In the morning, Verity came downstairs to leave the handkerchief on his desk. She had rinsed out the blood—it was only the barest cut, after all—in the washbasin then left it to dry on the windowsill overnight.
The square of cambric was wrinkled but she was sure he would likely burn it or, at the very least, have it laundered a second time to ensure that anything feral was washed out of the fabric.
She walked toward the breakfast room, but stopped short at the vehement declaration of Longhurst’s mother.
“I refuse to live beneath the same roof with any Hartley a moment longer.”
“Then find other lodgings, Geraldine. I am the one who has let this town house for your use, after all,” Lady Broadbent said with her usual frankness.
“Mother, this is not to be borne. It is because of her father that we are in this predicament.”
“No, my dear. It is because your husband speculated wildly and often. Besides, it was proven at the trial that Hartley wasn’t responsible. He was just as much a victim in the scheme as anyone else. After all, if the man had been sitting on a fortune, then he surely would have had Seasons for his daughters in order to have them advantageously married, and his son would have had no need to have become a merchant sailor.”
It was all true, but Verity hated to have her family ordeal bandied about as if it were merely fodder over breakfast. That there weren’t real people who’d suffered greatly for the years that followed.
“Well, Magnus has a theory regarding the sudden absence of that disreputable son.”
Disreputable? Her brother was the most honorable and self-sacrificing of men! She knew if Longhurst were present, he surely wouldn’t allow this discussion to continue. They had been friends, after all.
But no sooner had that thought arisen than she heard his voice with the others.
“The fact of the matter is that her presence here is not only unwelcome,” he said, “but it comes at the worst possible time.”
“Nonsense,” his grandmother said. “I have given the matter a great deal of thought and I happen to know that this is the best course of action. She needs to be seen in London in order to quell any residual doubts. And I believe Mr. Snow must have some doubts, otherwise your betrothal to his daughter would already have been announced.”
“Snow and I will discuss the matter again in a week,” Longhurst admitted, his tone edged with frustration.
“There. You see? I was right,” she said triumphantly. “Now, all we need to do is to make a concerted effort to show that Miss Hartley is not only completely over her youthful infatuation with you, but has decided to hunt for other marital prospects.”
Verity balked at hearing this.
Lady Broadbent was planning to parade her around in front of the ton as the spinster who was looking for a husband? She would be a laughingstock!
She backed away from the room, her lungs cinching tight. The invitation to be a travel companion suddenly felt like a trap she couldn’t escape. The dark paneling of the corridor began to close in on her. Her lips parted to draw in a breath, but her pinched throat refused to let enough air into her lungs.
She knew the first stages of one of her episodes enough to realize that she needed to step outside and before anyone came through the doorway and saw her gasping like a fish in a boat.
The butler stopped her at the doorway with a perplexed query. “Is Miss Hartley going out this morning?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice strained. Seeing him move toward the coat tree, she gestured with a hurried nod as he reached for her pelisse. “Is there a park nearby?”
As he helped her into the garment, he relayed the location. However, before he handed over her hat, he offered advice that she really didn’t want, or have time to hear. “I believe His Grace would prefer that you have a chaperone with you, miss. Perhaps one of the maids . . .”
There was a trace of disapproval in his tone, likely because he was thinking about how she hadn’t traveled with a maid of her own. She could hardly have done so when she and her sisters shared one. And thinking about home and all the lovely grounds to walk made her lungs ache all the more.
“Thank you, Mr. Dodson. That won’t be necessary.”
She might have said more, but her need to be outside was far too great. In fact, she didn’t even wait for him to open the door. Instead, she barged past him and headed out on her own.
Of course, the London air was far from fresh.
As she walked toward the park, her heart felt heavy. She had thought, after their week together and coming to know each other better—not to mention the kissing—that Longhurst would have come to her defense. Perhaps even tried to soothe the animosity his mother felt by explaining that Verity improved on further acquaintance.
Sure, she might have told a teensy lie that could potentially ruin the future of the Longhurst line, but was that so terrible?
She sighed. It was pretty terrible.
Drat. She couldn’t even rally to her own defense. If only she hadn’t told that lie. And yet, it wasn’t just the big one, but all the little ones, too.
Hadn’t Longhurst accused her of trying to make people like her by telling them what they wanted to hear? She hated to admit—really hated to admit it—but he’d been right.
So, she made a decision right there and then. No more lying from this moment forth. If anyone was going to like her, it would be for who she was, not for how she made them feel.
Then again, it would take far more than a few pretty words for Magnus’s mother to like her. And there wasn’t a reason to pretend otherwise.
She walked on with a determined stride.
Reaching the park, she felt her lungs expand on the aroma of green, the perfume of flowering trees, earth and grass. At last, she could breathe again.
Even though Mr. Dodson had caused her a pang of worry over leaving without a chaperone, it was still early by ton standards. Many people weren’t even awake before ten. And further proof that she needn’t worry was the fact that she saw that another woman was in the park without a chaperone.
She saw her down one of the forked paths. The woman wore a jaunty hat perched to one side of her inky coiffure. Dressed smartly in a green costume of the highest quality, she held a leash to walk her . . .
Verity squinted. Was that a . . . monkey?
The sight was so peculiar and unexpected that she found herself turning down that path in the hopes of meeting the pair. And yet, something compelled her to pause near the bench.
It was the surreptitious glance the young woman cast over her shoulder. Not because she saw Verity, who was still a distance away, but because she was looking for someone and, perhaps, making certain she wasn’t being observed.
In the next instant, the woman was approached by a messenger in black livery. Their exchange was brief. A letter slyly passed between them. Then he moved on and she tucked the letter in her reticule.
However, as she was pulling the cord of the ruched opening, the monkey began to chatter and it dashed behind her skirts. Then the chatter turned to screeching as an elderly bearded gentleman with a clipped gait and a walking stick strolled by. He gave the pair a curious look but went on his way.
Just then, the monkey broke free of his leash and scrambled off in the opposite direction.
“Sebastian!” the young woman called out in alarm and dashed after him.
Without hesitation, Verity hurried down the forked path, hoping to intercept the monkey before he ventured out of the park and toward danger.
Unfortunately, spotting her charging after him did not help matters. His little black eyes widened and he clambered up the nearest tree.
The young woman came up beside her and raised her hand beseechingly. “Come down, Sebastian. No one is going to hurt you.”
“Perhaps I should step away,” Verity said, not wanting to interfere if she was the cause for the monkey’s fright.
“No, indeed. I was not referring to you, but to the bearded—” Her words were abruptly cut off by the monkey’s screeching, his agitation mounting as he climbed to a higher branch. The young woman dropped her hand and tapped her finger against the side of her mouth. “Oh dear. I should have known better than to speak it aloud. Sebastian is terribly afraid of b-e-a-r-d-s,” she spelled, “because the man who had him before was a monster. Then, one day, this little creature followed a char woman into the factory and, much to my father’s dismay, I fell in love with Sebastian at first sight.”
Verity smiled, charmed by this stranger and glad that London wasn’t full of people like Longhurst’s mother. “I could climb up after him.”
She was prepared for a gasp of shock at the suggestion.
Instead, she heard a hum of consideration. “Were I wearing the proper attire, I might do the same. Then again, it would be just my luck to have the story end up in the Post.”
“I know what you mean. A woman simply cannot climb a tree when she wants to without the risk of being caught.”
“Further proof that society is filled with fogies and sobersides,” the dark-haired woman nodded succinctly, amusement glinting in her eyes.
They exchanged a wry look and then laughed. The monkey chittered as well, drawing their attention.
They both returned to their attempts of coaxing him down from the limb. But he remained stubborn. The young woman was growing frustrated when he wouldn’t even accept the biscuit she slipped out of her reticule.
Verity had the notion of using one of her bird calls. Something soothing, perhaps, like the coo of a mourning dove. Surprisingly, it worked. Entranced, Sebastian came down and wrapped his arms around her neck, pressing his dry little lips to her cheek.
“It seems as though you’ve made a friend. I’m Anna. Anna Snow, by the way.”
Verity’s eyes widened briefly. “And I’m Verity. Verity—”
“Miss Hartley!” a familiar, disapproving voice boomed. “It is unacceptable for you to be gallivanting around on your own. This is London, not the country and—”
Longhurst’s diatribe ended abruptly as he saw the woman standing on the other side of the tree.
“Miss Snow.” He doffed his hat. “Forgive me. I did not know you were here as well. Otherwise, I would have . . .”
“Subdued your ogreish nature?” Verity asked with a smile, batting her eyes.
He gave her a dark look in return. If eyes could growl, she thought . . .
But when she saw Miss Snow pale slightly, she realized that her quip sounded more like a castigation—probably because it was. The last thing she wanted was to have Longhurst’s prediction that she would ruin everything come to fruition.
So, she amended with, “Though, I have it under authority that he is a rather pleasant and pragmatic fellow. It is only that I tend to bring out the worst in him, as you might imagine, given our family’s history.”
“Ah.” Miss Snow looked at her with quick understanding. “So you are the Miss Hartley I’ve heard so much about.”
Verity blushed with embarrassment. “I am she. However, I hope you will forgive me for being so foolish as to cause such an uproar. I never intended to lay claim to Longhurst. But I have this dreadful, sanctimonious neighbor and Longhurst’s grandmother was visiting. Then, before I knew it, his name just sort of . . . slipped out. But, believe me, I have regretted it ever since.”
Beside her, Longhurst’s lips parted as if to interject his own opinion on the matter. Then he closed them again, choosing instead to expel an audible breath that suggested his regret far surpassed her own.
She arched a brow at him. He responded in kind, a muscle ticking along his jaw. She could practically see the list of castigations piling up on his tongue. And the minute they were alone, he would heap them on her head.
Yet, instead of having her ire sparked by the challenge in that glare, she felt the tug of a wry grin at the corner of her mouth at being able to interpret his unspoken dialogue.
The two of them could likely have an entire argument without uttering a single word.
Miss Snow’s inquisitive gaze moved from her to Longhurst, and Verity wondered what she thought. Likely, that their mutual hatred was so palpable she speculated whether or not the two of them would make it a week before murdering each other.
“I, for one, am glad that it was his name that fell from your lips,” Miss Snow said.
“You are?” Both Verity and Longhurst said in unison.
A beatific smile bloomed on the heiress’s face as she reached out to squeeze Verity’s hand. “Of course. Otherwise, Sebastian would still be in that tree and I would not have made a new friend. And I do hope that we can be friends, Miss Hartley.”
Seeing only sincerity in her hazel eyes, Verity nodded. “I should like that very much.”
“Splendid. Then you’ll come to dinner this evening?” Then, as if an afterthought, she glanced up to Longhurst. “Both of you? That is, if you have no prior engagements.”
“We do not,” Longhurst said, speaking for both of them, which irked Verity to no end. Then he bowed. “I thank you for the most generous invitation. May I escort you home, Miss Snow?”
“Thank you, no. My carriage is just there, and my maid is waiting inside.” She pointed with a gloved hand. Turning to go, she emitted a small gasp of alarm with Sebastian pulled the letter from her reticule and summarily flung it to the ground.
Longhurst bent to retrieve it. But Verity was faster.
She handed the folded missive over to its owner and saw something of relief glance across her countenance. And then, just as clearly, guilt.
Apparently, this was not a letter she wished for Longhurst to see.
Hmm . . . well, that was interesting. Her curiosity was sparked. But no, she told herself. She had interfered quite enough as it was. And, besides, it was none of her concern.
“Thank you, again.” Miss Snow held her gaze, imploring.
Verity nodded in understanding. The letter and the person who delivered it were to remain a secret.
Longhurst led Verity back to his carriage, silent as the grave he likely wished to shove her in. Then he handed her inside.
Forgetting about her own wound, she hissed. He immediately shifted his hold to her elbow instead. But inside the carriage, he sat beside her and peeled off her glove with impatience before she had the chance to object.
She tried to jerk her hand away, but he held firm. “Hoping to see that it had festered overnight and my hand was black as pitch?”
“I’ve already summoned a surgeon to amputate at the wrist,” he said without missing a beat, his warm breath tickling her palm. “A pity that I’ll have to send him away. You seem to be healing nicely. Even so, you should take better care.”
She slipped her hand free, covering it with the other. The accusation in his tone abraded the nerves that were still frayed from last night. “You’re the one who manhandled me into the carriage.”
“Which I would not have needed to do had you not left the house without a chaperone. Without even telling anyone.”
“I told the butler.” She hiked her chin. “Strange, but I did not hear you reprimand Miss Snow for being in the very same park.”
“She is not my responsibility.”
“Neither am I.”
“You are living beneath my roof. She is not.”
“Not yet. But that is the reason you are in town, is it not? To marry her?”
“Yes,” he hissed and leaned closer. “Though I do not know why that information has any bearing on whether or not you are free to traipse about at will. There are any number of things that might have happened to you. And whether you like it or not, you are mine—”
He broke off, the word reverberating in the close confines.
Her lips parted on a soundless gasp and his gaze dropped to them. And in that brief but heated moment, the memory of their kisses—which, admittedly, were never too far away—seemed to blaze like a conflagration between them, warning them to take care or else be burned.
Drawing in a breath, she caught the pleasantly spicy fragrance of his shaving soap and the scent of freshly laundered linen, and the barest hint of lavender from the French milled soap by her wash basin. Though, with her body warmed by her brief walk, it seemed to take on a different aroma, the perfume more like wildflowers in a meadow.
Spice, linen and wildflowers. She saw his nostrils flare and wondered if he was thinking that their fragrances smelled good together, too.
Longhurst was the first to move. He straightened and raked a hand through his hair, making it stand on end.
She was so tempted to reach up, casual as you please, and set him back to rights. But he would only capture her wrist and give her a stern warning. And as he did, the pad of his thumb might aimlessly soothe her trampling pulse as it had done before. The thought made that fluttering place quicken as if begging to be touched, to be rubbed smooth like a worry stone.
“What I meant to say”—he cleared the hoarseness from his throat—“was that you are under the protection of my name while you are here. And I would be grateful if you would consider that before abandoning decorum and bringing another scandal to my doorstep.”
“Well, that foils all my plans for the day.” When she continued, she pretended to count a list of tasks on her fingers in order to keep her hands occupied. “Abandon every ounce of decorum by ten o’clock. Swing from the chandelier by three. Have scandal delivered to your doorstep by eight.”
The Duke of Longhurst was not amused. If he clenched his jaw any harder, his teeth would crack.
She didn’t know why she was goading him. After all, it was no secret that he wanted her to be anywhere else in the world but here. Wanted anyone else to be underneath his roof. And his reasons were justifiable. So there was no need to add more logs to this pyre.
The sensible part of Verity heaved out a great sigh of resignation. “Very well. I shall do my best to be out of your sight, and properly chaperoned, from this moment forth. Additionally, I will send my regrets to Miss Snow for this evening.”
“You will do no such thing. It is already too late for that. At this very moment, Miss Snow is likely informing her father that you are here.” He sat stiffly against the squabs, his fist wrapped around her glove. “And this is before I had the chance to tell him myself. Which was what I’d intended to do before Dobson informed me of your unaccompanied flight from the town house.”
“You make me sound like an escaped prisoner. There will be times when I’ll need to step out for a breath of air. Am I to ask your permission, oh, Magnus the Gaoler?”
She tried to keep her tone light, but there was worry behind the question. There were those occasional episodes that required her to have an egress to a place where she could catch her breath.
He turned his head to scrutinize her features as if he’d heard the faint tremor that she’d tried so hard to hide with a haughty laugh. Then he nodded. “You may enjoy the terrace and walled garden at your leisure. There is also a balcony attached to the family solar. I’ll have my mother show you.”
The mention of his mother instantly reminded her of the reason she’d left the house in the first place. Not only because she didn’t want to be put on display in society as the oldest living debutante, but also because of the rebukes cast against her brother’s character. It still bothered her that Magnus hadn’t come to Truman’s defense.
“May I ask you a question?”
He gave her a wary look but inclined his head.
She came directly to the point. “You and my brother were once friends, and I just want you to know that it hasn’t been easy for him either, since the um . . . well . . . you know.” She didn’t say the word scandal. Then again, she didn’t need to. It was always between them. “All Truman had ever wanted was to become an architect. And when he lost his position, it devastated him. He couldn’t find a post anywhere. It was as if all of England was against him. He lost his friends and even the woman he was going to marry. He was left with nothing. So, he sold his house and lands and took the only opportunity he could and sailed away on a merchant ship.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Longhurst was no longer looking at her but out the window instead.
“Because family is all I have. I do not have a title, a home of my own, a fortune or even the respect of my peers. I have my family. They are all I hold dear. And I would appreciate if you would try not to think too ill of them while I am a guest beneath your roof.”
He was quiet for a long while, and she realized it was rather bold of her to demand anything of him. But then he surprised her by inclining his head.
It wasn’t a solemn vow by any means, but she would take it.
As the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the town house, she reached over to extract her glove. He looked down as if he’d forgotten he held it, then released the kid leather at once.
“You should take better care of that cut,” he grumbled. “I’ll send a maid with some salve and fresh wrapping.”
She expelled an exhausted sigh. “Longhurst, are you always this overbearing?”
He gave her a hard look that said he wasn’t going to answer.
Verity put on her glove an instant before the footman brought out the step and opened the door. She was already on the pavement when she heard “Miss Hartley?” from within the carriage. And she turned back to Magnus, her brows lifting in inquiry.
“The answer is yes. Always.”
If she didn’t know that he was absolutely serious, she would have laughed. Then again, knowing that he was serious was likely the reason she caught herself smiling as she stepped through the town house door.