“Not for me. I’m cataloguing the pressed plants I collected when our regiment was in Salamanca.”
With a roll of eye, Dair donned his jacket. “Can’t compete with that. I’ll see myself out. Until Mrs Tait’s dinner then.”
Miles waved a hand. He required an early night anyway as tomorrow he was also to convene with the dragoon’s clerk, attend a three-hour meeting with his man of affairs about business ventures, interview four stewards for the estate, be measured for a new pair of boots and then take some frustration out at Hawkins’ Boxing Club.
He returned his eyes to the painting.
Lynch and Dair were correct: The Witness had made him too thin again.
6
PLANTS, LIKE MEN, NEED REGULAR FEEDING
“Perhaps I ought to stay home tonight. You might have need of me now?” Verity perched aside her aunt on the drawing room sofa and endeavoured not to crease her new dusk-rose dinner dress. Another wondrous Sephi creation.
Yet a case of the collywobbles had beset her concerning Mrs Tait’s occasion.
“No, no, I’m quite well.” Aunt Theo’s loose black hair with its laces of silver swung in emphasis. “A few scratches will heal, my darling. It will just be a little sore for a while. So I must sit quietly here instead. And read.”
Verity gently patted the bandage on Aunt’s wrist. “You must be more careful. Some of these cats are quite feral. And don’t take so kindly to…bathing.”
“I had no choice. Poor Valmont was so besmirched from the alley I found him in.” Her nose scrunched. “Which won’t do at all for the ladies who trail him seeking a liaison. He is such a handsome cad…er, cat.”
“Hmm.”
A spike-furred Valmont eyed them from the gap between bookshelf and ceiling, his tail whipping to and fro. With anaristocratic ruff of white and his sleek curves accentuated by brown stripes, one felt sure he could swat at both hand and heart. A handsome cad, to be sure, but with a dangerous air, eyes gleaming with predatory intent.
Verity swerved from his hypnotic gaze. “So, surely you would like my company tonight then?”
“Not really, darling.” Aunt grinned. “I’ve a new novel.”
“But it wouldn’t be any bother,” reasoned Verity, playing with the scalloped decoration on the bodice of her dress.
With a purse of lip, Aunt placed her book to the side, twisted and, despite her bandaged wrist, gripped Verity’s shoulders with all the strength of a cat with a fish head.
“Your parents, God bless their dear departed souls, would never have wanted you to solely spend your nights keeping me company. They would have wanted you to have fun. With people your own age. That is why I accepted Mrs Tait’s invitation on your behalf.” She closed her lids. “Your father’s death…affected you deeply, how could it not?” Her grey eyes flickered open. “But for too long now you’ve not lived your young life to the fullest.”
Verity bit her lip. There was a kernel of truth to that, yet her reticence also stemmed from the evident glint in Mrs Tait’s eye and her designs upon Miles as suitor for her daughter, Juliet.
Which could only mean one thing…
Hewould be in attendance also.
With that stern glance and those muscular shoulders.
“I’m not sure–”
“Verity Seymour! You hurtle around Town in your phaeton like a member of the Four-in-hand Club, manage a household with all its eccentricities, including Persephone and I.” She winked. “And have established yourself as a sought-after artist! What you have overcome takes enormous pluck, so do not tell me you’ve not the courage to attend a dinner next door. And in aconservatory, of all places! Perfect! It will be like…like sitting in one’s garden but without the ants.”
Verity chewed her lip. “I suppose… I suppose you’re right.” The words had slipped out and she almost wished to call them back. Yet here she was: primped and polished by her maid, sewn into her gown, gloves buttoned and hair coiled and braided. It would be ridiculous to change her mind now. Not to speak of dearest Sephi whom she could never abandon. And maybe…maybe of late, she had become too set in her ways, too comfortable with quiet evenings and familiar company. With twenty-four years to her name, perhaps she should broaden her experiences. Just a little. So she drew a steadying breath, kissed her aunt’s cheek and managed a smile. “After all, it is only a quiet dinner with friends.”
And even ifhedid happen to attend, as earl he’d be seated at the aristocratic end of the table. Far from herself.
“That’s my Verity. Now off you go! Shoulders back. And I shall read my book. The opening line is excellent.”
So after a buss to Aunt’s cheek, Verity rose and wandered out, shutting the door softly behind her.
Descending the stairs to the hall, she vowed to heed Aunt’s words and enjoy the evening: to admire the plants in Mrs Tait’s conservatory, savour the doubtless fine fare and, if her eyes should happen to meethisat the end of the table, she would offer a bland smile and–
