Chapter 12 #2
Veronica hesitated, then accepted the paper and charcoal with a shy smile. "Thank you. That is very kind."
They bent their heads together over their sketches, falling into companionable silence broken only by occasional quiet comments about shading and proportion.
The artist said something that made Veronica laugh—actually laugh, light and genuine—and Anthea felt her chest tighten with relief and something bittersweet.
This was what it should look like. Two people finding genuine connection, easy comfort in each other's presence.
Not lecturing and condescending, not trying to trick you with falsehoods to get what they want from you before they toss you away or prancing around with new conquests just after expressing his intent to marry her.
"That is Mr. Oliver Hartley," Sybil said quietly. "Son of Viscount Hartley. Quite talented, actually. He has exhibited at the Royal Academy."
"I have never seen Veronica like this before."
“He seems kind.” Sybil paused. "Unlike certain other gentlemen I could mention."
As if summoned by the comment, Mr. Thornbury's voice rose above the crowd. “Sir! How can you be so ignorant of your own profession!”
"Oh, dear God," Sybil muttered. Anthea agreed with a soft grunt. Then, because she could not help herself: "Is he still watching?"
Sybil did not need to ask who. "Yes. Rather intensely, actually. Lady Millicent appears to be attempting conversation, but he keeps glancing in your direction."
"Good." The word emerged more viciously than Anthea intended. "Let him wonder."
"You do realize you are behaving in a manner that suggests you care very much about what the Duke thinks?"
"I am behaving in a manner that suggests I am attempting to enjoy my afternoon without being stared at."
"Mmm. If you say so."
Mr. Thornbury finally released Sybil from his lecture and strode toward them with purpose. "Miss Veronica! There you are. I am having the most delightful debate- Miss Veronica, what are you doing?"
Veronica looked up from her sketch, the happiness draining from her face. "I was just—Mr. Hartley was kind enough to share his supplies, and—"
"Sketching?" Mr. Thornbury's tone suggested she had admitted to something scandalous. "But we came here to observe the animals properly. To study them scientifically, not to—to doodle!"
"It is hardly doodling," Mr. Hartley said mildly, not looking up from his own work. "Miss Veronica has an excellent hand for texture."
Mr. Thornbury drew himself up. "And you are?"
"Oliver Hartley." He still did not look up, his charcoal continuing to move across the paper. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"I see." Mr. Thornbury's tone dripped disapproval. "Miss Veronica, we really must move on. There is still the reptile house to visit, and I have much to teach you about—"
"Actually," Veronica interrupted, her voice quiet but firm, "I believe I would prefer to remain here. The light is quite good for sketching."
Mr. Thornbury stared at her as though she had suddenly begun speaking in tongues. "I beg your pardon?"
"I would like to stay here and sketch." Veronica lifted her chin slightly. "With Mr. Hartley. If that is acceptable."
"It is more than acceptable," Mr. Hartley said, finally looking up with a warm smile. "I would be delighted by the company."
Mr. Thornbury's face flushed an unbecoming shade of red. "Miss Veronica, I must insist—"
"Mr. Thornbury," Sybil said smoothly, "perhaps you might escort Miss Croft and me to see the reptiles? I confess I have always been fascinated by serpents."
"But—"
"I would be most grateful for your expertise," Sybil continued, linking her arm through Anthea's with gentle pressure. "And I am certain Miss Veronica is well-chaperoned here with her sister nearby."
Mr. Thornbury looked between them, clearly torn between his desire to lecture about reptiles and his unwillingness to leave Veronica. Finally, he gave a stiff bow. "Very well, we shall talk later.”
"I look forward to it," Veronica said, in a tone that suggested she looked forward to nothing less.
When Mr. Thornbury had stalked away toward the reptile house, Sybil released Anthea's arm. "Well. That was satisfying."
"You are wicked."
"That man was going to drive your sister to hysterics within the hour." Sybil glanced back at where Veronica and Mr. Hartley had resumed sketching, their heads bent close together. "Besides, Mr. Hartley is infinitely more suitable. Kind, respectful, shares her interests..."
"Everything Mr. Thornbury is not," Anthea finished.
"Precisely." Sybil paused. "Speaking of gentlemen and suitability—the Duke is approaching."
Anthea's heart leapt into her throat. "What? No. I cannot—"
"Anthea—"
"I need some air." The words tumbled out in a rush. "Will you stay with Veronica? I shall just—I shall walk for a moment."
Before Sybil could protest, Anthea turned and hurried away, weaving through the crowd with her head down. She could not face him. Not now. Not when Lady Millicent's laugh still echoed in her ears, not when her own emotions were tangled into knots she could not begin to unravel.
She did not look back to see if he had noticed her departure. She did not want to know if he would follow or if he would simply return to the Earl's daughter with her perfect bloodline and easy smiles.
The menagerie suddenly felt too crowded, too warm, too full of watching eyes and whispered speculation.
She needed space. Distance. A moment to breathe without feeling his gaze on her back or imagining what he might be thinking.