Perhaps he’d been soused?
And though peril rests upon my single head;
I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
Yours, Miles.
Bafflement.
What did he mean by ‘I will come again’?
To visit her?
Why?
And it was less than two miles from here to his house on Portman Square.
With a shake of head, Verity meandered from her conservatory, perusing the letter once more, in case she’d misread or her mind had been bewattled.
But no.
She entered the house and heard Aunt in the parlour, whispering, so wandered in.
A Mr Collins, black-furred and with a white collar, was pompously sprawled on the sofa, watching with pious approval as Aunt hemmed a new cushion. Doubtless not for the human occupants of the house.
“Aunt Theo?”
She peered up. “Yes, darling?”
“Do you understand the ways of men?”
“Well, as much as anyone can.”
“Yes, but…would you be able to decipher what a man was trying to say? If such man had written a letter, for example, that made not a whit of sense.” Verity brought forth the paper with a small sigh and Aunt pursed her lips.
“I could try.”
“It’s from Miles. Normally, he’s so…uncomplicated in speech but this is all so…” She wafted a hand.
“Hmm.” Aunt placed the cushion aside. “Men often write what the lips cannot say. Let me try. I have best light just here for reading.”
Verity handed over the letter and watched as Aunt’s eyebrows rose, her lips moving before an, “Ah, I see.”
“You do?”
“Yes, darling. It’s quite simple, really.”
“Is it?” Verity sat between her and Mr Collins on the sofa and peered at the letter.
Aunt traced a finger over the lines. “Well, this is just prittle-prattle …” Murmuring. “Then that’s just waffle. Romantic wafflebut still waffle.” Muttering. “Poor man.” Mumbling. “And this means… Piffle, never liked Byron.”
“Aunt?”
“Oh, sorry, darling.” She patted Verity’s hand absently. “Miles says he is in some form of peril and, until it passes, cannot see you.”
“Peril!” Verity held a hand to her heart. “But where does it say that?”
