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“To what, the cakes?” Honoria laughed. “They haven’t any feelings, I assure you. And if they did, they are in your stomach now, and so it doesn’t matter.”
“Not the cakes,” Katrina shot back. “It is not fair to Adelaide. She has worked so hard on them both.”
“Oh, I won’t be affected in the least, I assure you,” Adelaide blithely stated. “It is just business, after all. The better the cake, the more I sell, and the more money I make.” She laughed.
Bronwyn, her mouth full of cake, watched the back-and-forth with relief. Perhaps now she could forget her heartache, and the memories she tried so damned hard to forget, and the long, lonely nights she dreaded.
Well, for a short time, at least. Until she returned to Caulnedy and had to remember all over again.
No, she would not allow herself to wallow in her grief, especially not here, in the one place where she was accepted for who she was.
“Katrina is right,” she interrupted, determined to focus on the here and now. “They are both exceptional. But I do believe the damson plum is the one I prefer.”
“There, you see?” Honoria said, sending a smirk Katrina’s way. “Was that so difficult?”
“The damson plum it is,” Adelaide said with a satisfied nod.
They all fell to talking once more, busy chatter that filled the small room with happy sounds. So determined was Bronwyn to take it all in, she did not immediately realize that Seraphina had not said a word.
Frowning, she looked her friend’s way. To her surprise, Seraphina was peering at her with a disturbing intensity.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Seraphina started and flushed. “What? Oh, no. Sorry. My mind wandered, is all.”
Which really wasn’t like Seraphina. Bronwyn opened her mouth, intending to ask her if anything was amiss, when Honoria spoke.
“I see Regina has not accompanied you. Is she not joining us today?”
“No, she wished to remain behind with her sisters.”
“You should bring them all over to the vicarage,” Honoria said with a smile. “I know Coralie would love to see Regina again. Better yet, let us all head to Caulnedy. We can make an evening of it. And if you have not yet sent your work to the Royal Society, you can show us what new illustrations you have created.”
Bronwyn started. The Royal Society. Damnation, how had she forgotten the packet she had readied to send off to them?
Before the question had time to take shape in her mind, she knew the answer: she had been so focused on distracting herself after Ash’s departure that she had forgotten all about her work.
Well, no more. When she returned, she would send the packet off and immediately begin working again. She had all the time in the world now. A fact that brought a disturbing amount of sorrow.
The next hour was filled with all manner of talk, from S. L. Keys’s latest installment in theGaia Review and Repositoryto Lady Tesh’s plans for a folly to the new miniaturist who had opened up a business two shops down. All too soon, however, it was time to leave. Bronwyn said her goodbyes, then quietly made her way out of the circulating library. As she exited the Quayside and stepped out onto Admiralty Row, she had a sudden flash of that day not long ago—had it truly been just five weeks?—when the Juniper boy had knocked her bag from her shoulder, leading to her first meeting with Ash. For a breathless moment she paused on the pavement just outside the door, looking up and down the street, as if she would spy Ash’s familiar magnetic presence among the milling people. But no, he was not there. Nor would he be ever again. He had his life in London, and she had hers here. She had best get used to that fact.
Just as she was about to start for her carriage, however, a hand on her arm stopped her. She turned to see Seraphina standing beside her, with that same intent look from before.
“Do you have time to talk?”
Concern flooded Bronwyn. Her friend appeared hesitant, nervous even, so very different from her typical bold certainty. “Seraphina,” she murmured, “you haven’t been yourself all day. Is something wrong?”
“No…That is, yes…That is…”She gave Bronwyn a helpless look. “I really am no good at this kind of thing.”
Bronwyn blinked. “What kind of thing?”
“You know,” her friend said impatiently, waving her hand in the air. Phineas fluttered his wings, an agitated reaction to his mistress’s frustration. “Relationships. Emotions.Feelings.” She made a face.
Still, Bronwyn was at a complete loss. “Whose feelings?”
“Yours. Or, rather, yours and your husband’s.”
Bronwyn’s breath rushed from her lungs. “Ash?”
