Page 37 of Colour My World
“Jane. Mary. The butcher. The pastor. Kitty and Lydia.” He paused. “Your mother.”
Elizabeth’s breath hitched.
He steepled his fingers and tapped his lips. “Would you have my leave to confess?”
He understands!She had not even spoken the words, and yet, he knew.
Elizabeth pressed her palms flat against her cheeks and wiped the corners of her eyes. “Yes, Papa. I would.”
She maintained her composure, did not falter, did notsecond-guess herself. She spoke without pause and laid it all before him. The colours. The way emotions shaped them. How they flared, faded, darkened. How they spoke the truth when words did not.
She had known precisely when her sisters would have their monthlies. She had marked how the butcher’s honesty spoilt faster than his meat. She had sensed the pastor resented the marriage between Mr Hart and Miss Ingraham.
“Fear not, my dear.”
How their mother indulged Lydia, tolerated Kitty, ignored Mary, and wished they all were like Jane. Her father’s expression was unreadable.
Elizabeth had finished. All that remained was silence. And the ticking of the mantel clock.
“You are clever, Lizzy. Perhaps more than I ever realized.”
“You believe me?”
“You always had an instinct for integrity, but now, you discern it as others cannot.” He rubbed his palms together. Then clasped them as if to pray. “But you must be careful. Your manner of truth will not be accepted.”
Her shoulders loosened as the tension drained. She had not realized how deeply she had feared his dismissal, how much she had needed his approbation. “You are not... put out… with me?”
“Angry?” He shook his head. “No, my dear. But I would be false if I said I was not…concerned.”
“Why?”
“Because you must protect yourself.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I shall.”
“No.” His voice was gentle but firm. “You will try. But you cannot.”
“I do not—”
“You are perceptive,” he said, raising a hand, palm forward. “Perhaps more than is wise. But you are also young.”
She clenched her jaw. “You doubt me?”
“I trust your clarity of sight. I hold little faith that others shall welcome it.”
He reached across the board and grasped her hand. “I will be your champion,” he said. “But you must always be completely honest with me.”
“You promise not to dismiss my concerns?”
“You have my word.”
She nodded. The mantle clock ticked steadily. More than three hours had passed.
He released her hand and studied the board. He slid his rook next to his king, then sat back. His face gave away nothing. “So, this is how it is to be, is it?”
“It is.” She lifted her queen.
Hisaireflared bright.Pride? In me?
