“I cannot thank you enough for insisting that I accompany you this afternoon,” Verity said the following day as she perused the drapers shop on Bond Street with Anna. “I was sure that Longhurst’s mother was planning to lace my tea with arsenic if we were forced to breathe the same parlor air a moment longer.”
Examining a length of orange bombazine, Anna smiled softly but shook her head. “Surely, it couldn’t be that bad. I’ve always found Geraldine rather pleasant, in her own way.”
“That is like saying Attila the Hun was quite a nice chap, in his own way, as long as you ignore all those murderous tendencies.”
Her new friend laughed, earning a censorious glower from the pinched-nose clerk, who summed them up in a glance and summarily dismissed them with a sniff.
Anna sobered as they strolled aimlessly past the organdies and silks, and slid a sideways glance to the patrons who were staring at her and whispering behind cupped hands. “I’ll never understand society, or why it is acceptable to laugh, but only at a certain volume. One may smile, but never too much. It’s as though any display of sincerity is forbidden. Well, either that or everyone is afraid to show their teeth.”
This time, Verity laughed, earning the same glower and whispers. “Most definitely the latter. However, if it pleases you, I will show you my teeth as often as you like.”
With that she flashed an overly broad grin.
Anna did the same, speaking through her smile. “Thank you ever so much.”
And standing near a drab display of worsted wool, they both giggled.
They had become fast friends, even after Verity explained the reason behind the animosity between herself and Longhurst. Even after revealing to her that the Hartley name did not sit well in certain quarters. Anna had merely shrugged and said that her name didn’t sit well in certain quarters either. And that was that. Neither their flaws nor family histories seemed to matter to either of them.
Of course, there was still one rather sticky wicket between them. Longhurst.
But Verity wasn’t entirely certain how she felt about Anna and Longhurst. Oftentimes, she had found herself becoming overly cheerful and ebullient, hiding the fact that her stomach churned sourly at the sight of them together. Not that she was jealous, by any means. That would have been absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. So, of course it wasn’t jealousy.
Although, if she could help it, she would much rather stay away from becoming the unwanted third party when they were together.
This afternoon, however, it couldn’t have been prevented.
Longhurst had been in his study when Anna had arrived and he’d come out to greet her. And when she’d told him that she was on her way to Bond Street, he’d offered to escort her . . . before he realized she’d already invited Verity.
Then, once they were all inside the carriage, Anna had proceeded to invite her to the opera that evening. The very opera that Longhurst was taking her to.
Seated across the carriage, he had cut a look to Verity that warned her to think of an excuse to refuse.
But that was like a double-edged sword. On one hand, she would be able to spend more time with her friend, escape the seething civility from the dowager and finally see an opera.
On the other hand, she would be telling her friend a lie. And wasn’t Longhurst forever harping on Verity about lying? And yet, when it was more convenient for him, he didn’t seem to mind at all. At least, until their next tête-à-tête when he would invariably bring up her falsehood as a mark against her character. And so, with that last thought in mind, she had accepted.
Longhurst had said nothing, but the Pompeian vein had made another appearance.
Then, at the door of the drapers, he’d left them to shop while he’d walked on to the haberdashery, vowing to return to them in short order. And Verity hated that her pulse had leaped in anticipation at his promise.
Even now, she caught herself glancing to the door. Which was precisely when she saw the pinched-nose clerk sidle up to them and send a scathing look to where Anna was examining a length of golden silk.
“Might I be of service . . . ladies?” he asked, raking a condescending gaze over their simple spencers and day dresses.
The other patrons in the shop were all dressed at the height of fashion in fur-trimmed pelisses and feathered hats so large they could eclipse the moon. Anna had far more impressive garments in her wardrobe, but it was likely that she’d dressed in a way to ensure that her friend didn’t feel out of place beside her. Because she also knew that Verity was still waiting for the modiste to finish her new gowns.
Her considerate nature would make her a fine duchess, and made Verity like her all the more. Which meant that, when Anna would invite her to the wedding breakfast, she would accept and be plagued by that not jealousy churning in her stomach during the whole of it. Drat it all.
As for the clerk, however, he didn’t seem to like either of them.
“For your information,” he continued, “it is customary to wait for assistance. We do not allow our patrons to paw the merchandise. So, unless you intend to buy that very costly silk, I would suggest you allow me to direct you to the printed cotton.”
But before Anna could do more than release the fabric, another clerk bustled in through a door at the back of the shop. His eyes lit with recognition, and he hastily approached. “Miss Snow, how kind of you to grace our little shop once more. I do hope the black bombazine we sent to your father’s factory was acceptable?”
“It was, thank you,” she said, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment.
But as far as Verity was concerned, it was the first clerk who ought to have been embarrassed. Upon the instant of hearing her name, he immediately fell into fits of bowing, pandering and obsequious apologies. It was revolting.
Unable to stand by and watch her friend be treated in such a manner, Verity interjected, “I don't believe we’ll require your services today. The selection is”—she cast an appraising look around the shop and wrinkled her nose—“too last Season.”
The clerks gaped and began to mutter accusations at each other for not having shown her the new stock just in from Paris. While they attempted to win her over, Verity merely linked arms with Anna and they both strolled out of the shop, heads high.
“You were positively brilliant,” Anna said with a laugh when they were out on the pavement and away from faces peering out from the shop-front window.
“And lying through my teeth,” Verity confessed, glad that Longhurst hadn’t been there. He’d never have let her live it down. “I have no idea what is de rigueur, but I was appalled by how they treated you. How can you stand it?”
She lifted her shoulders. “My father thinks that, because he has money, it has earned us a place in society. For some members, perhaps that is enough. But there are many, many others who would rather keep the classes separated by a brick wall, and my father and I are about as common as we can be. The only problem is, he doesn’t see it. Whenever he is my chaperone and enters a room with all his bluster, ensuring that everyone knows just who he is, people act according to his design. As for me, I would much rather be surrounded by genuine people.” She squeezed Verity’s arm. “Like you.”
“My parents have never been driven by money.” Verity saw in Anna’s expression that both she and Mr. Snow had known that already. “They always taught us that fortunes may come and go, but it is the heart that truly matters.”
Uncannily, as the words left her lips, she caught sight of a familiar set of broad shoulders heading down the pavement in their direction. Even though he was a good distance away, Verity felt the organ beneath her breast skip a beat or two . . . or twenty.
“I agree.” Anna’s head tilted in an appraising smile. “Though, it’s a pity that we cannot always control where our hearts may lead us, is it not?”
When her friend glanced from her to the approaching duke, Verity blanched.
In a sudden rush of panic and need to correct any misunderstanding, she said, “I would never let my heart lead me to where it didn’t belong.”
Her friend’s eyes were soft with understanding. “I know you wouldn’t. That is what makes you a true friend. But there are times when we cannot—”
Anna stopped abruptly when Verity stumbled. Or rather, when she was shoved from behind.
It happened so fast that Verity plowed directly into an older gentleman. He was so slight in build that she was sure they were both going to fall to the pavement.
Thankfully, she was wrong. They were tangled for a moment, long enough for her to see his wide eyes, curling gray mustachio and mile-high top hat. But by some miracle, they ended up keeping their feet and composure.
Well . . . almost.
Just as he was righting the angle of his hat, something fell out from underneath it. Something that gentlemen of a certain age and a certain baldness likely wouldn’t want on display. At least, not when it wasn’t properly affixed to his head.
Verity could only stare down at the toupee in shock. It had fallen upside down, looking as helpless as a turtle on its back. Just lying there, underbelly exposed for all the world to see. And with a glance, she saw that they were drawing a crowd of spectators.
She snapped out of it and quickly bent to pick it up, brushing off the dust and debris before she offered it to him as if she were holding it upon a coronation pillow. “I do believe this is yours, sir.”
“Mine?” he asked, incredulous as he cemented his top hat in place. “I have no idea what you could mean.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It is actually a very fine piece. I’ve seen some that resemble a dead rat, but not this one.” Her attempt to lessen an awkward moment fell flat.
The man snatched the toupee and shoved it under his arm as he cut a swath through the snickering crowd.
“It is a very fine piece,” she called out once more as he climbed into his carriage.
Then a shadow fell over Verity. She looked up to see a muscle ticking along a rather hard jaw and a jagged vein about to erupt on a forehead.
The Duke of Longhurst was not amused.
Magnus was so incensed that he didn’t trust himself to speak as he ushered the two women into the landau. Thankfully, Miss Snow gave the directions to his driver.
Yet, even as the carriage trundled down Bond Street, Magnus wasn’t certain what part of the entire spectacle made him angrier. Was it the fact that Verity wasn’t in the shop as agreed upon? The blame he felt for leaving her without an escort on the streets of London, all the while knowing her nature to fall into the most absurd situations? Or was it because he had seen the collision but had been too far away to intervene?
Across from him, Verity expelled a huff of embarrassed laughter. “Well, that was certainly awkward.”
He shot a glare at her, his anger swiftly finding a target. “Is that all you have to say, Miss Hartley? Once again, you have made yourself an object of ridicule. There are times when I wonder if you have any sense of decorum at all.”
“You needn’t lecture me.” She hiked her stubborn chin, her cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. “In fact, you should be pleased that I did not lie to that gentleman. I’ve been around costumes for my entire life and it was, indeed, a very fine toupee.”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “Just because a statement may be true, doesn’t mean one is required to air it in public.”
“Should I have whispered in his ear, then?”
When she dared to bat her lashes innocently, he growled.
Damn it all, but that woman could try the patience of a monk. And he was no monk. In fact, all he wanted to do was take her by the—
He didn’t finish the thought because he suddenly remembered Miss Snow sitting beside him. She seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, her gaze darting back and forth between them with great interest.
He ventured to regain his composure with a quick tug on his waistcoat. Clearing his throat, he attempted a more neutral tone. “There is nothing to be done about it now. Though, in the future, I should hope you would take better care to shield Miss Snow from any unfavorable on-dits that might end up in the newspaper.”
Beside him, Anna issued a small laugh. “As far as I’m concerned, the newspapers may write whatever they wish, as they have always done. I lost interest in their tittle-tattle years ago.” Then she drew in a hard breath and straightened her spine, her expression serious. “The only fact that bothers me is that someone pushed my friend, but no one seemed to have cared about the true culprit behind the ordeal.”
“I’m sure it was an accident.” Verity slid him a challenging glance. “After all, everyone else in society would have had decorum enough to offer an apology.”
But Magnus knew differently. He had seen the entire episode clearly from his vantage point. And the collision might very well have appeared accidental . . . if not for the vicious delight he’d seen on Nell Hunnicutt’s face the instant before she’d sauntered off in the opposite direction.
He was tempted to mention it. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more he felt his irritation mount. Or perhaps it wasn’t irritation at all, but that damnable sense of protectiveness that overcame him whenever Verity was near. Somehow, he would rid himself of this madness.
Then again, the obvious solution was to ensure that he was never near her.
Unfortunately, he would have to endure the opera this evening, but tomorrow he would keep as far away from her as possible.
Or at least, that’s what he planned . . . until Miss Snow was suddenly besieged by a terrible notion.
“I’ve just had a brilliant idea,” she announced, sitting forward on the carriage bench and taking hold of Verity’s hand. “You should be my chaperone!”
“What? Me?” Verity’s uncertain gaze darted to Magnus.
Miss Snow continued. “It’s perfect! You were already telling me that you didn’t want to be paraded around town as if you were in search of a husband. And my father only accepts invitations to the most influential houses. But there’s this ball I’d like to attend, along with a dozen other places, and having you with me instead of my father or my maid would be so much more fun. For both of us, I imagine. So, you can hardly refuse. What do you say? Will you be my chaperone?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Verity hemmed, looking at Magnus once more as if asking him to intervene.
Then Miss Snow turned to him. “Oh, I’m sure Longhurst doesn’t mind. Do you, Longhurst? After all, the two of you are like old friends by this point, are you not?”
Magnus hated that his mind chose that moment to conjure the memory of that sweltering morning in the river. He wasn’t sure he could consider anyone that he’d ever kissed that recklessly, that passionately as an old friend.
He was so distracted for a moment that he didn’t even realize Anna had rested her hand on his sleeve. At least, not until he saw Verity’s attention snared by the gesture before she quickly glanced away.
He saw her brow furrow and her hands clench around a fistful of skirts, but he didn’t want to think about the reason.
Besides, there was nothing between them. They both knew it.
What mattered most was keeping his distance from her as much as possible. “The decision is not mine. However, Miss Hartley is here as a companion to my grandmother. So, perhaps . . .”
“Quite right,” Verity interjected at once, turning to Miss Snow. “Lady Broadbent should, most definitely, be consulted. It is the proper thing to do. Of course, as your friend, I would be honored to accept this position. But I must speak with the countess before giving my answer.”
And with that, Magnus held on to the small hope that this would not turn into a hell on earth.