‘Bertie, you know that’s not true. Only the last time we were there, you—’
‘Enough!’ he roared, then swiftly downed the second brandy. That done, his gaze fell once more on Flora. ‘Can you see what I have to put up with, Miss MacNichol? I am treated like a child in the nursery.’
‘You are treated as though you are loved,’ Mrs Keppel countered firmly.
Flora waited for a further explosion, but as Mrs Keppel sat down next to him and took his hand in hers, he nodded placidly.
‘I know, my dear. But it does rather feel that everyone is out to spoil my fun these days.’
‘Everyone is out to make sure that none of us have to endure the pain of losing you.’
‘Enough of all that.’ He waved a hand towards Mrs Keppel as though swatting a fly. ‘I am hardly giving a good first impression to Miss MacNichol. So, tell me about yourself. What pursuits do you enjoy?’
‘The countryside,’ Flora replied, as it was the first thing that came into her head. ‘Of course,’ she added hastily, ‘it is all I have known, and I may have loved city life just as much if I had been brought up here. I am learning that London is a very beautiful place.’
‘No need to apologise, Miss MacNichol. If fate had been kinder, I too would have chosen the country. Tell me, do you ride?’
‘I do,’ replied Flora, simply unable to address him as ‘Bertie’. ‘Although I confess, I would be at a loss on Rotten Row. I have learnt to ride on rough terrain and am not at all graceful in the saddle.’
‘Ah, those were the days!’ He clapped his hands together like a child. ‘When I was a young man, there was nothing I liked better than galloping across the Scottish moors. What other pursuits make your heart race, Miss MacNichol?’
‘I wish I could tell you that it was poetry, or sewing, or that I could play the piano perfectly, but the truth is all I love tends to be out in the open air. Animals, for example . . .’
‘I couldn’t agree more!’ He gestured fondly to the dog wagging its tail at his feet. ‘And as for the arts . . . well, in my position, I must tolerate and applaud them. Yet you cannot imagine the interminable nights I’ve sat at the opera, or at plays that I am meant to find some spiritual or psychological meaning in, or at recitals of poetry that I cannot understand a word of—’
‘Bertie! You do yourself an injustice,’ Mrs Keppel butted in. ‘You are extremely well read.’
‘Only because I have to be. It is part of my job.’ He winked at Flora.
‘I do love painting animals, although I don’t seem to be able to capture humans. They seem far more . . . complicated.’ Flora hoped the answer would placate them both.
‘Well said!’ Bertie slapped his mountain of a thigh.
‘Bertie, your carriage is waiting downstairs. You know that you have an engagement tonight and—’
‘Yes, I am fully aware.’ He rolled his eyes at Flora in unspoken companionship. ‘Miss MacNichol, Mrs George is right. I must leave to serve the nation and the Queen.’
Flora rose immediately and was about to perform another deep curtsey when he beckoned her towards him.
‘Come here, my dear.’
She walked the few paces and stood in front of him. And was astonished as he took her hands in his, his fingers heavy with rings of cabochon rubies and gold crests.
‘It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss MacNichol. It only serves to remind me that Mrs George is always right in her instincts. Now, come and help me up, woman, will you?’
He rose from the sofa with Mrs Keppel’s assistance. And, even though Flora was tall herself, he towered over her. ‘I do so hope that we will be able to enjoy more time together in the future. Especially in the country. At Duntreath perhaps?’ His gaze fell on Mrs Keppel, who nodded.
‘Of course.’
‘Now, Miss MacNichol – Flora – I must take my leave. Goodbye, my dear.’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Come, Bertie, I will escort you downstairs.’
With that, Mrs Keppel, the terrier and the King of the United Kingdom of Britain and Ireland and of the British Dominions beyond the Seas, Defender of the Faith and Emperor of India left the parlour.
19
‘Did you meet Kingy?’ Sonia, ready for bed with curl papers in her hair, stopped her on the nursery landing two hours later.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Don’t you think he’s sweet? Even if he looks quite frightening and fat, he’s really a very nice gentleman.’
‘I quite agree,’ Flora laughed, kissing Sonia on the top of her head. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Flora?’
‘Yes?’
‘Please will you come and tell me one of your stories? They’re so much more interesting than the picture books Nannie reads me.’
‘I will tomorrow.’
‘That’s what grown-ups always say.’ Sonia pouted as Nannie loomed over her charge, ready to sweep her upstairs.
‘I promise, Sonia. Now goodnight, and sweet dreams.’ Flora, in need of distraction from the overwhelming afternoon, continued into the day nursery to find Violet curled up in a chair by the fire reading a book.
‘Am I disturbing you?’ Flora asked quietly. Violet jumped and looked over the top of her book.
‘It would be rude to say you were.’
‘Then I will leave.’
‘No.’ Violet indicated the chair opposite her.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Violet said with purpose.
Flora walked across the room and sat down. ‘What are you reading?’
‘Keats. Vita gave it to me as a belated birthday present.’
‘That was generous of her. I must confess, I wouldn’t know good poetry from bad.’
‘It is only my observation, of course, but certainly with the Romantic poets such as Keats, it doesn’t matter how well one has been versed in literature. It matters more how one has been versed in love.’
‘I am not sure what you mean, Violet,’ Flora replied, although she was almost certain she did.
‘Well, before I met Vita and she explained poetry to me, I found it very dull too,’ Violet said, gazing into the fire. ‘But now, I read the words he wrote, and I can see that it is a universal expression of love for those who cannot express it for themselves. Do you see?’
‘I believe I do, Violet. Pray, continue.’
‘Well, the very fact that Vita gave me this anthology indicates that she wishes me to read the words that she herself feels unable to say.’
‘You mean you believe that she loves you?’
‘As I love her.’ Violet’s direct blue gaze – so like her mother’s – challenged Flora. ‘Do you think that’s wrong?’
After a day of trying to consider what she said before she spoke, Flora answered honestly.
‘There are many forms of love, Violet. One can love a parent in one way, a sibling in another, a lover, a friend, an animal . . . each in different ways.’
Flora watched Violet’s face as everything it contained seemed to soften and a veil fell from her eyes.