“Miss Adderton, I think we should find some privacy,” she said.
Miss Adderton’s hand shot out to grip Diana’s arm. “No. Please. Not Joan.”
Joan. The mother of the little boy who had become such fast friends with Robin.
From behind Diana, Miss Pedley and Captain Hastings rushed forward to hold Miss Adderton up. “Come on, Stella,” Miss Pedley said. “Let’s step inside, away from all of these people.”
Diana watched as Miss Adderton nodded, letting herself be steered by the land girl.
“Take her two doors down the corridor to my morning room. It will be more private,” Diana whispered to Captain Hastings.
They set Miss Adderton down on the sofa while Diana lingered nearby, awkward in her own house. Miss Pedley sat next to the cook, rubbing her back and murmuring reassurances in her ear. The slow but steady thud of Father Devlin’s crutches on the corridor’s carpet announced the chaplain’s approach while Captain Hastings poured out a finger of brandy from one of the sideboard’s decanters.
When all was settled, Diana held out the telegram.
Miss Adderton looked up at her, eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t read it. Will you? Please?”
Diana looked around at the other faces in the room. “Surely there’s someone more well suited for this. Father Devlin?”
Miss Adderton’s hands trembled the brandy in her glass. “Please.”
With her own shaky fingers, Diana unfolded the telegram and began to read the typed letters:
We regret to inform you Joan Reynolds’s building was hit during a raid yesterday evening STOP She was killed instantly STOP
Miss Adderton’s body collapsed against Miss Pedley’s, sobs racking her. The men stood back, grim-faced and solemn.
Diana looked down again at the telegram in her hands, and all she could think was: That poor little boy.
SUMMER
? VENETIA ?
THURSDAY, 27 JUNE 1907
Highbury House
Hot
Until Matthew, I never understood how a woman could lose her head over a man. It is as though, after years of practicality, I’m unable to see straight. He has blinded me with affection, tenderness, and touch. To be held by another person is deeply intoxicating, and whenever we part, I find myself craving more.
I know that it was a mistake to kiss him and lead him back to my cottage that first night. But it felt right. It’s been easy to open the door to him again and again whenever darkness and quiet falls over Highbury House. Each time, we extinguish the lights in my cottage and wind our arms around one another in the dark. He leaves only when orange-pink dawn streaks across the sky.
We agreed that if we’re to avoid being caught, we would have to become more careful. And so, feeling like the heroine in a penny dreadful, I began to leave my lover notes in the twisted trunk of a tree a mile down the road from Highbury House. I can now safely say that I am an expert at excuses to venture into the village.
Earlier this afternoon, however, I visited Wisteria Farm for reasons that were not entirely contrived. I needed yet more roses. A variety called ‘Belle Lyonnaise’ was to climb over arches at four points of the bridal garden, and Rosa foetida ‘Bicolor’， ‘Souvenir d’Alphonse Lavallée’， and ‘Rosearie de l’Hay’—a new favorite of mine—would be interspersed with artful casualness throughout the poet’s garden, lest we ever forget that love is like a red, red rose.
With Matthew’s housekeeper out visiting her sister, I knew we would have nearly an entire afternoon to ourselves. We enjoyed it as best two people sneaking about can.
As four o’clock grew closer, we forced ourselves to dress again. I fumbled with my corset, the stays even more restraining than usual.
“This summer heat is dreadful,” I moaned.
Matthew laughed. “Let me play lady’s maid.”
He gently dealt with my laces and then eased on my corset cover, skirt, shirt, stockings, and boots.
As I watched him, I wondered at how thoroughly he’d changed me since that first kiss. I read books and thought what he might say about them. When I heard a horse ride into the courtyard at Highbury, I held my breath, waiting to see if it was him.
When he was done lacing my boots, he kissed the inside of my knee. “When can I see you again? Like this. When the sun is shining.”
“When can you once again arrange for everyone in the vicinity of your home to be otherwise occupied?” I asked with a laugh.
He sighed. “Venetia, I don’t want to keep stealing moments like this.”