Page 35 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
“The Royal Society would approve—of the curiosity that is.Nullius in verba.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Latin isn’t among my accomplishments, I’m afraid.”
“It simply means ’take nobody's word for it’. The Fellows declare their determination to verify all statements by an appeal to facts, rather than speculation.”
“I see.” Rosamund gathered her skirts closer as they pushed through swathes of cow parsley. The lawns had been left to grow as they liked down here, seeding with all manner of wildflowers. “I shouldn’t think they’d hold with Madame Florian’s séances then.”
He laughed. “Very doubtful. It’s a good motto anyway; I prefer it to ours. You’ll see that on the crest over the door:Resurgam.”
“That I can guess.” Rosamund stopped as they reached the end of the lake. “Resurgence, yes?”
“Exactly.” He, too, paused, surveying the view towards the abbey. “I shall rise again. Even in days of darkness, there shall be resurrection.”
“I like that too,” Rosamund mused. “Not giving up; it ought to be everyone’s maxim.”
“How wise you are.” His voice was soft. “Perhaps you ought to be at Oxford yourself. They’ve had halls for women these five years. Not full membership yet, but it’ll come eventually.”
“I’ll give it some consideration.” Rosamund set off again.
Being at the bottom of a slope, this section of the meadow was waterlogged. Pom Pom appeared and disappeared in the long grass, accompanied by a splash with each landing.
With the damp seeping through her boots and her eyes cast down, she hardly noticed how dark it was getting.
Only Mr. Studborne’s entreaty alerted her.
“We might want to go a touch faster.” He pointed skywards.
But it was too late. Hailstones were falling: small at first—intermittent, then launching more densely. Rosamund gave a cry of alarm as several larger pieces hit her shoulders.
With a bark, Pom Pom sped towards the little temple up ahead. Mr. Studborne took Rosamund’s hand and tugged her into a run.
She hadn’t put on gloves, since she’d been expecting to be alone. It caught her by surprise; his hand—warm and firm—grasping hers.
Reaching the safety of the portico, flagged by Greek columns, they stood gasping. The rattle of spiteful hail on the copper roof was deafening.
Rosamund scraped away some hair straggling wet on her cheek. Her hat had stayed on but was sagging over one eye. Irritably, she yanked out the pins and threw it onto the marble floor. “It’s only September! Is the weather always like this?”
“Mostly,” said Mr. Studborne. “Predictable in its unpredictability, you might say.”
“Well, it’s becoming annoying!” Rosamund moved further inside the miniature temple. Being stone, it was rather cold and not terribly welcoming.
"What is this place?" She was barely able to hide her disappointment at the sparse interior.
"A folly," Mr. Studborne answered. "It's mostly for decoration. Part of the view, you know, from the house. Although quite handy for shelter."
"Uh huh." Rosamund took in the seating: a small bench which looked to be granite. If she sat on that, she’d give herself piles! It was a shame no previous visitor had left a cushion or two.
Against the opposite wall was an altar of sorts, with a statue of some goddess posing nakedly on top, concealing her modesty with artfully placed hands.
From underneath came a growl and three sharp barks.
“Pom Pom, what are you doing under there?” Rosamund bent over.
The puppy was tugging at something towards the back. “Come away at once.”
Resolutely ignoring her, the dog continued jerking at whatever had taken his interest.
Rosamund got down on her knees, crawling beneath to fetch him out. “Really, Pom, we need to work on your obedience and…urgh!” Rosamund saw what the puppy had been so keen to get his paws on: a snake of all things.
