"And how are you doing?” Father asked kindly, “in your last letter, you told me of your father’s passing. I was sorry to hear about it.”
Lord Winters stiffened in his chair, eyes fluttering to the ground. He appeared reluctant to speak, struggling with the words in a way that made Aurora's chest sink.
"It was six months ago,” Lord Winters revealed finally, “I should have told you earlier, but I confess it took months for the realization to really settle in.”
Aurora was doing an excellent job of staring at the corner bookshelf, lip caught between her teeth. She didn't know this man or his father, but it hurt to hear him struggle with the words.
"It's difficult, I'll admit. We didn't always get along, but he was still my father... I was thinking about him earlier, and how much he would have loved your gazebo."
A ghost of a smile flickered across Aurora's face. Ah, so that was why he so eagerly pointed it out.
"He didn't always approve of my interests, but he loved good scenery." Lord Winters laughed softly. "Anyway, it helps to think of him fondly, and I hope that if nothing else, his passing will shape me into a better person."
Aurora glanced down at her bandaged hand. The sting had completely vanished now, leaving behind only the dull discomfort of tight wrappings. The lamb's ear had started to wilt, but it had done its job without fault.
She couldn't help but smile, as she added the last book to the shelf. There, now the place was almost manageable.
"I'm sorry to hear about your father's death," Father said with a sigh, "I didn’t have the chance to say it in person... my condolences."
"It is what is it, I'm afraid," Lord Winters confessed, "and we can't change the past."
It made Aurora think of her own mother. Aurora had never had the chance to meet her, as she passed after childbirth when Aurora was only an hour or two old. Father thought of her often, but did he have Lord Winters' same pragmatic attitude? She sometimes thought that he'd never really moved on.
The thought made her frown, and with no more books she needed something else as a distraction. Said distraction came in the form of Lord Winters' notebook, which lay open to a middle page.
This particular drawing was splashed across both pages, so large compared to the paper that there was almost no plain page left. The horn-shaped flowers were bright yellow-orange, like sunrise, and the watercolor had bled past the lines to create a soft, mellow look. It was paired with dark leaves, layered so thickly that they almost appeared to jump off the page.
“Beautiful,” she murmured, without even meaning to. In all her life, Aurora had never seen something sostunning.The flowers appeared suspended, giving the impression of a great size despite the small book they were drawn on.
Lord Winters caught her eye and smiled. "Do you like them?" he asked.
"I love them."
He turned the page to another drawing of the same flower, this time painted in a peachy-cream tone. The ends were a darker pink than the rest. For scale, a rudimentary human figure had been sketched beside the flowers — the entire plant was the size of a grown man, with flowers the size of his hand.
"They'rewonderful,"Aurora murmured, "what are they called?" Now she reallydidsound like the naïve woman he took her for, but Aurora couldn't help it. In the end, curiosity won out.
"Angel's trumpet," both Father and Lord Winters answered at once. Then, Lord Winters continued, "it's a member of the nightshade family. They come in all sorts of shades; yellow, white, pink — and very rarely, a bright shade of crimson."
Truly, she had never seen anything so perfect. It was almost intimidating in its beauty, and that was only from a sketch in a notebook. She couldn'timaginethe real thing! It must have beenmagical.
She caught Lord Winters smiling, the casual sort of smile of a man simply humoring her. Immediately, Aurora's own smile faded in response; the moment had passed. Instead of speaking, she stepped back from the desk and brushed dust from her sleeve.
"Would you like to see more? I have some later work of the angel's trumpet, too."
Although curiosity tugged at the back of her mind, she didn't allow it to win this time. With a tense smile, she shook her head. "No, thank you," she replied simply, "I have a lot to do today, and I should let you both speak in private."
Father sent her a questioning look, but she waved him away with a smile.
"If you need anything, Father, let me know. I might go outside for a while and check on the herb garden. It won't ever be as good as the Duke's, but perhaps I can get somewhere close." It was her own personal project, emulating the herb garden that Father had made for Lord Sommerville's manor.
He had clearly noticed that something was wrong, brows furrowed in concern, but simply nodded. "All right, Aurora. Don't stay out for too long, it might rain later."
She smiled, and nodded towards Lord Winters, before slipping out the door. Even then, alone, she simply couldn't get the image of that gorgeous angel's trumpet out of her mind.
Chapter 7
Aurora Washam