Aurora saw how Lord Winters' eyes lit up, a smile spreading across his face. He had an angular sort of jaw that made his grin look almost unnaturally wide, but it suited him. He was like an excited child, and in truth it made Aurora curious.
"Here, I was saving them for the meeting, but you deserve to see." He slipped a small notebook from his suit and passed it across the desk for Father to see.
Loathe to admit it, but curious nonetheless, Aurora took the chance to peek across the study. The little notebook was filled with sketches — some plain, some watercolor. The watercolor ones were beautiful, the hue delicate and muted. Amongst the drawings were pressed flowers, tiny delicate ones preserved perfectly.
Aurora wasn't even aware that she had been creeping forwards, not until she caught Father's smile in her direction. Muffling an apologetic laugh, Aurora stepped away to grab another stack of books.
There reallywasno room on the shelves for more, but Aurora managed to find the odd space to cram a single book in, either by laying it on top of others or shuffling the entire row.
Meanwhile, Father and Lord Winters continued to talk. It appeared that the Earl had been travelling a lot these last years, spending time in Scotland and Wales, then in Italy.
"Truthfully, I'd never truly seen the importance of art until I went to Italy. Have you seen the work of Michelangelo?"
"Not in person," Father admitted, "but I've read my share of art history."
"If you ever do have the chance to go, youmustsee his work in person. I don't think I've ever seen something quite so wonderful."
Another book found its home. This was no library, there was no rhyme or reason to where anything went. It was simply a case of making the place look neater.
"There are flowers in Italy that I've never even heard of before. Isn't it amazing, how the plants we see every day are unheard of somewhere else? I wanted to take some home with me, but I'm afraid they weren't used to our foggy climate."
"The flowers died?"
"Within two months, yes."
"A shame. I'd have loved to see them."
Aurora found herself frowning, as she pushed another book between two more. She had killed her own share of plants in the past — usually household potted ones that didn't get enough sunlight, or those planted in the wrong type of soil. Father had always been ever so patient when this happened, but Aurora still remembered the swirl of disappointment at seeing her failure.
She was starting to think there was more to Lord Winters than just some pompous earl. He actually sounded quite lovely when he spoke about the things he cared about.
He had still spoken down to her though, condescended her, and the thought made Aurora's lips curl. He had acted as if she knew nothing of botany, despite being Anthony Washam's daughter, and yet he hadn't once downplayed Father'sownexpertise. Perhaps he assumed that she, a woman, couldn't possibly have been educated enough to know. Perhaps it had never occurred to him that when he saw her at the meetings, her quietness was due to inexperience, not an unwillingness to make a scene.
After all, since Christopher had stolen her work and claimed it as his own in front of everyone, she hadn't exactly been eager to speak up.
Shaking her head to rid those thoughts, Aurora let out a quiet sigh. Father's ears perked, but with a smile she assured him she was fine.
With reluctance, Father turned back to Lord Winters' book. That reluctance faded when he turned the page and saw the intricate depiction of beautiful, towering willow trees.
"Oh," Father said, "nowthatis a drawing! I've never seen such detail. Such care."
Lord Winters appeared to preen under the praise, his smile widening. "Thank you. I took great care to make it as accurate as possible, but I didn't want accuracy to get in the way of artistic expression. It's one of my newest works, and I must say I'm rather proud."
"As you should be. Aurora, would you look at this?"
She was already looking, but decided not to say so. Instead, Aurora crept closer to peek over Father's shoulder, making sure not to accidentally hit him with her armful of books.
Up close, the sketch was even more lovely. The book was small and so detail must have been difficult, but he had somehow not only pulled it off, but made it a part of the sketch. It was messy, the leaves of the willow one continuous, looping line; but it gave the effect of real, moving leaves fluttering in an imaginary breeze. She was lost for words, staring at the page. He had added dashes of color here and there, although it remained mostly in black and white.
"I have more," Lord Winters offered, "maybe it would be better to flip through the pages yourself."
Father gratefully took the offered notebook, holding it as if it were something easily broken. a few dried flowers tumbled out, but he only smiled.
The moment was over, so Aurora took the chance to slip into the background once again. She didn't mind it really, because it gave her the chance to listen in without the expectation oftaking partin the conversation.
All the while, she continued to shuffle about the study and tidy, although it was an impossible task. Tomorrow, or as soon as Father needed to find a certain book, they'd end up strewn across the room all over again.
She wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow the conversation shifted after a while. It turned from botany to family, something that had Aurora snapping back to attention.