“The duke stopped by to visit,” Verity said.
Then Jocelyn went to stand beside him and Verity felt a shiver of dread as they smiled at each other.
Given their dark curls and the slope of their chins, Nancy would surely see the similarity.
All Verity could hope was that since Nancy was ignorant of her rendezvous with the Duke of Deighton at Lord Langley’s, she would put any likeness down to coincidence.
Yet what would she make of the duke’s easy familiarity and presence in the kitchen?
They should have rendezvoused in the wood again, by “accident.”
“We met him at Lady Bodenham’s, you see,” Jocelyn clarified.
“So your mother told me,” Nancy replied with
out a hint that she noted anything untoward about the pair.
Verity dared to breathe a little easier.
“As delightful as it is to meet you, Nancy,” the duke said, “I fear I have overstayed my welcome and must be on my way. Perhaps Miss Jocelyn will see me to the door?”
“Do you have to go?” Jocelyn asked mournfully.
“Alas, I must.”
“You’ll come back for another visit, won’t you?” Jocelyn asked.
“The duke may not have time. He is visiting here, you know, and Sir Myron—”
“Can easily spare me, I’m sure. I would love to come back and visit you, on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You will make some more tarts.”
Jocelyn grinned and nodded rapidly.
“I took the liberty of putting Harry in your little carriage house,” he said. “My horse,” he added for Nancy’s benefit as he went to the back door. He put his hand on the latch, then turned back. “Oh, by the way, I believe Lady Bodenham is likely to call this afternoon.”
“Oh?” Verity murmured.
“With an invitation to join us for dinner at Sir Myron’s later this week, if I am not mistaken. I do hope you’ll be able to come.”
“I shall have to th—”
“We can go, can’t we, Mama?” Jocelyn pleaded.
“I fear this will be an invitation only for your Mama, this time,” he said gently. “It will be too late in the evening for you.”
Jocelyn frowned.
“But I am hoping you and your friend will allow me to play Indians with you at least once while I am in Jefford. I’m sure I can manage a war cry.”
Then the Duke of Deighton let loose a loud screech that made Nancy stare as if he had suddenly gone mad, while Verity and Jocelyn’s mouths gaped with astonishment.
“Forgive me, Nancy,” Galen said with a bow. “I was practicing my war whoop. I didn’t mean to startle you. Until later, Miss Davis-Jones, Mrs. Davis-Jones.”
His gaze held Verity’s for a moment before he opened the door.
And then he was gone.
“Sweet simmering stew!” Nancy muttered. “You had a duke in the house and you gave him tea in the kitchen.”
Verity and Jocelyn turned toward her. “He said he wanted to have his tea here,” Verity explained.
“Why? To see how the poor folk do?”
“He said he’d never had tea in a kitchen before,” Jocelyn replied.
Nancy sniffed. “I can believe it.” She looked a little mollified as she put on her apron. “Well, who are you to say no to a duke when he asks something, eh?”
“I saw no harm in it,” Verity replied.
“I think the duke is very nice looking, don’t you?” Jocelyn demanded “He’s got the nicest smile—but he does need to have his hair cut.”
“No doubt he’s just being careful,” Nancy replied sarcastically as she wiped the crumbs from the table. “I wouldn’t let that Magnus Pompous near my head with anything sharp for love nor money.”
“He’s fun, too,” Jocelyn continued. “He played football with me at Lady Bodenham’s. He wasn’t very good at it, but he was very nice.”
“Who boiled the egg?”
“The duke did,” Jocelyn said, grinning.
“Never!”
“He did,” Verity confirmed. “He said he had never cooked an egg, so Jocelyn showed him. And he was very impressed with the tarts.”
“He said they were the best he had ever had!”
Not for Nancy a doubt of the duke’s sincerity when it came to praise of her baking. She fairly beamed. “Well, then I hope he does come back—only next time, he shall have some pie.” She grew serious. “Now out of my kitchen, the pair of you,
or they’ll be no dinner. I’ve got to set things to right.”
Content to let Nancy rule her culinary kingdom and anxious to avoid any further discussion of the duke, Verity obeyed.
Later that afternoon, Verity sat in her bedroom, thinking about Galen and Jocelyn and herself, and the visits they had shared.
Unfortunately, once the pleasure of his company and the euphoria of realizing that Nancy apparently saw nothing amiss wore off, she had come to the conclusion that they could not continue to see each other.
It was simply too much of a risk. While it seemed Nancy didn’t notice any resemblance this time, she might start to wonder if Galen became a frequent visitor. Nancy also knew that Verity had gone to school with the duke’s cousin, so she might make assumptions of previous meetings.
No, despite how much it was going to disappoint Jocelyn, she couldn’t risk having Galen come to the house again. She would have to explain to her daughter that nobles had many calls upon their time, and she hoped Jocelyn wouldn’t be upset for long.
She would also have to hope that since Galen was a mature man with more knowledge of the
cruelties the world could inflict upon the innocent, he would understand and agree with her.
As for how she felt about this decision…her feelings didn’t matter. Jocelyn’s future happiness was much more important.
“There’s a man in a purple coat knocking on our door, Mama!” Jocelyn called from the parlor.
While Nancy answered it, Verity went to her bedroom window and looked outside.
Galen had predicted aright. Eloise had come and was seated in a barouche as if part of a parade in London. Even more noticeably, she wore an orange bonnet trimmed with yellow plumes that was surely considered the height of fashion and a long pelisse of the brightest yellow Verity had ever seen.
Between the brim of the bonnet and the color of her cloak, Eloise looked like a giant canary.
Glad that she had been forewarned and prepared, Verity hurried down the stairs and reached the bottom just as Eloise entered. Whatever Nancy had made of the footman, she was openly and unabashedly staring at Lady Bodenham.
Up close, Eloise’s garments were even more remarkable, especially when one considered how many hours must have been spent applying the orange and green ribbons, making the looped buttonholes and stitching the tucks and gathers.
Whatever Verity thought of Eloise’s outfit, how
ever, it was very clear from Eloise’s satisfied smile that she thought she looked very well indeed.
“Why, my dear, I had no idea your house was so charming and quaint!” Eloise exclaimed as she sighted Verity. She fluttered toward her like a distracted moth as she surveyed the papered hall. “But so utterly out of the way! I was sure the driver had taken the wrong way when he turned into your lane.”
Verity thought it was a wonder she hadn’t heard Eloise’s exclamations. “What a pleasant surprise, Eloise. You may close the door now, Nancy, and take Lady Bodenham’s pelisse.”
Eloise removed her yellow cloak to reveal a gown of a more subdued yellow, yet equally be-trimmed with green and orange ribbons. She handed her pelisse to Nancy, then her bonnet and kid gloves.
“And I’ll make some tea, will I?” Nancy queried as if she weren’t quite sure of what one was to do with such a visitor.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you. This way, Eloise,” Verity said quickly, steering Eloise toward the parlor before Nancy mentioned Galen’s visit that morning. “Whatever brings you to Jefford?”
“I’m visiting that charming fellow, Sir Myron Thorpe. George met him at Newmarket and they
got to talking about dogs…well, what else would George talk about?” Eloise noted with a sigh. “At any rate, dear Sir Myron invited us to visit, and I thought, why not? I shall be able to see my dear friend Verity again, too. So, here I am!”
“I am so glad you did,” Verity murmured. “Won’t you please sit down?”
Eloise perched on the sofa. “I will confess my coming here was not simply to visit Sir Myron.”
“No?”
“No. My cousin, the Duke of Deighton, came first and when I heard that, it did occur to me to wonder if he had come in pursuit of you, the rogue, so I immediately got George to write. Myron naturally reiterated his invitation, and here we are.”
“You were worried about your cousin’s possible pursuit of me?”
“You’re still very pretty, you know, Verity. Fortunately, Galen hardly remembers you from your visit to our home, except as a dour widow, which just goes to show he can’t have paid much heed to you at all,” she finished triumphantly.
“I’m glad of that,” Verity said with genuine relief, although not for the reason Eloise would no doubt ascribe.
Galen had obviously and successfully misled Eloise about his reason for coming to Jefford, and thrown off her suspicions.
Eloise suddenly waggled her long index finger at her friend. “Now I must insist you confess. You’ve been keeping secrets from me, you naughty thing!”
V
erity’s hand instinctively went to her throat as if to strangle a moan of dismay. “Secrets?”
“I had no notion that your house was so large and au courant,” Eloise said with a playfully angry expression. “I confess I had visions of you in a thatched cottage—a nice one, to be sure, but considerably smaller and less up-to-date than this delightful house.”
Verity couldn’t quite subdue a sigh of relief. “Thank you. We’re very comfortable here.”
“I daresay you are, and I understand a little better why you are so loath to leave it—although I’ll say again I don’t think you should keep to yourself so much.”
“I take it Sir Myron is very interested in hunting dogs, too,” Verity said, changing the subject. “Did you bring any of your dogs?”
“George brought his dogs.” She smiled beatifically. “
I
brought Lady Mary.”
The woman Eloise thought Galen should marry.
The woman she should want Galen to wed, Verity told herself, a young, pretty, sweet woman from a titled and wealthy family with not a hint of scandal attached to her. “Oh?”
Eloise inched forward excitedly, then looked around as if expecting spies lurking nearby. “My cousin, the duke, told me himself he’s looking for a wife, and Lady Mary will be
perfect
for him!”
She waggled her finger at Verity again. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking—what woman in her right mind would marry a cad like that? But I do believe Galen has changed his ways. Why, he’s been in England over a month now and there’s been not a word of any liaison between him and a woman, of any kind. No angry husbands marching about London denouncing him for a scoundrel, no actresses pretending to kill themselves over him, no fathers claiming he’s defiled their daughters.”
Verity smiled. “How disappointing.”
Eloise’s eyes shone with amusement. “You know very well I am not the only person who found his former life fascinating! I well remember you hanging on every word about the latest scandal when I told you about them.”
“I was much younger then.”
“Oh!”
Verity wished she had held her tongue, especially since Eloise was right. “I am only saying that I would not find such a man fascinating now that I know better. A cad may be exciting for a little while, yet I suspect he leaves behind far more sorrow than happiness.”
“You are likely right,” Eloise agreed. “And then some of those women! I assure you, my dear Verity, I don’t know where he found them! I think he must have gone looking for the worst possible mistresses he could find.”
She leaned forward again. “I don’t think he cared a fig for any of them, either, although he was more than generous. He only wanted to upset his father. The former duke was quite a martinet and very stern with Galen, always. I don’t recall ever hearing the late duke say anything to Galen that wasn’t a reprimand. He was not nearly so hard on his second wife’s children.”
So it was as Galen had said, and worse. Her heart went out to the boy who, while lacking for nothing material, must have longed for a kind and loving word.
Was it any wonder he would find affection when he could?
“Galen’s certainly been more serious since his return,” Eloise continued. “And he’s been the perfect gentleman with Lady Mary. I don’t think he’s
even touched her, except to escort her in to dinner.”
Did Galen’s touch affect Lady Mary as it did her? If so, Verity wouldn’t find it difficult to discover that Lady Mary was hoping with all her heart to become the Duchess of Deighton.
In her case, such a thing was not impossible.
But Verity would not be jealous. She could not be. She had no right to be.
As Nancy entered with the tea things and set them on the small table beside Verity, Eloise suddenly noticed the portrait over the mantel. “Good God! Is that your late husband?”
“Yes, that’s Daniel.”
“My dear, I had no idea!” Eloise peered at the portrait. “He was a very good-looking fellow, I must say!”
“Yes, he was. The silver candlesticks were a wedding gift from his weavers. They all liked him, too, so you know he was more than nice looking. He was truly a kind man and excellent employer. I was very fortunate.”
Her task completed, Nancy straightened and looked directly at Eloise. “He was the best man and master you’d ever be likely to meet!”
“Oh, yes, certainly,” Eloise stammered, clearly unused to servants expressing themselves so forcefully.
“You may leave everything, Nancy.”
“Yes, Mrs. Davis-Jones,” Nancy replied with great formality.
Apparently quite satisfied with the reaction she had elicited from Eloise, Nancy triumphantly marched out of the room.
“She has been with my husband and his family a long time,” Verity offered as both excuse and explanation as she poured the tea.
“Oh, yes, I see. And what business was your late husband in again? Cotton, wasn’t it?”
“Daniel was a wool merchant. He had started to do some business in cotton, too, but he sold his interest in the mills to his brother-in-law before we were married.”
Eloise’s eyes widened. “With all the money to be made in cotton these days, he sold his interest? Why, mills are veritable gold mines.”
“When he saw the deplorable conditions there, and when he couldn’t convince the men who bought his raw cotton to amend them, he stopped dealing in cotton altogether rather than be part of it.”
“Oh!” Eloise emitted, taken aback. “That seems rather extreme.”
“I thought that you would understand better than most why I would not wish to be involved in such an exploitive system, Eloise,” Verity said softly, “and why I would not be married to someone who was.”
A look of understanding dawned on Eloise’s face. “Oh, yes, yes, certainly,” she murmured. “I had forgotten.”
Eloise sighed as she eyed one of the jam tarts and laid her napkin across her knee. “Still, it is the way of the future, I suppose.”
“I fear that, as well, so I give what money I can spare to those who are working to change it.”
She realized Eloise wasn’t really listening and subdued another sigh. Eloise inevitably found serious discussion boring. “Would you care to have a tart?”
“They look excellent,” Eloise said as she took one. She bit into it daintily, then regarded Verity with a pleased smile as she wiped her fingers. “Now, I have the most delightful thing to tell you! Sir Myron wishes me to extend an invitation to dine with him, and his guests, this Wednesday.”
Verity’s first impulse was to refuse. She didn’t want to see Galen with the woman who might become his wife.
But then practicality intruded. The dinner party would surely provide an opportunity to arrange a meeting with Galen, so she could tell him that he could not visit them again.
She would not tell him that at the party, of course. First, she dared not speak to him in private for more than a moment, and second, she didn’t
doubt that he would be visibly upset when he understood what she was asking.
Or perhaps it would be better if she waited…
“You need have no qualms about getting there. Sir Myron has told me he will be happy to send his carriage for you,” Eloise wheedled. “You simply
must
come! I’m afraid I’ve given poor Sir Myron a tongue-lashing about not inviting you sooner, and if you don’t, he’ll be miserable.”
Verity could well believe that Eloise had thoroughly chastised her hapless neighbor. “I wouldn’t want Sir Myron to be miserable.”
“Wonderful! And you need not fear any impropriety on Galen’s part, either. Lady Mary will be there, and George, too, of course.”
“Please tell Sir Myron it is very kind of him to invite me and I shall be pleased to accept.”
“Oh, sweet sufferin’ savior!” Nancy muttered the morning of the day Verity was to dine at Sir Myron’s.
“What is it?” Verity asked, looking up from the sock she was redarning to see Nancy glaring out the parlor window.
“They’re back,” Nancy said, turning toward her mistress with an expression of complete disgust. “At least this time the miser hired a curricle from the inn.”
That tone and that look could only mean one
thing: Clive and Fanny had come for another visit. But why so soon and why today, of all days? If Clive and Fanny were visiting, it was even more important to tell Galen to stay away, yet she could hardly attend a dinner party when she had guests of her own.
“First that Julius Caesar valet, then the duke, then that woman, and now
them.
Who’s next, the Duke of Wellington? Admiral Nelson?” Nancy demanded, her hands on her broad hips as if she truly expected Verity to answer. “I don’t know what I’m going to do for more food. I can hardly get them to notice me at the butcher’s now that Sir Myron’s got company. His cook ordered enough for a militia regiment. It’s the same at the fish market, too. I swear you’d think nobody ever visited Sir Myron before.”
“Make up the guest room, please, Nancy. I shall answer the door.”
“Gladly, if it means I don’t have to say hello to them two too soon,” Nancy said as she stomped out of the room.
Verity sighed as she took off her apron and smoothed her hair. She would have to write a note expressing her regrets to Sir Myron. It was unfortunate she couldn’t write to Galen, too, but that was absolutely impossible.
Clive’s familiar rap sounded on the front door and she hurried to answer it.
“So, this time you are home,” he declared jovially as he sauntered inside, a valise in his hand and Fanny creeping in behind him like his unworthy servant.
Verity’s lips tightened. Upstairs, she could hear Nancy punching the pillows with rather extreme vehemence.
Verity wished she could punch a few pillows herself.
“You look out of sorts, dear sister,” Clive observed with a hint of offense, as if anything less than obvious pleasure at seeing him was an insult. “I hope you are not ill?”
“No, merely tired,” she replied.
As Clive removed his hat and held it limply in his hand, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a broader—and unattractive—smile. “Where’s Nancy?”
“Upstairs. Here, I shall take that for you,” Verity said, reaching out for his beaver hat.
After a deferential glance at Clive, Fanny took off her dove-gray cloak and likewise handed it to Verity. Clive strolled into the parlor without waiting for an invitation, and Fanny shuffled in behind him. With a frown, Verity laid their garments on the small chair she kept in the hall for Jocelyn to use when she put on her boots.
“I am happy to hear you are not ill,” Clive said when she joined them. “Sir Myron would be most
upset if you were unable to attend his dinner party tonight.”
“How do you know about his dinner party, or that I was invited?” she asked, trying not to sound suspicious.
“We met Sir Myron in the village,” he explained. “He was kind enough to extend an invitation to us.”
Verity wanted to groan with despair. As disappointing as it was to miss the party and an opportunity to arrange a private meeting with Galen, the prospect of attending with Clive and Fanny was infinitely worse.
She was tempted to plead an indisposition, but that probably wouldn’t stop Clive from going.
Better, surely, to go with them.
“He mentioned you were already invited, even though you should still be in mourning. Of course, these are degenerate times.”
“Degenerate times,” Fanny ventured to echo.
“I thought him too important a neighbor to risk offending,” Verity replied.
“Quite right. No matter what should have been done, Sir Myron expects you to be there now, so of course we shall all go.” He gave his wife a censorious look. “Sit down, Fanny!”
Fanny obeyed, swiftly sitting on the sofa. Clive strolled over to stand in front the hearth, his hands behind his back as he rocked slightly on his toes.
“What brings you back to Jefford so soon?” Verity inquired.
“I wanted to tell you personally how well the mills have been doing, and to allow you another opportunity to invest.”
“I cannot afford it.”
To her surprise, Clive’s mouth didn’t get that pinched look it usually did when she gave him that excuse, something she had been doing ever since Daniel passed away. “Oh, well, it will be your loss, not mine.”
His genial response only created new suspicions, and his next remark confirmed them. “I shall ask Sir Myron and his guests if they would like to make a fine return on a small initial investment.”
Whatever happened tonight, Verity knew, it was not going to be a pleasant evening.
As he tried to make a proper knot in his pristine white cravat, Galen could not recall feeling more anxious before a dinner party. He had experienced varieties of anticipation, certainly. In his youth he had known an excited thrill when there would be a woman he was hoping to seduce in attendance. He had felt amused anticipation sometimes, when the company promised to be ridiculous. Upon his return to England, however, he had only looked forward to being bored by the empty conversation
of people about whom he did not, and could not, care.
Except for Verity’s last night at Potterton Abbey. He had anticipated meeting her there with a host of mixed emotions: excitement, curiosity, anger and frustration.
Now he wondered what Verity was feeling. Since she had accepted the invitation, she must be more confident that people wouldn’t suspect anything regarding Jocelyn’s parentage, and that pleased him. He hated to think of her worried. She should be happy and carefree, as she deserved to be after all she had been through, especially having to endure her in-laws. One good look at Clive Blackstone during a single conversation at the village inn where he and Myron had stopped for a drink on the way home from a day’s fishing, and he thought he had a fair idea of the measure of the man.
Toady
was the best word to describe him, for the fellow had nearly fallen over bowing when they met. Then he had been so obsequious, he quite outdid anybody else Galen had ever met, and Galen had been dealing with obsequious people all his life.
The wife was, unfortunately, of a type Galen had encountered once or twice before, a wife so totally dependent and devoted to her husband, it seemed as if she could hardly breathe for herself, let alone
think. Fanny Blackstone had watched her husband as if he were the center of the universe, while he had to be reminded to introduce her.