Chapter 20 #3
“Because tomorrow—” Verbena swallowed. Her hand came to rest on the arm of the bench. She looked down at the flagstones beneath her bent knees. “Tomorrow I leave for Eden. And I could not bear to be married without first confessing to you the whole of my feelings.”
“Please don’t,” Flora said, but of course Verbena did not listen.
“My heart has but one occupant, and it is you,” Verbena said. She stared desperately up at Flora, her face pinched. “No, wait, I should say my heart has—damn it all, you know I’m no poet.”
Flora froze, her breath caught in her motionless chest. “I do not know that,” she said, though it came out weakly.
“Yes, you do. Or rather, William does.” Verbena gazed at her imploringly. “And so, then, do you.”
There it was. The truth, no longer secret.
Flora steeled herself for the wave of panic that would surely overtake her, yet it did not come.
A kind of peace washed through her in its place.
The worst possible thing had happened—and still, the world turned.
The dancers inside the ballroom still danced; the chatter of conversation did not abruptly stop; the musicians played on.
And Verbena, crouched there at Flora’s feet, did not have the look of a woman disgusted. She was, in fact, smiling carefully.
“You know,” Flora said, breathing at last.
“Yes, and it’s a good thing, too. I was having a devil of a time trying to understand how I could be in love with two different people when I had no real inclination to divide my affections,” Verbena said.
She reached slowly for Flora’s slim hand, cradling it in her gloved one and rubbing her thumb in the center of her palm.
“How lucky for me that you and William are one and the same.”
“Lucky?” Flora did not allow her mouth to hang open in an uncouth manner, but it was a near thing.
“Of course,” said Verbena. “Consider: as you are both man and woman, you can move unencumbered between the two halves of society. It really is remarkable. The things you must hear from both corners!” She nodded to herself.
“No wonder you’ve been privy to the most comprehensive gossip in London.
With your changeable nature, you can access both the masculine and feminine spheres. Why, you’re practically unstoppable!”
Flora frowned up at the underside of the portico’s overhang. “I’ve never thought of it like that. To be honest, most times I feel rather vulnerable.”
“I think you’re the most powerful creature in London,” Verbena said. She reached out and clasped Flora’s trembling hands in hers. “Powerful and clever.”
Clever? Oh, no. Not I. “It is not some trick,” Flora said, the words tumbling out of her. “You must understand, this is the very opposite of deceit. I was not trying to mislead you or anyone else, I only—”
“I understand.” Verbena lifted their joined hands and placed Flora’s palm to her own hot cheek. “It was perfectly clear to me, from the moment I arrived at the conclusion, that this could not be anything but your true nature. Why else would you risk yourself so?”
“Madness?” Flora suggested.
Verbena laughed. “If you are mad for donning a skirt, then so am I for wearing these breeches.” She wriggled in place a bit, finally coming to sit on the flagstones with her legs crossed in a loose knot.
“Actually, I quite like them. I might start wearing them at home. étienne surely wouldn’t mind.
” Her happy countenance slipped a bit. “You know I must marry him, don’t you?
That he requires a wife to ensure his safety?
The same concern you have for me being discovered dressed like this—he must dodge those dangers daily. ”
“Yes, but—” Flora felt her eyes prick with tears again. “But must it be you?”
“Time works against us. He must marry before the whispers get any louder,” Verbena said.
Her words fell between them, matter-of-fact, dispassionate, completely levelheaded.
“I made him a promise when the arrangement favored me. Now that he is the one with the greater need, I cannot abandon him, much as I’d like to.
I would be—well, no better than the lowest rake. ”
Despite her misery, Flora felt a sense of pride in Verbena’s decision. Only a few months ago, the woman might have done anything, abandoned any friend, in pursuit of her goals. Now, her noble nature shone through, damn it all.
Verbena hesitated. “You might still consider my original proposal,” she said. “You could marry a man willing to masquerade as a loving husband, too. Perhaps Miles would please you.” Even as she suggested it, her lips twisted. Odd.
Pieces began to fall into place. “You are jealous,” Flora whispered. Her hand fell. “Of Miles?”
Verbena huffed. “You two are very close.”
“Because he is my friend!”
“I feared he might be more besides.” Verbena glanced up at her. “He is…handsome.” This was said so grudgingly that Flora nearly smiled.
“Miles is captivated by étienne alone,” she said instead.
“And even if he were amenable to your scheme, I would not marry him. I—” Flora wrung the handkerchief some more.
“I’m afraid I have become accustomed to living my life as freely as I am able.
To marry falsely would be to close doors I would rather keep propped open. Can you understand?”
Verbena regarded her with sympathetic eyes. “I will not lie and say I understand when I do not,” she said, “but my love for you is beyond understanding, and so I hope you won’t hold that against me.”
Flora abandoned the ill-used handkerchief and tentatively held Verbena’s hands in hers. “I couldn’t. Although…” She struggled against the unfairness of it all. “It seems we are still at an impasse.”
“I fear so. All my cleverness and none of it can be brought to bear when it matters most.” Verbena blinked up at her, her own eyes damp. Or perhaps it was merely a trick of the flickering lamplight. “Flora, I am sorry.”
“I almost wish you had not come,” Flora blurted out. “To dance with you, to hear you speak like this—only the once and never again—is that why you arranged for us to meet here?”
“No, I came to ask if you would…” Verbena thinned her mouth into a taut line.
“What?” Flora asked. “What is it?”
What else was there to give?
Verbena’s green eyes stared up at Flora imploringly. “Come to Eden with me?”
Flora nearly laughed, a hysterical catch in her throat. “Eden!”
Verbena rose onto her knees so that her gaze was nearly level with Flora’s.
“For no untoward purpose. Only, I am going to be very alone there. No one save étienne and Miles will know the truth of the thing; my parents, étienne’s brothers, the servants, all the other wedding guests will require me to put on a false face. But you could attend. If you like.”
“For what purpose?” Flora demanded. “Why should we prolong this agony?”
Verbena stared at her, bereft. “I do not think it agony to be in your presence. To be near you is—it is the only thing I care for. Will you blame me for wanting to eke out every last possible moment before I am wed?”
Flora looked away, unable to stomach the pain in that beloved face any longer. “You speak as if marriage will be the death of you.”
“It will be,” Verbena said. “A quiet one, a death of the spirit. For once I am married, you will refuse even my friendship, I think.”
It was true. Flora felt her heart clench, a tendril of guilt tightening around it.
“Once you are married, there will be no room for William in your life. He will not be allowed to take walks with you, or meet with you at the club, or pay you a visit. The best he could hope for is to see you briefly at some dinner party, or a dance, or an afternoon’s entertainment, and exchange only banal pleasantries about the weather. ”
Verbena winced. “I do so hate talking about the weather.”
“If only half of me is allowed your friendship,” Flora continued, “then I fear I, too, would die a quiet death.”
“No sense in both of us perishing,” Verbena said, soft and resigned.
She struggled to her feet. “This was a mistake. I should not have accosted you like this. Forget I ever came here; forget I ever asked anything of you. I’ve been tremendously selfish.
Unforgivably foolish.” She affixed her mask over her face once more, hiding her strife behind the expressionless porcelain.
“Put me out of your mind. Act as if I was never here.”
Flora retrieved Verbena’s discarded hat from the ground and stood to hand it to her. She groped for something to say; it didn’t seem right for everything to end like this. “You look very handsome, though,” she said. Whatever jocularity might have existed in the words disappeared into wistfulness.
Verbena shoved her red hair beneath her hat with swift, jerky movements. “Well. At least there’s that.” She finished hiding her long tresses and then stayed there, breathing hard, mere inches from Flora. Her eyes drifted over Flora’s face as if memorizing it.
Flora wished she could dash Verbena’s damn mask to the ground so that she might do the same. It seemed inconceivably cruel to her that this was the end of their acquaintance. Her head pounded, her hands trembled. This could not be the end.
They moved in perfect tandem: Verbena lifting her mask so that only her lips were exposed, Flora swaying forward to meet her.
They kissed—hands gripping waists, breath stuttering. Verbena lifted one hand to cup the back of Flora’s head, keeping her in place. Flora melted against her, letting the tears come.
Then it was over. They parted. Verbena replaced her mask, fitting it to her face.
“Good-bye, my love,” Verbena said, and swept back into the ballroom as swiftly as she’d appeared.
Flora stood alone on the portico for a long moment, her shaking fingers brushing her recently kissed mouth. “Farewell,” she said to no one.