Something about the way he said her name made her lips curl up in to a smile.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Lady Verity Sinclair. What brings you to Kew Gardens on this fine day?”
“I am here with my family,” she replied guardedly. “But really, I am here to decide on my next art project.”
She wasn’t sure why she had mentioned art. Maybe because she needed someone to understand her in a way that Ambrose most certainly had not.
“Oh, you are a painter?” His eyes widened with genuine interest. “What do you like to paint?”
No one usually asked these questions. It might have seemed like a very simple question to anyone else, but this meant a lot to Verity.
“Landscapes, mostly. I enjoy painting nature and sceneries such as this one. Kew Gardens is the perfect place to paint. It stirs an emotional reaction in a person, and I like to try and capture that on a canvas.”
“Oh yes, it’s always wonderful when an art piece makes me feel things. Those are the images that impress me the most. That I can stand all day looking at.”
Verity was surprised and impressed by this man, so as he started to walk along the orchids, she joined him with her heart pounding, but from excitement. It had been a long time since anyone made her feel this way, and she wasn’t ready to let it go as of yet.
As they walked, Verity found herself stealing glances at Lord Philip. He had an air of genuine interest that was both refreshing and disarming.
“So, do you often visit Kew Gardens, my lord?” Verity asked, attempting to prolong their conversation.
Philip smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Whenever I can, Lady Verity. I find that the tranquility here offers a much needed escape from the rigors of my duties. Nature has a way of calming the mind and invigorating the spirit.”
Verity nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “Indeed, it does. I often find inspiration in the most unexpected places. Sometimes, it’s a single flower or a particular shade of green that sets my mind racing with ideas.”
Philip paused by a particularly vibrant bed of tulips, turning to face her. “I would love to see your work some time. Your passion for art is evident, and I am curious to see how you translate that passion on to canvas.”
Her cheeks warmed under his intense gaze. “I... I would be honored to show you my work, my lord. Though, I must warn you, I am still very much an amateur.”
“A humble artist,” Philip mused, his tone appreciative as he smiled at her. “I find that humility often accompanies true talent.”
Their conversation flowed effortlessly, each exchange revealing more about their shared love for the arts and the solace they found in nature.
Philip’s gentle demeanor put Verity at ease, allowing her to momentarily forget the weight of her brother’s pressure to accept a match with Ambrose. She found herself laughing and sharing stories about her art she had rarely told anyone. Mostly because she did not think that anyone would be interested. Not like he was.
“I believe this is my favorite part of the gardens,” Philip remarked, his eyes twinkling as he observed her taking in the scene.
“It’s lovely,” Verity agreed, her voice soft. “There is something magical about roses. They symbolize so much. Love, beauty, even secrecy.”
“Secrecy?” Philip raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“Yes,” Verity smiled. “In ancient times, a rose hung over a meeting place signified that everything spoken there was to be kept confidential. It’s where the phrase ‘sub rosa’ comes from.”
Philip chuckled. “You are a fountain of knowledge, Lady Verity. I must admit, I did not know that.”
She blushed slightly, pleased that her comment had intrigued him. “I enjoy reading,” she said modestly. “It helps me understand the world better, and it also provides endless inspiration for my art. Almost as much as the beautiful world around me.”
“I can see that,” Philip replied warmly. “Knowledge and art often go hand in hand. Both require a deep understanding and appreciation of the world around us. I can see that you truly do have that.”
Verity found herself nodding, once again struck by how much they seemed to have in common. “Exactly. Every painting is a story, and every story has layers of meaning that only reveal themselves when you look closely.”
Verity’s respite was short lived however. The sound of approaching footsteps shattered the tranquil moment. It was her brother. Henry’s expression was one of mild irritation, mixed with a hint of curiosity as he approached. His eyes flicked between Verity and Philip; suspicion evident in his gaze.
“There you are, Verity,” he said, his tone curt. “Mother has been looking for you. We were beginning to worry.”
Verity’s heart sank at the interruption.
“I was just admiring the flowers, Henry,” she replied, striving to keep her tone light so as not to arise suspicion. Not that she had actually done anything wrong… even if she felt like she had. “This is Lord Philip Easton, the Marquess of Eilendale. We were just discussing art.”
