Lorene replied unconvincingly. ‘Nice.’
Cheering up Lorene was not working at all. It was merely making Genna feel wretched. ‘Well, I believe I will go back to my room and snuggle up in my old bed. You’ve no idea how I’ve yearned to do so.’
Even if she feared she’d merely toss and turn.
She bussed her sister on the cheek and walked back to the room where she’d slept for years, ever since she’d left the nursery.
But once in the room, she found it intolerable. She paced for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. Finally she made up her mind. She picked up a candle from the table next to her bed and carried it to the hidden door. She opened the door and entered the passageway.
She made her way downstairs and to the space where she’d left her sketchbook. As she picked it up and turned to go back to her room, the light from another candle approached. Her heart pounded.
‘Miss Summerfield.’ It was Lord Rossdale.
He came closer and smiled. ‘I came to pick up your sketchbook. I see you had the same notion. I am glad you decided to keep it.’
She clutched it to her chest. ‘I have not decided to keep it. I just wished to look at it in my room. I cannot take it back with me. It is too big to conceal and I do not wish to cause any problems.’
‘I am certain Dell would wish you to have it,’ he said.
She could not believe that. Even so, Lorene would probably worry about her taking it out of the house. ‘I do not wish to ask him or to have my sister know. She would not like him bothered.’ Genna was certain Lorene would not wish her to ask anything of Lord Penford.
Rossdale did not move, though, and the corridor was too narrow for Genna to get past him.
‘Enjoy the book tonight, then,’ he said finally. ‘Come, I’ll walk you back to your room.’
She laughed softly. ‘More like you want me to show you the way so you do not become lost.’
He grinned. ‘I am found out.’
He flattened himself against the wall so she could get by, but she still brushed against him and her senses heightened when they touched.
How strange it was to react so to such a touch. She did not understand it at all.
And she dared not think about it too much.
* * *
The next morning did indeed begin with the sun pouring in Genna’s bedroom window. For a moment it seemed as if the last year had never happened. That was, until her gaze scanned the room.
Still, she refused to succumb to the blue devils. Instead she bounded from the bed and went to the window. Her beloved garden was still covered in snow, not only sparkling white, but also showing shades of blue and lavender in the shadows. The sky was an intense cerulean, as if it had been scrubbed clean of clouds during the night, leaving only an intense blue.
Genna opened the window and leaned out, gulping in the fresh, chilled air, relishing the breeze through her hair, billowing under her nightdress to tingle her skin.
‘It is a lovely day!’ she cried.
On a rise behind the house, a man riding a horse appeared. A grey horse and a grey-coated man.
Lord Rossdale.
He took off his hat and waved to her.
Imagine that he should see her doing such a silly thing. In her nightdress, no less! Perhaps he had heard her nonsense, as well.
She laughed and waved back before drawing back inside and shutting the window. She sat at her small table and turned the pages of her old sketchbook, remembering when life was more pleasant here.
Unfortunately, some of her drawings also reminded her of unhappy times. Hearing her father bellow about how much his daughters cost him, or rail against her mother who’d deserted them when Genna was small. Then there were the times when he’d consumed too many bottles from the wine cellar and she’d hidden from him. Her drawings during those times were sombre, rendered in charcoal and pencil, all shadowy and fearful.
Most of the pages, though, were filled with watercolours. Playful scenes that included her sisters and brother. Sunny skies, green grasses, flowers in all colours of the rainbow.
Her technique had been hopelessly childish, but, even so, her emotions had found their way on to the paper. The charcoal ones, obviously sad. The watercolours, happy and carefree.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Before Genna could respond, Anna opened the door and poked her head in.
She paused in surprise. ‘Good morning, miss. I thought you would still be sleeping.’
Genna smiled. ‘The sun woke me.’ She closed the sketchbook and gestured to the window. ‘Is it not a beautiful day?’
‘It is, indeed, miss.’ Anna entered the room and placed a fresh towel by the pitcher and basin Genna had used since a child. ‘Mr Jeffers sent one of the stable boys with a message to Tinmore Hall.’
‘That should relieve Lorene’s mind.’ Genna swung back to the window. ‘How I would like it if I had my half-boots with me. I would love to be outside.’ Even if she had her watercolours and brushes with her, she could paint the scene below and include all the colours she found in the white snow. That would bring equal pleasure.
She gazed out of the window again, wishing she were galloping across the snow-filled fields. On a grey horse, perhaps. Held by a grey-coated gentleman.
She turned away with a sigh. ‘I suppose I might as well wash up. Then you can help me dress.’
Anna also arranged her hair in a simple knot atop her head.
When she was done, Genna stood. ‘I might see if Lorene is awake yet.’ She turned to Anna and filled with emotion again. ‘I do not know when I will see you again.’ She hugged Anna. ‘I shall miss you!’
Anna had tears in her eyes when Genna released her. ‘I shall miss you, too, miss. We all miss you.’
Genna swallowed tears of her own. ‘I will contrive to visit if I can.’
She left the room, knowing she was unlikely to see it again, ever, and knocked on Lorene’s door.
Lorene was alone in the room seated in one of the chairs. Doing nothing but thinking, Genna supposed.
‘How did you sleep?’ Genna asked.
‘Quite well,’ Lorene responded. Of course, Lorene would respond that way no matter what.
‘Anna told me a messenger was sent to Tinmore Hall,’ Genna assured her.
Lorene merely nodded.
Genna wanted to shake her, shake some reaction, some emotion from her, something besides worry over what Lord Tinmore would think, say, or do. She wanted her sister the way she used to be.
