Chapter Four
Verity found LordWembly exceedingly graceful for a man of his size and he led her with confidence. She was surrounded by her sisters and her brothers-in-law. Goodness, what had she worried about? This was very genial!
They took their turn at the figure, La Belle Poulé, and returned to their place. As the other couples took their turns, Lord Wembly said, “Do you enjoy Town so far, Lady Verity?”
A question she could answer without any difficulty and not at all intellectual. “Indeed, yes, though tonight is my first night out in society.”
“I suppose you’ve accepted no end of invitations,” he said. “I imagine a duke’s door is battered by them.”
“Oh, well, I have not actually had time to go through all of them. We only arrived recently. My aunt, Lady Marchfield, arranged our voucher and tickets for Almack’s, but I cannot be certain what else is waiting.”
“Lady Marchfield seems in very high spirits this evening.”
Of course, her aunt did seem rather delighted with the world at this moment. Verity was not certain, though, if she ought to reveal the cause. A very off-putting American who’d named Verity a fine filly, among other outrages, had been moved into the house. Mrs. Right had not had a moment to get him out of it.
“Yes,” she said, “my aunt is often in high spirits.”
That was a very fanciful idea, but hopefully Lord Wembly was not so acquainted with Lady Marchfield to know it.
“I have been through most of my invitations,” Lord Wembly said. “I’ve accepted quite a few—Lady Remington’s card party, Lady Jenner’s musical evening, and Sir Jonathan’s annual scavenger hunt for charity are all coming up soon.”
Goodness, he was listing off everywhere he would be, which she imagined was very encouraging. Did it not hint that he wished her to know where he could be found?
But a card party? She was really not very good at cards. Vingt-et-un was all right, but she became entirely lost at whist. As for piquet, that might as well have been devised to torture people. The number of rules was maddening.
And then, Lady Jenner’s musical evening must be out of the question. She did not play an instrument, and Patience had found out that all the young ladies were meant to demonstrate their talent. Patience and their father had to invent a sudden hand injury that prevented Patience from playing the crwth. Patience had claimed that obscure instrument was the only thing she played, betting that nobody would have ever heard of it. Lady Jenner, it turned out, had one. It had been a very close call, though these days Lord Stanford was well aware that his bride played not a note.
A scavenger hunt, though? She might be able to do that. She’d never participated in such a thing, but she imagined it would not be more complicated than the village’s annual Harvest Festivity. The highlight of it was that Hunthouse apples would be hidden in all sorts of clever places by the vicar and his committee. Whoever gathered the most apples won a prize. Last year’s prize had been a copy of selected sermons penned by Mr. Fordyce, which had been rather disappointing to everybody, but for the vicar and his committee of elderly ladies. The winner, young Harold Busterby, had not seemed at all impressed.Nevertheless, the running round looking for apples had been great fun.
“A scavenger hunt sounds exceedingly interesting. And it is for charity, you said?”
“Sir Jonathan raises funds for The Sewing Circle. It is a charitable concern training young women to be seamstresses who might otherwise…choose less ideal employment.”
As Verity was not particularly naïve, she understood his hint. Young girls without means or protection were often forced to debase themselves to survive. It was a contemptible business and the shame of it, as far as Verity was concerned, landed squarely on the shoulders of the men who made it possible. “It sounds a very worthy cause.”
“It is on Friday next.”
“It sounds like just the sort of thing I would accept,” Verity said. Gracious, this was going very well. Far better than she had feared.
Perhaps it did not signify that Lord Wembly was taken up with The Royal Society. Perhaps a person engaged in intellectual pursuits would rather leave behind thinking of them when he was engaged elsewhere. Perhaps all her worry over being discovered to be a dullard was never justified at all.
They executed the change and took their turn at Les Pantalons. Returning to their place, Verity said, “Do you have brothers and sisters in Town?”
Lord Wembly shook his head. “It is just me, I’m afraid.” He glanced at their set, overflowing with sisters, and said, “You seem to have been lucky in that area. I understand there are seven of the duke’s daughters.”
Verity nodded. Her sisters. Another agreeable subject they might talk about. “It has been rather wonderful to be surrounded by so many genial sisters.”
“My aunt, Lady Pegatha, I stay with her in Town, she says the duke is delighted to have so many daughters.”
“I think that’s right,” Verity said. “I imagine people wonder why he is not sad over not having a direct heir, but that is not how my father is. He looks round at what he’s got and finds it all very genial.”
“A very intelligent way to live, I must think.”
Thinking to steer Lord Wembly away from any talk of intelligence, which she absolutely did not want examined, she said, “Everybody is very happy with the way things are. Except Valor, of course. She is the youngest and does not like her sisters leaving. She did try to attempt to convince me to sit out the season.”
“But you did not wish to?”
Somehow, she’d led herself right into a dangerous topic. She had debated that very thing, considering her deficiencies. “Well, in the end, I decided against it.”
