“We were just on our way to dinner,” Alex said, pushing his chair from the worktable.
“Of course, of course. Dinner…” He drifted off, his attention focused entirely on the plant. “Not tonight, I think. There’s simply too much to do. I need to take measurements and start sketching…”
My interest stirred. “Sketching?”
Gerard looked up, blinking at me in surprise. “Yes, of course. I must document everything… Perhaps you might be interested in helping me? Dauphine says your skills with a paintbrush are quite commendable.”
“Father, she’s been working all day. I’m sure she—”
“I’d love to,” I said, overriding Alex’s protestation.
His eyebrows rose with surprise.
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime sort of flower,” I said, offering him a smile of reassurance. “I couldn’t miss that over something as trivial as dinner. Besides…now I don’t have to dress.”
An amused grin flashed over Alex’s face. “Touché.”
“Excellent.” Gerard patted my back with a hearty swipe. “I have a working field guide here…” He reached beneath the table and pulled out a massive ledger. “And there are watercolors stored in that bin over there.” He pulled open a drawer and removed tiny rulers and nibbed pens from its cluttered depths. “Alexander—go and tell your mother not to expect us…but have her send down some plates, will you? And maybe a bottle of champagne—yes! This calls for a celebration, wouldn’t you say?”
“Mother, dinner, and champagne,” Alex recited. “Anything else? Verity?”
The way he drew out my name’s syllables brought a wash of warmth over my cheeks and I was very grateful for Gerard’s single-minded focus on his instruments.
I shook my head and he began pushing his chair away, backing along the tiled path of the greenhouse in reverse, so that he could hold my gaze all the way to the ramp leading into the manor. Just before he rolled out, he winked, then was gone.
“Exquisite, just exquisite,” Gerard murmured, leaning over my shoulder to study my work.
Another two flowers had begun to bloom and I was determined to catch exactly how the strange petals looked at each step of their unfurling.
The tins of watercolors lay scattered across the tabletop like bits of the puzzles Marina and Elodie loved to while away their afternoons with. I flicked a damp brush through a well of juniper green, then dragged it across the page, following the looped stalks of the plant. A splash of red followed, hinting at the shadowy pot beneath.
Gerard crossed around to the other side of the work area, taking a long swallow from his coupe of champagne. He’d emptied most of the bottle already and his gait teetered unevenly.
“You know,” he began thoughtfully, “I thought Dauphine’s idea to bring in a painter from Salann was mad when she proposed it. Anyone worth their salt”—he paused to chortle at his own pun—“would be from here. From Bloem. They would have gone through our conservatories, found a patron, and would live in some little bohemian garret above their gallery.” Gerard raised the glass toward me with a solemn salute. “I was wrong and I shall certainly tell my wife so.”
His mention of Salann fell uneasily over me. It was simple enough to push aside creeping thoughts of my sister as I worked on the sketches of Alexander, but here, in the dark, my worries multiplied, gathering up behind my sternum and squeezing at my lungs.
He was happy with my work now, but what if Camille should write to him, tell him all of the awful things she thought of me?
Surely she wouldn’t dare.
As she’d said, a hint of madness would taint everyone, herself included.
Still, I scratched at the side of my thumbnail with anxious repetition.
Perhaps I ought to write her a letter—a real one—and actually send it instead of hiding it away in the depths of my steamer trunk.
Gerard sensed none of my troubles. He tapped an earlier drawing I’d finished, focus always drawn to his work. “You’re a wonder, Verity. Truly. I wish you’d documented all of my studies. My chambers are full of these ledgers but nothing in them looks as real as what you’ve done here. I almost…” He shook his head, chuckling at thoughts I was not privy to.
“What?”
The corners of his mouth rose, caught. “I’d always hoped Alexander and I would have moments such as these—sleeves rolled up, side by side, working toward a common goal.” His half-smile died away. “But he’s shown no interest in any of this. Tonight gave me a little taste of those daydreams.”
I paused, freezing the paintbrush just above the paper, wondering how to best approach such an obviously delicate situation. “Why do you think that is?”
Gerard traced his finger over the edge of one of the leaves. “He thinks my work frivolous. Blasphemous even.”
“Blasphemous?”
His eyes rolled up to the top of the greenhouse. “Alexander reminds me so much of my father at times. Very devout. Very strict in his beliefs.” He shook his head and downed the last of his champagne. “I hate to see him following Father’s path. That man was unbearably stubborn.”
“Stubbornness isn’t always a bad thing,” I murmured cautiously. I had the distinct feeling both men were trying to pull me toward their side of the argument and I didn’t want to let either of them down. “Alex said it took you a year to grow these flowers, trying again and again.”
Gerard nodded.
“A less stubborn man wouldn’t have bothered.” I added in a soft shadow beneath the pot and the rendering was complete.
“Perfect,” he agreed, letting the matter drop as he refilled our glasses with the dregs of the bottle. “To you…and to Alexander’s portrait. If it’s anything like these watercolors, I’ll have to find a better position for it in the Great Hall.”
“To you,” I said, my face flushing with pleasure under his praise. I raised my glass toward him. “And your achievement here today. You’ve created a true marvel.”
His chest puffed with pride and our glasses chimed happily as we clinked them together. The dancing bubbles tickled my throat on their way down, making me feel warm and a little fuzzy around the edges.
“Alexander showed me your red bud trees. They’re beautiful.”
He smiled, pleased. “Those were a tricky lot.”
“How do you decide what plants to graft together? I wouldn’t have the slightest idea on how to go about any of this.”
Gerard took a great swallow, mulling over my question. “I look around the world and try to imagine the best version of everything I see. Like…that line of strawberries growing there?” He pointed. “The climate of the greenhouse helps them to grow year-round, but the winter ones never seemed to taste as sweet. One day I went for a ramble in the forest after a big snowstorm and discovered a cluster of pink berries, growing in the dead of winter. They were delicious. I dug up a plant and brought it back here to study. There was quite a lot of trial and error, but now our berries are perfect all year round.”
“What a thrill that must be,” I mused. “Creating something so useful out of nothing.”