Something Old by Rebecca Connolly (autobiographies to read txt) 📕

“And these?” Lily asked, moving to the other side of the path, closer to the cliffside. “What are these little pink ones?”

“Thrift, Miz Granger,” came the simple reply. “Sometimes known as sea pink. Perfectly common.”

So was marriage.

Lily smiled just a little. “But so lovely, nevertheless.”

It was that simple and that profound. She needed to find out if they were trampled or not. If they could ever bloom. If she could.

“Rid round the gills wi’out any tears, Miz Granger. Have ee pain?”

“Emblyn, please call me Lily. I don’t care for polite distance, and I wish to be your friend.” Lily tried for a smile, despite the fact that she didn’t feel like doing so in the least. “I don’t have to stand on ceremony with you, nor mind my words. I’m not on display with you.”

Emblyn gave her a warm smile, far more believable than anything Lily could have put up at the moment. “I’d be pleased to ’ave ee as a pard, though ee clearly half saved.” She chuckled, some joke to herself amusing her perfectly. “As such, it be on’y fitty to call ee by yer name. Lily ee shall be to me, though they that are big above tha’ shoulders might object.”

Lily shook her head very firmly. “I don’t care about that. Nor does Julia, as you know. I could use a good friend, particularly one who won’t always be perfectly genteel.”

“Well, I can certainly promise ee that, Lily,” Emblyn told her without hesitation. “I dance a jig on ceremony and pay my words no mind at all. If that’s what ee seek, I believe I am bettermost.” She hesitated, tilting her head just a little. “And if ee’d rather not talk about what’s ’creening ee, I’ll be a friend in tha’ too.”

“Thank you, Emblyn.” Lily’s smile became less forced, and she looked around her with a sigh for the beauties of the nature surrounding her. “Tell me more about the flowers.”

The Roskelley home was one that could easily be envied, and Thomas had no trouble in envying it. Both grand and comfortable, it encapsulated everything he was hoping for his own home and life. A fine establishment for the country, there was no question, but it would not have been unsuitable for one of the finer towns in England, either. Maybe not London, as Society there tended to prefer refinement over comfort and extravagance over utility. So the house as it stood, richly furnished with family heritage and style, might have met with distaste.

But for Thomas, nothing could have been more perfect.

An evening gathering in such a home would always be a pleasure, but when they were also among new friends, it was an even greater pleasure.

The fact that his wife looked like an angel plucked from heaven itself only made the evening more perfect. All he needed her to do was smile, and then he would wish for nothing else.

She had yet to smile this evening, as far as he could tell. She might have pretended at it, forced something that could have been a smile to the untutored observer, but his well-trained eyes knew better. She was enduring the evening, and that was all.

Which was surprising, given that she was becoming great friends with Mrs. Roskelley and Miss Moyle, both of whom were here, as well as a few others they were getting to know the more they interacted in local Society.

But Lily was not smiling, not in the way she ought to or should have done. Not in the way she truly did. Not in the way that reached her eyes and made them glow from within.

She wasn’t smiling.

It pained him more than he could say, and he was not even sure as to the reason why. She’d returned from her afternoon with Miss Moyle somber, despite being rosy cheeked and windswept, and, by all accounts, having had a wonderful time of it. Yet she was weighed down in a way that almost frightened him.

Almost, because he could not be sure. Almost, because he hadn’t managed to ask her anything of significance. Almost, because he was afraid of probing anything that weighed on his wife’s mind and heart.

He never knew when he might be the cause of the weight or the pain. It was his greatest fear, and he already bore the shame of it. Had already been guilty of it. He could not bear more sins to his name where she was concerned.

“Scowling at your wife, Granger? That doesn’t seem particularly gallant.”

Thomas slid a sidelong look at Trembath as he stood far too casually beside him, surveying the gathering with minimal interest. “No man would be fool enough to scowl even remotely in her direction. I scowl out of a concern for her, not because of her.”

Trembath only shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what the reason is. That’s all anyone will see—you scowling at her.”

“But that’s not…” He cleared his throat, forcing his expression to also clear and become the perfect mask of a gentleman he had worn for years. “So even here, I must pretend.”

“You must make your feelings clear and always look upon her with warmth,” Trembath told him firmly, though his expression was as calm as before. “Else people will think the worst.”

Thomas avoided scowling again in irritation. “How the devil do you know, man? You’re as unattached as the day you were born.”

“It is remarkable what people will say within earshot of others when they are not the subject of the gossip at hand.” Trembath exhaled a growl that surprised Thomas. “And I have become very adept at keeping a perfectly respectable expression when I feel anything but respectable.”

There was nothing to do but swear under his breath. “So even here, I must pretend,” Thomas said again, grumbling this time. “And even here, there is the incessant wagging of busybody tongues.”

Trembath laughed once. “That is not a trait only London possesses, my friend. Believe me, Cornwall has its share.”