Chapter Fourteen
Even Lady Marchfieldwas startled. “Lady Pembroke!” she said. Then she looked around the room as if she were a cornered animal.
Verity and Winsome had leapt to their feet and curtsied. Valor, fortunately, had long ago hightailed it out of the room the moment Lady Marchfield had arrived and was hiding abovestairs with Sir Galahad.
“Lady Marchfield, Lady Verity,” Lady Pembroke said, eyeing Winsome.
“That is Lady Winsome, Lady Pembroke,” Lady Marchfield said. “She is not yet out. We are honored by your visit. Naturally. Might I ring for tea?”
Verity thought it might be the first time she’d ever seen her aunt rather awed by rank. Lady Marchfield seemed perfectly comfortable meeting Lady Pembroke at Almack’s, but it was somehow different to find the lady arrived to one’s drawing room.
“No,” Lady Pembroke said. “I will not stay long.”
Lady Marchfield was going very red in the face. “Now if it is about that ridiculous caricature making the rounds, I can assure you…”
Verity’s aunt trailed off and she did not have the first idea of what Lady Pembroke could be assured of. The print was terrible and now it seemed to have come to the attention of one of theleading ladies of society. It must have—why else would she be here?
Verity waited to be told her voucher to Almack’s was rescinded, or that she ought to leave Town, or she did not know what. Whatever it was, it would be awful. Queen Charlotte’s Lady of the Bedchamber had not arrived to congratulate her on her recent accomplishment of being named Lady Fiction.
“The queen requests Lady Verity to attend her. Now, presuming that is convenient.”
Verity sank down in her seat, hardly realizing that she’d done so. The queen wished to see her? Why? Could she say it was not convenient? Was that allowed? Why could not her father be here? He would know what to do. He’d left for his club hours ago. Could they send Thomas or Charlie to fetch him?
“Oh dear,” Lady Marchfield whispered. “I suppose I’d better escort her.”
“No need, Lady Marchfield,” Lady Pembroke said, “I am fully capable of that myself.”
She would go. She would have to go. She glanced at Winsome with the hopeful idea that perhaps it was not as bad as she felt it must be. Winsome’s horrified expression did nothing to reassure her.
Verity felt very much like flying from the room and hiding in a closet. She could not do it, though. “I ought to change my dress,” she said shakily. She thought she ought to, but change into what? What did one wear when one was brought to the queen? An angry queen, no less. Certainly, Her Majesty was angry, why else would she send Lady Pembroke for Verity Nicolet?
“That simple muslin will do very well, Lady Verity,” Lady Pembroke said. “Let us be off. Lady Marchfield can inform your father that you are safely in my care, and I will personally return you here.”
Verity found some comfort in the idea that she would be returned home, because really, she felt herself on the way to a hanging. Winsome had sidled up to her. She squeezed Verity’s hand and whispered, “It will be all right.”
Just then, the doors burst open, and Valor hurried through them carrying Sir Galahad. She stared at Lady Pembroke and sighed. “I thought it might be Lady Pegatha. She thinks my dog is tremendous.”
“Valor!” Aunt Marchfield hissed.
“Indeed, he does look tremendous. Lady Pegatha knows what she’s about,” Lady Pembroke said. “Lady Verity?”
Verity stood. She had no choice but to go forward and face whatever must be faced. As she proceeded to the great hall to don her pelisse and bonnet, she noted Charlie wide-eyed as Thomas went to fetch those items. She supposed she was rather wide-eyed herself.
Her sisters might have run into difficulties here and there and caused some amount of talk, but none of them had been taken to the queen to answer for themselves. No, that achievement must be Verity’s alone.
She remembered what Mrs. Right always said about facing something that needed courage—however frightening it might be, it would not last forever. Time would pass, the moment would pass, and calm would reign once more.
Lady Pembroke said she would bring Verity back home. All she had to do was get through the time until she was safely back through her doors. She could convince her father that they must leave Town and then disappear into the Dales.
She had to force herself to get into the carriage as Winsome weakly waved from the drawing room window. Just then, she wished Buckingham House was as far away as her home in Yorkshire. She wished it would take days and days to get there.
As it was, not a quarter hour passed by before they arrived. During those fifteen minutes, Lady Pembroke was inscrutable. She said nothing and simply looked out the window with a look of complacence, watching the world go by.
The gates were opened, the carriage trotted round the central fountain and came to a stop. They were met by the Earl of Dartmouth standing on the steps. Why? Why was she so important that the Lord Chamberlain himself met the carriage? She was only a silly young lady making up even sillier stories. Why should he concern himself with it? Why should anybody? Why did he look so grim?
“This way, Lady Verity,” he said gravely.
As she followed him down the corridor, she began to wonder if all this was because The Royal Society had been noted on the print. Perhaps it was some sort of crime to embarrass anything that had been given a royal seal? It very well could be. In fact, it was bound to be. To insult something that had been given the royal nod must be an insult to the palace itself.
