The Traitor
“His poetic lordship had traveled the fringes of war and lived at the heart of the beau monde. He had seen what violent and greedy impulses run amok could do, and had probably reflected at too great a length on the same impulses manifest in himself.
All of which was to say, Sebastian did not enjoy Byron’s poetry. He maundered on anyway, mostly from memory, not so much to placate his aunt, but rather to enjoy the sight of Milly Danforth plying her needle beside him.
If Sebastian narrowed ...his eyes, the colors of her fabrics blurred and blended, like the colors of a slow sunset—reds, oranges, and yellows shifted through green to blue, purple, and the next thing to black. Her hand had a rhythm to the way it formed stitches, like a violinist with her bow or a poet with a line of verse. Byron made sad jokes with his words; Milly Danforth made soft, unlikely beauty with her sewing.
“I beg your ladyship’s pardon!”MoreLess
All of which was to say, Sebastian did not enjoy Byron’s poetry. He maundered on anyway, mostly from memory, not so much to placate his aunt, but rather to enjoy the sight of Milly Danforth plying her needle beside him.
If Sebastian narrowed ...his eyes, the colors of her fabrics blurred and blended, like the colors of a slow sunset—reds, oranges, and yellows shifted through green to blue, purple, and the next thing to black. Her hand had a rhythm to the way it formed stitches, like a violinist with her bow or a poet with a line of verse. Byron made sad jokes with his words; Milly Danforth made soft, unlikely beauty with her sewing.
“I beg your ladyship’s pardon!”MoreLess
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