They stayed in silence for a moment, the past rushing in and out like the tide, leaving behind long-adrift debris but also a certain peace.
Back then, Aunt Theo had always been the penniless relation, barely a sou to her name, and had worked as governess to a variety of families. But penniless or not, it had been Aunt who’d been the one to save her. Wealth of purse she lacked, but in compassion and love, she was immeasurably rich.
“Now…” Aunt cleared her throat and bussed Verity’s cheek. “Go enjoy the Michaelmas Fair. But stay away from those ferocious swingboats. As a young girl, some beaux persuaded me into one at Lambeth Fair and I was nigh flung to the clouds.”Aunt clasped Verity’s hands but at a cat’s yowl from the hall, she rolled her eyes, turned and headed for the door.
Smiling, Verity returned to the bed and her shawl, added it to the satchel, secured the buckles and then paused to admire the morning sun. It speared into her bedchamber with golden warmth, its beams reflecting in the mirrors above the mantelpiece, dressing table, wash basin and writing desk.
Verity caught her own reflection in one – her cheeks were flush and her eyes bright with…anticipation?
In the past, she would have tendered her excuses for such an excursion without a second thought, but for the first time in quite some while, she could admit tolooking forward to it. The thrill of the fair. The fresh air and sunshine. Visiting the stalls with Sephi, Mrs Tait, Juliet and….
She’d be fooling herself if she did not include Miles in the list.
Had the two of them really been on the verge of a kiss?
Verity blinked.Of course not, you totty-headed goosecap!
Aunt’s Gothic novel must have fevered her mind, causing her to imagine an unholy desire in Miles’ eyes that solely belonged in the pages of fiction.
Naturally, after that dinner at the Taits, he would escort Juliet to the fair. His perfect bride. He would buy her ribbons from a tinker, shield her from the fire-eaters with a strong arm or laugh and gasp with her at the many entertainments. Whilst Verity herself would contentedly smile on.
With a frown, she pried her nails from her palm, scowled at the indents and picked up the satchel.
Departing her bedchamber, she nigh bumped into Sephi who wore an exquisite hat the size of a breadbasket and was hefting a valise down the hall.
“We’re only going to Kingston-upon-Thames for the fair, Sephi, not the Himalayas for winter.”
With a sigh, her cousin dumped the valise on the rug; it crunched on a shard of vase. “But it’s also September. In England. It could rain or shine, be cold, hot, muddy, dry. I’ve packed three bonnets, more gloves, a spare pair of boots, a shawl, second pelisse, parasol and a book.”
“A book?”
“In case I need to occupy myself.”
Verity tilted her head. “Have you been to a fair before?”
“Lud, no. Father never allowed it. He said they were despicable events for fizgigs and the ignoramus. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Ah. You won’t need the book.”
Sephi muttered and kneeled to open the valise. Gloves bolted for freedom and bonnets likewise but she drew out a slender volume and then slammed it shut again.
“Ready?”
They both breathed deep.
“Ready.”
Miles pacedoutside Hyde Park’s Cumberland Gate where all were due to convene.
Peered up the connecting thoroughfares of Edgeware and Oxford, then scrutinised Park Lane.
Pondered if he’d mistaken the date.
But no, today was September the 29th, when the folk of England evoked the warrior angel St Micheal for protection against the encroaching winter gloom. One of the quarter days of the year, it also signified the end of harvest and hence the end of many a farm labourer’s contract, causing them to mill the fairs in search of the next season’s employment.
Saint Michaelmas Day.
So everyone else was just late.
