When Verity broke the news that she’d had a change of heart about marrying the duke, word spread through the village faster than Father casting parts for a new play. The rumors and whispers began immediately, even when she wasn’t quite out of earshot.
“It stands to reason. The families have been bitter enemies for years,” she heard the milliner say to the clerk as she turned to leave the shop.
Her shoulders relaxed with relief. That was precisely the response for which she’d hoped.
“And there was a definite degree of coldness between those two,” the clerk added.
Coldness? Um . . . well . . . not always.
Verity felt her cheeks heat as the door closed behind her, the memory of the kiss never far from her mind.
In fact, she continued to be so distracted by it that, later that week, she was nearly run down by the baker’s cart.
He swerved in time, but cursed a blue streak when a basket of bread toppled out onto the dusty road. Scuttling over to help him, she heard him grumbling beneath his breath. “I’d forever wondered if that one was barmy. Now I’m sure of it. Walked right out in front of me and just look at this bleedin’ mess!”
“My apologies, Mr. Brown. I wasn’t thinking. Or rather I was thinking, but my thoughts were . . . well . . . elsewhere. Not that it matters,” she said in a ramble as she gathered an armful of quartern loaves. “I’ll gladly pay for any damage done.”
He gave her a hard look and shook his head. “No need.”
Grumpily, he loaded all the bread back in the cart. Then he slapped his hat against his thigh and mounted the narrow driver’s bench. But before he set off, he turned to her, his brows beetled in confusion. “Have ye gone barmy, miss? I ken no other explanation. What better prospect for a spinster of your years to marry at all, let alone a duke?”
She bristled at the harsh reprimand.
He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “And to think, I might have been baker to a duke and duchess. I was even plannin’ a special weddin’ loaf for you. But no more. You’ve ripped me heart plumb out of me chest.”
His shoulders slumped on a sigh of disappointment. Then, with a snap of the reins, his cart began to trundle down the lane.
Verity had the peculiar impulse to apologize again. Truth be told, ever since the river, she imagined she’d gone a little barmy, too.
Then, the following morning after church, Mrs. Horncastle drew her aside, declaring a need to speak with her directly, woman to woman. She looked at Verity with sympathy and offered a pat of condolence. “His Grace is a strapping, virile man. No shame in being afeared of the marriage bed, even at your age.”
Over Elmira’s shoulder, Verity saw Reverend Tobias quickly look away, his lips pressing together as if subduing a laugh. Oh, the humiliation!
Verity had chosen to ignore the reminder of her long-in-the-tooth status and offered a polite nod before walking away and returning home.
Besides, it wasn’t as though she could confess to being incredibly curious about the marriage bed and the male form, could she? Why then, she might as well have told everyone about spying on the naked reverend, or announcing that Longhurst had kissed her as if the world were coming to an end and the two of them were its only hope.
A strapping, virile man, indeed.
Even now that a week had gone by, she could feel the pressure of his lips as if they were still locked in that scandalous embrace.
Worst of all, her dreams had become all too vivid.
Needless to say, these visions no longer stopped when he was about to kiss her. However, they typically ended at the rather alarming appearance of a sock puppet.
“If you are too warm, Miss Hartley, then sit by the window,” Lady Broadbent said the following Tuesday, startling her out of her scandalous reminiscence.
Verity’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment when she realized that her woolgathering had been noticed by Longhurst’s grandmother of all people. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”
Though, thankfully, neither the countess nor her own mother knew her actual thoughts. Her sisters had also been invited to tea that afternoon, but they were presently touring the library of Swanscott Manor with an invitation to borrow as many books as they could carry.
The countess lifted her hand from the arm of the tufted parlor chair by the fire with an absent shooing motion. “There is a nice cool breeze on the far side of the room. It isn’t as though you’ve interjected much into our conversation, after all. And this way your mother and I can talk more freely about you.”
The reproof caused a twinge of guilt in Verity. She hadn’t even realized that anyone had spoken to her.
As she rose from the settee to take her place by the window, Mother fleetingly squeezed her hand with maternal affection, but there was an impish glint in her eyes when she offered a long-suffering tsk to their hostess. “She has been like this all week. At first, I thought she may have come down with a cold after the day she’d slipped in the river and was wet through when she crossed the threshold.”
“Is this necessary, Mother? I’m sure her ladyship would prefer a more interesting topic than the state of my clothes.” Verity sat in the window nook and arranged her skirts, all too aware of the dowager eyeing her with interest.
“Nonsense, child. And you’re too far away to interject your opinion,” Lady Broadbent said to her, then turned her attention on Mother. “I’m simply riveted. Roxana, do go on.”
Unfortunately, Mother did. “I might have summoned the doctor, but the flushed cheeks she suffers intermittently do not seem to be related to a fever. I have also heard her sigh on a number of occasions.”
“A week, you say?” The countess hummed with intrigue, her brows inching higher as if the walls were papered with a silk calendar, and an enormous red circle surrounded the date that her grandson had left for London.
His absence was completely unrelated. Which Verity would have told them, if not for Honoria’s return into the room after her tour of the library.
With a slender volume of poetry in her grasp, her sister crossed the room to share the nook. Sitting down, she adjusted the fan of her ruffled cerulean skirts. “What have I missed?”
“The inquisition,” Verity grumbled.
“I heard that, Miss Hartley,” their hostess said, her lips pursed to hide a grin. “Take care, or I shall not attempt to find a husband for you.”
Verity balked. “A husband? But I have no interest whatsoever in marrying. I shall be perfectly content to manage my brother’s house, when he returns.”
That had been her plan for the past few years. Truman would make his fortune as a merchant sailor, return and build the house he’d been designing since before his dreams of becoming an architect were dashed after the scandal. And then she would live in his house until he decided to marry.
After that, she wasn’t quite certain where she would live. Beneath a rock, perhaps?
Another shoo of fingers was the countess’s response as she turned back to address Mother. “Then we shall center our attention on Miss Honoria for the moment. With her handsomeness, she could land a rich gentleman . . . if she would only set her mind on securing her future. A connection with the right family would be advantageous to everyone beneath your roof.”
“She does know that I can hear her, does she not?” Honoria asked Verity in a stage whisper as loud as a hunting horn and received a nod. But instead of being bothered by the attention, she grinned. “If this were a play, we would be the Greek chorus.”
Mother cleared her throat and slid a disapproving glance to her mischievous middle daughter. Then she turned back to the dowager. “She hasn’t met the man who will sweep her off her feet quite yet.”
Honoria snatched a doily from beneath a cut crystal vase of flowers on the escritoire and draped it over her head as if it were a veil that allowed her to speak privately to her audience. “And she is not holding her breath either.”
“If you ask me,” the dowager interjected archly, “she has grown spoiled by the attentions of gentlemen. And when her youth fades what will she have to show for it—a few pressed flowers, keepsakes and romantic poetry? Stuff and nonsense.”
“Oh, but she very much likes the presents,” the Greek chorus chimed in.
Mother ignored the comment. “I would prefer Honoria to find a man she will love with all her heart.”
“As do I, Roxana. Just be sure that she doesn’t intend to meet them all before she chooses the one. He may be dead by then.”
Verity smothered a laugh behind her fingertips. The countess certainly had her sister pegged.
Even Mother laughed. “Olympia, your dry wit hasn’t changed at all.”
And yet, when Verity looked over, she saw Honoria’s complexion turn pale. She covered her sister’s hand and found that it was cold as winter frost. “What is it, dearest?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Honoria said, her voice barely audible as she drew the doily from the crown of her head and offered a half shrug.
“The teasing clearly bothered you.”
“Nonsense. It was all in good fun.” She shook her head and slipped her hand free. And when Verity opened her mouth to ask again, Honoria silenced her with a stern look. “Truly. No harm done.”
Even though the sisters were not all graced with poise and beauty, there was one thing they had in common—stubbornness. And Honoria might have had the lioness’s share.
So, Verity left the topic alone for the time being and turned her attention back to the conversation between Lady Broadbent and Mother.
“My daughter calls me a sentimental old fool,” the dowager said. “Geraldine believes I’ve become too preoccupied with matters of the heart. Though, perhaps I’d raised her to be rather pragmatic.” She pursed her lips, her fingertips flitting in a shrug. “It is important for a woman to keep a level head, after all. But it isn’t my fault she married a man given to impulsiveness, who ran from his duties. Regardless, that gave her no right to have allowed the responsibility of running an estate to fall upon her son’s shoulders when he was so young. She raised Magnus to be hard and unfeeling. And now here we are.”
Verity wondered what that meant. Was she unhappy that Magnus was marrying Miss Snow?
Mother issued a sigh of commiseration. “We do what we can to guide our children. Yet, in the end, they will follow their own path to wherever it may take them. All we can do is support them in whatever manner they will allow.”
“How right you are. Which is why I’ve decided to go to London. I hope you’ll forgive me, but that is the reason I’ve asked you to tea this afternoon. You see, I should like to take your eldest daughter with me. If you can spare her, that is.”
Verity started. “Me? But why me?”
“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Roxana answered, ignoring her. “You know, she never had a Season. That horrible scandal happened after only a fortnight.”
“Mother, I’m far too old for a Season. I would be a laughingstock.”
“Quite true,” the dowager agreed without batting an eye.
At least someone was listening to her. Even so, Verity frowned, feeling positively ancient.
Lady Broadbent might have offered a smallish blink of surprise, or an Ah, yes. I completely forgot your age. You look so young. Instead, she continued with, “It would be unseemly to bring her out as if she were in her first bloom. However, I am in need of a traveling companion.”
“Then I’m sure her ladyship would prefer to travel with someone more engaging like my sister,” Verity said, knowing full well that Honoria would blossom exceptionally. Unlike herself, a haggard, desiccated wart of a flower, apparently.
“And be plagued by gentleman callers day and night? I should say not.”
“Not to mention,” Mother added, “my sister and her husband sponsored Honoria for a Season, alongside your cousin, Daphne. You, my dear, have not had that opportunity.”
“But then Daphne eloped with the colonel after only three months. There was hardly any time for Honoria to see the sights.”
Beside her, Honoria laid her hand on hers. “You needn’t be so adamant on my account. I don’t even want to go. If you’ll recall, I went to Paris last year with Daphne and the colonel and, to be honest, I’ve had my fill of travel for a time.”
“And most importantly,” Lady Broadbent said archly, “I did not ask your sister, Miss Hartley. You will be perfect for what I have in mind. And fear not, you will be compensated for your time with a new wardrobe more befitting your—”
Verity stiffened, waiting for another mention of her age. She wasn’t quite six and twenty, not for weeks yet, but she felt as old as Methuselah.
“—place in society,” the dowager concluded with a satisfied smile as if she was saying that a spinster’s place in society was second only to the queen.
And even though Verity attempted to pawn off Thea next, the dowager would hear none of it. So, it was settled.
By the end of tea, all the arrangements were etched in stone. And Verity, whether she liked it or not, was traveling to London.
Though, she was certain that the flip in her stomach at the thought of seeing Longhurst again was nothing more than nerves.