Chapter 16 #2
“Not even to me?” Verbena curled her fingers around Flora’s, feeling the rough patches of her quill calluses.
“Whatever it is, I would keep it from the world. You know that, don’t you?
I would keep—anything you gave me.” The art of dancing around the words.
Verbena knew it well, so well that she suspected she might never be able to say in plain terms what it was she meant.
She squeezed Flora’s now-slack hand in hers and hoped the gesture imparted her intentions. “To my grave and beyond.”
“You should not make such promises to me,” Flora said, still in that leaden tone, her gaze fastened to their joined hands. “It’s not prudent. Nor is it possible.”
“I am an imprudent and impossible woman,” Verbena said, “as, I think, are you.” There was tremulous hope in her voice, that desperate need to find a kindred soul. “Aren’t you?”
Flora raised her head then. The distant firelight charged the planes of her face in a riot of oranges and reds, shadows shifting in a way that made her appear like a different person altogether from one breath to the next.
Verbena’s heart swelled at the picture she made.
Flora’s berry-wine lips parted, slow. Verbena leaned in to catch her reply, their hands clasped to her bosom.
Then someone let out the most hair-raising screech.
Verbena whipped her head to the side, seeking out the cause. Already she was shielding Flora from whatever was in their midst, placing herself firmly between her friend and the rest of the party.
Flora, unfortunately, had the exact same reaction, and so the two of them battled to be the protector. They shoved at each other, their ankles and hands tangling in the process. It was a wonder they didn’t stumble to the ground.
“What is it?” Verbena cried out. “What’s happened?”
The gathering was coming apart at the seams. Men and women alike streamed in all directions, shouting, their inebriation making the mad dash even more chaotic.
In the rush of petrified faces, Verbena caught sight of étienne.
His wild eyes lit upon her and Flora, and he struggled through the storm of bodies toward them.
“The fire!” he shouted above the din. “It is out of control!”
Only then did Verbena register the intense heat that was coming from the site of the bonfire, having previously mistaken it for her own excited flush.
Through the gaps in the crowd, she spied the great conflagration, which had indeed escaped the bonds of the stone ring.
Patches of grass were scorched or afire, as well as several wooden stumps that the artists had been using as stools.
One of the painters beat at the flames ineffectually with his shed greatcoat, which served only to light the fabric, too.
Flora molded herself to Verbena’s side, their hands still clasped. Verbena could feel her panicked breaths overtaking her body.
étienne at last arrived at their sides and took them both by the arm. “Come,” he said, “before it gets any worse.”
But Flora tore herself from étienne’s grasp with a cry. Her wide eyes were pinned to something in the distance. “Miles!”
Verbena turned to look. Miles McDonald was standing close to the raging blaze, attempting to help a drunken reveler to his feet.
He seemed not to realize his sleeve had caught, the fire licking its way along his arm.
At Flora’s cry, he first looked up, then at his sleeve.
He tried to undo his coat buttons but seemed too overwhelmed with panic.
Flora picked up her skirts and rushed toward him, a hotheaded display of valor that Verbena could neither understand nor approve of.
“Flora, don’t!” She flew faster than she had ever moved before, catching Flora about the waist. Already the fire had grown taller than their heads, racing erratically across the grounds, no doubt fed by spilled whisky.
“Miles!” Flora shouted again.
Despite all the danger, Verbena still had time to consider that perhaps Flora had her eye on the destitute Scotsman.
Was that why she had no interest in Verbena’s plot to pair her with William?
Rather silly, the things one might think when in the throes of a disaster.
At least she was keeping Flora away from the blaze for now.
Anyway, they were quite matched in strength, and it was anyone’s guess who would flag first.
It all became a pointless exercise in the next moment, as étienne leapt to Miles’s aid. He grabbed a nearby quilt and draped it over his head, plunging through the inferno to reach Miles. He wrested the burning coat off him and dragged him, wild-eyed, to a safe distance.
At this point a few of the more sober revelers had managed to organize a sort of human chain to pass along water.
Pots of pond water were sloshed onto the fire, creating a curtain of hot steam that blanketed the scene.
Verbena took Flora by the hand and fought through the confusion until they found étienne and Miles lying in the grass beneath a tree, panting for air.
“Fools!” étienne spat. “Why did they stoke the flames like that? Damn them!” Then, with an apologetic glance toward Verbena and Flora, still in a clinch: “Excuse my English, ladies.”
Verbena relaxed her hold on Flora, but did not let go. “No apologies necessary, Monsieur Charbonneau,” she said.
A handful of men were still beating back the worst of the flames, but for the most part, the conflagration was contained. Flora shrugged out of Verbena’s grip and approached Miles, who looked quite pale and was cradling his arm close to his body.
“Mr. McDonald, are you injured?” she asked.
He gave her a bewildered look. His hair was in a state of total disarray, which was saying something, given the style he preferred. “I’m afraid I am. Slightly.”
Verbena strode forward to help, but étienne beat her to it. He took Miles’s arm and unfolded it so that he could see the damage in the remaining firelight. The sleeve of Miles’s shirt was burnt away in several places. Shiny red patches of burned skin showed through the holes.
“My god,” étienne murmured.
“It’s nothing,” Miles said, though he did not, Verbena noticed, look at his injured arm but instead kept his gaze fastened to étienne’s worried face.
“A burn is no small matter,” Flora said, sticking close to him. “Even the smallest ones might fester.”
Verbena narrowed her eyes at their closeness. “Yes,” she said, “best have a doctor take a look. Don’t you agree, étienne?”
étienne did not hesitate. “I shall take you myself,” he said to Miles. “This ordeal has sobered me completely. We will leave at once.”
Miles shifted on his feet. “Well. If you think it necessary…” He was staring rather boldly at étienne’s lips now. Verbena stifled a huff. What was the world coming to! Nobody seemed to be infatuated with the proper person tonight.
étienne called for a horse and cart to be brought from the stables and for Penny to direct him to the nearest physician.
The maid informed them that the ride would take most of the night and they likely wouldn’t return until the following day.
Verbena assisted in packing them a hamper for the journey while Flora ripped bandages from clean linen sheets and applied them to Miles’s arm.
Before long, they were waving good-bye to the departing dogcart while the bonfire burned down to embers. The other guests had long since gone to bed.
Verbena ceased waving farewell when the cart went around a bend in the road. She looked at Flora, standing pale beside her, gaze still fastened to where étienne and Miles had disappeared.
“Well,” Verbena said, “say what you will about Plas Tan, but no one can claim that our evening was uneventful.”
Flora did not so much as smile. She lifted a hand to her eyes, rubbing at them tiredly. “I suppose we should try and get some sleep,” she said. “Though I don’t know if I can.”
Verbena swallowed. All night she had been dancing, not with partners, but around what she wanted to say. Perhaps, she thought, with dawn encroaching, just the two of them remaining on the grounds, she could do so.
“Share my bed,” she said.
Flora’s gaze snapped to meet hers. “What?”
“You’re obviously shaken,” Verbena said, hating how she reached so quickly for a plausible explanation that might soften her offer should it be unwelcome.
“What happened tonight—it was frightening for everyone. Come to my room with me. We can sleep beside each other. If that would help.” She raised two fingers, thinking to trace the back of Flora’s hand, but then curled them into a fist. She must take care, she knew.
“That is kind—very kind,” Flora murmured. Her gaze dropped, her chin sinking to her chest. “But I do not think it wise. I would not make good company. Good night.” She hurried away, crossing the dewy lawn alone.
Verbena watched her go, a protest trapped in her throat. Perhaps she had only imagined the affection between them. Never in her life had she harbored tender feelings, and now that she did, were they destined to never be returned?
A hot dampness stung at Verbena’s eyes. She wiped away the nascent tear in frustration.