She wonders if the world knows.
She remembers she forgot to curtsey,
to demurely eat darkness.
Her thoughts were more inclined toward duplicity, the artifice in his eyes.
She had espied two figures walking close together in the secretive moor, the absent lord in question hiding behind another's parasol.
The thin smile upon his lips resembled
an Icarus bird's injured wing when caught.
She better understood why the angel in Lothian pretended to be dead when the love blood had drained.
Her Biblically turning away from him would eventually cast pallettes of gray shadow on his summer of another lover.
And if the world should know, it would not soon pass.