Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

One who believes that he has mastered the art of horsemanship has not yet begun to understand the horse.

—Anonymous

A fter their Sunday afternoon ride, Veronica didn't see Edward again until Monday morning. He arrived promptly with more Virginia Bluebells at eleven o'clock to paint in the garden with Veronica. Mama had answered the door in Martin's absence and couldn't have worn a wider smile when she led him to Veronica's side.

She tried not to roll her eyes at her mother's smile, turning her attention to laying out plenty of art supplies on their easels instead. So long as her mother thought she and Edward made an effort, ultimately, he would return to his life in Manhattan. When nothing more came of their alleged romance, what could her parents do but admit defeat?

"I see you've set up the phonograph." Edward eased onto a stool at his easel.

"I thought we could listen to a few songs. I have a small collection of records we can choose from."

Soon, they'd settled into their artwork, but she frowned and pouted a bit in her struggle to create a realistic sky.

"Having trouble with something?" He paused to observe her work.

"Yes. It's my clouds. They aren't right." She looked over at his progress. "Goodness, you do have a knack for this. Look at you, painting a close-up sign to Velvet Brooks surrounded by all of those flowers, with horses and meadows in the distance."

"Thank you. I can share a technique I've used before to help with your clouds. It gives a kind of layering effect to make them appear like perfect, fluffy clouds in the blue sky. See, like this one."

"Those are brilliant clouds." She frowned at the difference between his clouds and her flatter ones. "I must learn how to make mine like yours. What is this technique you speak of?"

"Here, I'll show you, if you'll permit me. First, dip more paint on the brush." He rose from his stool, standing slightly behind her but maintaining a proper distance between them.

She added more white paint to the tip of the brush as he instructed. "Is this enough?"

"A little more…"

"All right, more."

Once she had the right amount of paint on the brush, he placed his larger hand over her slimmer one, guiding her brush, helping her master the technique on the canvas. In a few moments, perfectly fluffy clouds appeared.

"Now those are clouds," she said, laughing.

They took a moment to admire each other's completed paintings, then cleaned their paintbrushes and palettes and moved to the porch swing facing the garden.

"While dining at the hotel last night with Rupe and my father, the concierge told us ‘Sag Harbor' is playing at the Lexington Theater," Edward said.

"It sounds like a great play, one that could have some humor." Veronica chanced a peek at him as the swing glided forward gently. "Delia said it's about two brothers vying for the same girl."

"Shall we go this evening or attend the family dinner here at the house?"

"Let's go into town and see the play." She hadn't meant to sound so wistful, but she did not relish Pa and Mama spying on their progress of getting to know each other. "I'd rather have dinner in town, too, away from the family. It will give our parents something to talk about when they see you pick me up for an actual date."

"All right, I'll see you at seven. That gives us an hour to drive over and find our seats. The play begins at eight, and maybe we can dine at the fine French restaurant across the street from the theater afterwards." Edward sounded as if he tried to contain his enthusiasm. "I believe it's called La Parisienne ."

"I'll be ready." Hesitation marked her words. It had begun to feel all too natural to be in his company. Maybe she could even get used to it.

Later that afternoon, Grace styled Veronica's hair in a fancy updo and helped her dress in an emerald-green satin evening gown with a swishing demi-train, a shimmery gold-fringed wrap, and elbow-length black gloves.

"You'll be the most glamorous belle in Lexington this evening, Miss Veronica Lyndon," Grace said when she surveyed her final look. "Now mind you don't go breaking that gentleman's heart like you have all the others."

"I have not broken anyone's heart, Grace. Not like …" Her voice faded as a fleeting thought of Henry passed through her mind.

Did she still have a faint longing for Henry Sullivan? No, she did not. But the pangs of a heart once broken would never permanently erase, no matter how much she tried.

Edward arrived promptly. She had agreed to riding in his Runabout for their excursion. Veronica's father had sent the carriage to fetch Mr. Beckett and Rupert from the hotel and they, along with her whole family, gawked from the hall as she descended the staircase while Edward gazed up at her in approval. Oddly, it made her heart beat faster. She hadn't felt a stirring like this in a long time. Excitement took over at the prospect of an evening on the town with a handsome, approving gentleman at her side.

The family spilled outside to wave goodbye, abuzz with hopeful whispers. Edward helped her settle inside the Oldsmobile and circled around to climb in behind the wheel. Then they sped away for a dreamy evening, leaving their families to dine at Velvet Brooks on an old-fashioned meal of fried chicken.

They chuckled before the play began about how well their ruse had gone. During the performance, they laughed at all the same moments, their eyes locking on each other. Their shoulders brushed several times, an altogether enjoyable sensation. At the restaurant, they talked about the play, Edward's days at Princeton studying fine art, his life in New York since graduating, and about her former studies at a local finishing school. After they realized the restaurant would soon lock its doors for closing time, Edward paid the bill and left a tip while Veronica freshened up in the powder room.

When she met him outside the front door, he gestured toward the sidewalk, hat in hand. "Would you care for a short stroll? The whole city still seems alive."

She tilted her head to consider it as a carriage drove by and other couples enjoyed a walk along the boardwalk in both directions. "A stroll sounds nice." When he extended his arm and she placed her hand on it, she smiled. How natural and easy their relationship had become since the pressure of marriage had faded a little from their minds. But then her smile faded too. Soon enough, Edward would return to New York, while she remained at Velvet Brooks. Life would go on as it had before. "I confess, I feel a little guilty, pretending to acquiesce to our parents' expectations when we have no intention of following through."

He shrugged. "Don't feel guilty. It's not an easy situation. We're doing the best we can to muddle through it and avoid further disastrous confrontations with our families. You have a good heart, Veronica."

"Thank you. You're right—I don't want to hurt anyone. Truly, prayer is the only thing I know to do in our situation." She grimaced but then turned to search his face. "Do you spend time in prayer, Edward?" His lack of conversation about spiritual things had led to yet another reservation she'd harbored.

"I do, but there was a time in my life when I couldn't pray. These days, I find myself praying during my artwork time in the mornings, and of course, at the end of each day." He hesitated before continuing. "I don't want you to have guilt because of our outings. These were my idea in the first place."

"I guess the guilt stems from the preacher's granddaughter in me. Grandfather Spencer spent years in the pulpit before he retired, long before our current minister took his place. My grandfather has always said to tell the truth, even when it's hard. And it's one of the ten commandments of Exodus—that we shall not lie. My parents shaped this truth inside my heart, too, but for some reason, they aren't making it remotely easy to tell them the truth. In fact, they told me they won't discuss it again until they choose to. They are treating me like a child when I'm a grown woman." Veronica kept her focus on her steps, trying not to stumble in her lovely evening gown. But also trying not to look at her handsome escort again. Maybe some of her guilt originated from the fact she actually liked Edward, but she did not want to put herself in a situation where the outcome could ravage her heart with so much pain.

"I am sorry for the impossible position your parents have put you in, but it may be your faith is stronger than mine." Edward's tone had grown serious. "My family raised us in the faith, but I still have so many questions. My parents have always been more reserved about their beliefs."

"Didn't they tell you it's wrong to lie?" Veronica gaped at him. Surely, he could understand why she still struggled with guilt over their ruse. And yet…she had never been fully honest with her parents that her reasons for avoiding attachment stemmed from her own heartbreak. And did not withholding truth equate to telling a lie? Here she was talking about lies being wrong when she had failed to recognize the mote in her own eye.

But didn't most rejection lend itself to some degree of shame? And who wanted to bare one's soul to anyone but God in those cases? Maybe at some point, she would feel ready to share her losses more openly. For now, perhaps she should consider laying her shame and guilt at the foot of the cross. She needed to apply her faith, too, that somehow the Lord would work all of this out and protect her heart from breaking in the future.

How had talking to Edward led to so much self-discovery?

His chuckle snatched Veronica's attention back to the present moment. "Yes, of course, and we were properly disciplined if we were caught telling a lie or misbehaving. When I was a child, it meant going to bed early or the loss of a privilege. As a teenager, I found myself in some trouble one summer when a few of my friends coerced Rupert and me into gadding about the countryside, setting the local farmers' chickens loose. Rupe wanted to inspect one of the chickens with some sort of wing trouble. Of course, my brother got away with it, but I was caught. He could run faster."

Veronica laughed, picturing that. "Oh no! What happened?"

"Before I could blink an eye, my parents sent me off to a military academy…boarding school. Father paid the debt of the missing chickens to the local farmers for my part in the ordeal, but my life changed drastically."

"We had boarding school, too, but for finishing school. By the time we were sent away, we wanted to go. Military academy as a young teen sounds a bit harsh in comparison."

He shrugged, nodding. "I learned my lesson. I disliked military school intensely. I'm an artist, not a military strategist. I wanted to go home, but my parents wouldn't give in to my pleading no matter how many letters I wrote to them about it."

Veronica's heart twinged with sorrow for him at the pain and bitterness she discerned in his eyes. "It must've been a terribly difficult time in your life. Did you lean on the Lord to help you through it, or do you think it pushed you away from God?"

"In retrospect, I know it pushed me farther away. I didn't have anywhere else for my anger to go. As I said, my family didn't talk as openly about their faith as you and your family do. I heard your father thanking the Lord for giving him the second-place and first-place finishes, for instance. He said it out loud for everyone seated around us to hear."

Veronica chuckled at Edward's astonishment, affection warming her chest. "Yes, he does that sometimes."

"I like his attitude of seeing all things as coming from the hand of the living God. No, my parents are reserved and formal, too concerned with etiquette to express their emotions about spiritual things. It's been good for my father to be here with your father, as well as good for my brother and myself. Enjoyable, robust discussions. And I've been learning more and more about horse farming from your father too. He asks us about stocks, and we ask him about horses."

Veronica smiled. "I'm glad my family has made a favorable impression. I'm sure our families will remain friends for years to come." But the idea of their families remaining friends when they parted twinged, leading her to acknowledge the fact she might one day regret the loss of Edward's attention, knowing what could have been. Instead of dwelling on this, she said, "Tell me more about your mother and sisters."

"My mother is busy with managing the household and keeping our social calendar full. My sisters, Henrietta and Sophie—they are silly girls. Maybe you'll meet them again someday, and my reclusive Aunt Lavinia, in South Carolina."

Summing up his closest female relations in one or two brief sentences? How typical of a man. It gave her pause. She wanted to ask him more, but the hour had grown late, and the lovely evening came to an end.

After a drive home in companionable silence, Edward stepped out of the Oldsmobile and came around to help her out of the conveyance. At the door, they stood awkwardly beneath the soft lantern light until he surprised her when he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it, a gentle brush of his lips against her skin.

"Good night, sweet Veronica Josephine," he said in a low voice.

She raised a brow. Had her parents mentioned her middle name to him?

"Good night, Edward J. Beckett. Maybe you'll tell me your middle name one of these days…" His breath and kiss still warmed her hand. Dare she want him to warm her cheek or lips with a kiss one day? Fancy her wanting more before he returned to New York. She shouldn't desire such a thing .

He offered a half smile. "James."

She liked the name, however mediocre his expression suggested he might find it. "I was hoping it might be James. It's one of my favorites. Good night, then, Edward James. You can call me Veronica Jo. Everyone usually does, except when elite guests visit us from Manhattan."

At her teasing smirk, he laughed. "I wouldn't consider us elite. My family may think they are, but I wouldn't."

"We'll save that debate for another time, since my father is likely waiting up for me in the library. He won't rest until all of his chickadees are safely home. Thank you for a memorable and enjoyable evening."

Edward smiled with a farewell nod and, jamming his hands in his pockets as he so often did, headed toward the driver's side of the automobile. He climbed in and waved. "See you tomorrow, late morning, for a horseback ride and a picnic—hopefully, with some of that fried chicken we missed."

She couldn't help but smile at his mention of Willamena's fried chicken.

He fired up the engine and drove away, a trail of dust kicking up as he sped down the lane. Rarely had she found such a comfortable and easy friendship with a gentleman before, and his good looks certainly attracted her, but she didn't dare admit anything of the sort to her parents. Giving them an inkling of hope would amount to a recipe for disaster.