“No,” she whispered back and then turned away in her chair.
So. His hair color was not bad. Surprising.
*
The following day,Verity had been about as relaxed as a cat caught in a downpour. All day long, she’d attempted to settle on something or somewhere or some attitude. She was all mixed up!
Winsome had followed her around saying things like: “Verity, why on earth did you say you were trying to find out if fish can see when they are on land? What are you to do about it? Why does it even matter, what good could it do them since they cannot breathe on land?”
Of course, she very well knew it was ridiculous. She’d felt cornered, as if she had to say something, and then there were those broiled cod staring up at her and it had come out.
That was not the least of it, either. When Lord Wembly had been asked what he’d first noticed about her, he’d said her mind. Her mind, her intelligence—it was the exact worst thing about her! She was an idiot who could not even read, and he admired her mind? Why had she ever pretended she was at all interested in the circulatory systems of slow-moving animals? It was the same old problem that had haunted her forever—she panicked because she was certain somebody was on the verge of discovering how stupid she was.
What was she to do about it? It was as if all her worst fears were coming true. She had held on to the shred of hope that a gentleman she admired might admire her too because he was attracted to her looks. Even if she were not the prettiest lady in Town, Mrs. Right often said there was a lid to every teapot. If she could be a lid, perhaps the teapot would not notice her less than middling intellect.
Baron Wembly was not the sort of gentleman who would remain blind to a middling intellect. Or appreciate it.
As she had a hundred times before, Verity searched her mind for some way to become smarter. Why could everybody else read while she could not? Was there some trick to it that she was missing? She could not ask anybody without giving herself away, so she had never asked anybody.
This afternoon, they were to ride in the park. That, at least, she was competent at. But would he ask her anything about the fish? She did not know the first thing about fish, other than she was not opposed to broiled cod.
She probably should have taken Valor’s advice and sat the season out.
But she had not, and Lord Wembly was glorious. She could not give up thinking about him. Even if it turned out to be hopeless.
“What did he whisper to you, Verity?” Winsome asked. “When you said the first thing you noticed was his hair. He whispered something.”
“Oh, he asked if it was bad. I said no,” Verity said.
“That’s a bright spot, then,” Winsome said.
Winsome was right, that was a bright spot. Verity had been a bit thrown off by the question—who could think that glorious auburn hair was bad? Perhaps he just wanted to be sure she approved of it. That really would be a bright spot.
“I know what you should do, Verity,” Winsome said. “About that ridiculous fish idea, why don’t you just say it was anideabut you haven’t done anything to look into it. That way, you won’t be tempted to make up any outrageous stories about it.”
Verity supposed she should be affronted that Winsome had mentioned her outrageous stories. But then, Winsome, of all her sisters, knew her the best. It was one of the reasons Winsome was always challenging what she said. Winsome did not know the real reason for what she did, though.
It was all becoming too much. Who she was, what she was, had always weighed heavily on her. When she was younger, she could go for hours without thinking about it. Now it was on her mind every second of every day. When she was younger, she used to fool herself with the idea that her mind would catch up to everybody else’s and she’d learn to read.
Maybe it would be easier if people just knew. They could condemn her or feel sorry for her or however they wanted to feel. They could accept her or not, whichever they wished. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and swiped at it, turning away from Winsome.
“Are you crying? You never cry. What’s happened? Keep going with the fish story if you like—it was just a suggestion.”
“Winsome,” she said very quietly. “I have a secret. A terrible secret.”
Winsome laughed. “Whatever the secret, I doubt it’s very terrible.”
Verity was silent for some moments as Winsome stared at her. She took a breath in and said, “I cannot read. I’ve tried and tried but I cannot do it. I’ve hidden it all these years—I am exceedingly stupid. Lord Wembly is going to find it out and want nothing to do with me.”
*
Mrs. Right hadjust left Verity and Winsome sobbing together in the library. They would not say what it was about, only that it was a secret between sisters.
She was inclined to think it had something to do with Lord Wembly. She was inclined to think it because of how many other times they were in Town and one of her girls had been weeping and it had been because of the gentleman she admired.
If that baron had done a single thing to upset her girl, he would hear about it. Or if not hear about it, then suffer some anonymous consequences over it. Lord Wembly ought to be very wary of the prospect. Had she not proved last season that she could be as sly and skilled as any housebreaker, slipping through the darkness with impunity to wreak vengeance?
Upon reflection, it had turned out to be not at all necessary to meddle with the springs on Lord Thorpe’s carriage. As well, it had caused a delay in that couple’s setting off for their wedding trip when the carriage collapsed in front of their house. So that had been regrettable. Fortunately, that was all water under the bridge now.
