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“You drew this?”
“I did.”
“It’s remarkable. It’s so lifelike. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was on paper, I might have believed it was real.”
“Thank you.” Clara smiled in earnest, and dimples appeared on her cheeks. It was always thrilling to receive praise for her drawings, which happened far less frequently than she would have liked.
“Why have you not signed it?” he asked, showing her the drawing and pointing at the bottom of the page.
“I do not tend to display my art. I take private commissions occasionally, mostly from Grandmother’s friends. But I don’t like to sign them, as people assume that my family connections opened doors for me.”
“Family connections?” he asked, confused for a moment. Then understanding dawned upon his face. “Ah, your cousin.”
“My mother’s cousin, yes, although I have always addressed her as Aunt Charlotte. Her books proved quite popular; have you read them?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ve heard good things, however. I’m not sure why that should prevent you from signing your work.”
“If I were to put these drawings out into the world, I’d want people to believe that I earned any accolades through my own merit, not because of Aunt Charlotte’s connections.”
“I’m not sure I agree. Talent deserves to be recognized, and if people choose to be cynical, they should be ignored. I’m surprised you would let other people’s opinions stifle your ambition.”
Clara gave a small smile, this time choosing not to rise to the bait.
“That is not the only reason. My time has been filled by my duties here. There is plenty of time in the future to share my drawings, if I so wish.”
Gerald moved around the table, inspecting the drawings carefully, comparing them with the physical flowers that rested beside them.
“I recall the names of your other relatives now. Lydia, and Edmund.”
“That is correct, whom I address as aunt and uncle.”
“Edmund… didn’t Agatha mention that you-”
Clara cringed, having wished that he wouldn’t have made that connection. Her cheeks flushed red, and she looked down.
“She misspoke,” Clara said quickly, reaching for a flower. Gerald reached for it at the same time, and their fingers touched briefly. The index finger on his left hand touched the ring finger on her right. The tip of it slid down the length of her finger, causing an eruption of tingles that leaped from her palm to her wrist. It crackled along her arm and then shot right to her heart in an instant, making her blink quickly. The fluttering sensation in the middle of her chest was striking, and she lost a breath.
The flower remained on the table, while Gerald remained beside her. When had he gotten so close? The greenhouse was warmer than usual. Damp heat rose from her pores, sitting on her skin beneath her clothes. Clara was aware of the air passing between her lips.
“I see. I’m sure you must be proud of your family. They have accomplished much.”
“As has yours.”
“Indeed, although I do not have such a wide range of kin to call upon. It is just Eleanor and I.”
“The two of you must be close.”
“We are. I have taken care of her as best I could, although there are times when I feel as though I am failing her.”
“She is a lovely young woman. You should be proud.”
“Thank you. She was nothing but complimentary about you.”
“If things were different, we might have been friends.”
“Yes… Yes, if things had been different.”
Gerald’s tone changed as he said this. His head dropped a little, and he pulled his hand away. They stared at the flowers instead of each other. Clara chastised herself for saying the wrong thing and shattering the mood, turning it into something tense. It didn’t seem to do them any good to bring about reminders of their pretense. For a moment, while they were talking, it felt as though they were getting to know each other.
