How long is the program?”
“Six…six months.” He thought she was talking about art school, she realized. The one in Paris that she’d asked her father if she could attend and had yet to receive a response.
“You’ll miss the Season, then. But there will be others. When do you leave?”
“Today.” She wet her lips. Half of her wanted to tell Weston the truth. To confess everything. But the other half of her, the colder, more logical half, recognized this as an opportunity to avoid hurting the two men she loved the most. If Weston knew herrealplans, he’d try to stop her. And if he did that, she’d never make it to Lachlan by noon. But this way…this way she could have her proverbial cake and eat it, too, as the Duke of Norfolk had once commonly written in a published letter to Lord Thomas Cromwell.
When guilt threatened, she tamped it down.
She wasn’t lying.
