Chapter 12 #4
Despite her general disdain for her parents’ collections, Florrie could not help but settle into a comfortably all-consuming state of focus. It was only after she finished her inspection that Florrie realised her mothers had retired for the evening, leaving Rosenne with Chary.
“I do beg your pardon, Chary,” said Rosenne in her melodious orator’s voice as Florrie crept closer, “but I urge you not to underestimate your cousin. How dare you suggest our courtship is imbalanced? Why, in more ways than I can name, she’s sharper than I—”
“Let me put it another way, then, if that offends your sympathies less,” replied Chary.
“Florrie’s never courted anyone before. But you have, haven’t you?
And she hasn’t any friends, either! You two only met by chance in a gallery.
Did you consider the possibility that she simply fancies you because you’re there? ”
“I have, indeed, courted others—”
“As I suspected. That leaves you, like it or not, in the rather delicate position of guiding her through the experience. Your knowledge gives you an advantage in every possible aspect.”
Rosenne sighed. “I swear I would never use that advantage to her detriment. Does that satisfy you?”
Rosenne, for her part, had proven true to her word.
She had avoided making assumptions, explained points of confusion clearly and succinctly, and always let Florrie set the pace for their assorted amorous explorations.
In truth, Rosenne’s extreme caution had occasionally made Florrie feel unspeakably delicate, as though she were sculpted from cobwebs and dewdrops…
but Florrie could only conclude, given her own lack of expertise, that Rosenne must have known what she was doing.
Consequently, Florrie assumed she ought to emulate this past model of behaviour.
Thus, even if Vern did intend to kiss her at this very moment – which she granted was highly unlikely – she couldn’t encourage his advances unless she explained the nature and significance of such activities first. And that was a task she found herself woefully ill-prepared to carry out at present.
Miserably, Florrie stood and began the idle activity of unwrinkling the folds in her skirt.
“I’ve intruded upon you for too long,” she said. “I do apologise. Besides, I simply must start my studies. The artist set me a strict deadline.”
“Oh, yes!” Vern stood beside her, as though he were about to see Florrie to the door instead of watching her fade from a painting. “Once again, Florrie, I find I’m nothing but grateful to you.”
“Please reserve your gratitude until I am successful.”
“Why? It’s not as though I’ll ever run out of it.” His eyes sparkled in the lantern-light. “I’ve always wanted to leave the painting, but having that freedom has never felt as important as it does now.”
Then he gazed at her with a look of such indisputable affection (an emotion Florrie found easy to identify, thanks to the similarity between Vern’s expression and that of the enrapt lover in the eighth-century painting Ah, Spellbound at Sunset) that Florrie had no choice but to make a hasty departure.
Once in the safety of her room, she turned the painting to face the wall and collapsed into the chair in front of the fountain.
To some extent, for some reason, in some way, Vern appeared to care for her.
He’d developed a silly fancy, just as she had.
Florrie knew this revelation should delight her.
It seemed akin to a dream. She had felt transfixed by a Fairy in a painting, developed an infatuation and now learned, at last, that he felt the same way about her.
Really, anyone with good sense would have returned to the painting by now to provide an introduction to the foundational techniques of kissing.
But as Florrie stared at her watery reflection in the fountain, she knew the situation was not so simple. She revisited Chary and Rosenne’s conversation in her head, inspecting her memory for any clues that might help her navigate this experience in an ethical manner.
She hasn’t any friends, either! repeated Chary’s voice in Florrie’s mind. Did you consider the possibility that she simply fancies you because you’re there?
Florrie began to rock back and forth, trying not to put all her weight on the slats in the chair (which looked particularly frail).
Vern did not merely lack romantic experience; he had never spent substantial periods of time with anyone except her.
He couldn’t know she was a woefully inadequate partner when he had no point of comparison!
It was only logical, then, that he needed to meet more Fairies and Folk.
An entire world of them, ideally, until he found someone worthier of his affections.
Florrie curled up on the very edge of the chair, feeling far too distressed to manage taking three steps to the bed.
Her hands searched for some stray object to manipulate, to help her release nervous energy.
Remembering the weaving Vern made for her, Florrie reached into the left pocket of her dress.
She grasped in vain, finding nothing. When she pulled out the pocket lining, checking for holes or loose stitches, Florrie saw only a few wayward speckles of paint.