Chapter Nineteen
Verity had begunto look upon her youngest sister as a capricious potentate who could only be soothed by offerings laid at her feet. When she’d gone abovestairs after the masque, she’d ignored Valor’s glare and handed over the India shawl she’d won from Lady Darlington. Valor had been the littlest bit mollified, or so Verity had thought.
As it happened, what had mollified Valor was a sudden idea that had come into her mind. The following morning, she’d convinced Thomas to deliver a letter to Lord Wembly’s house by claiming Verity wrote it and it was a secret love note.
It had been anything but. Valor had gone so far as to compose a letter and sign Verity’s name to it.
Fortunately, Lord Wembly had not been at all fooled by it. He brought it along when he came to the house the following day. Handing it to Verity in the drawing room, he remarked upon Lady Valor’s suspicious absence. She would later be found hiding in a corner of her bedchamber with Sir Galahad.
Verity had unfolded the note to reveal the most outrageously composed breaking off of an engagement.
Lord Wembly—
It pains me to take this step but I must tell you to go away forever. After thinking about things, I realized that I cannot leave my Papa, or my sisters, or Sir Galahad.What do you really have to offer against all that? Also, I don’t want to be stared at while I’m asleep.
My mind is made up. Do not ever come to the house to talk to me about it! This is goodbye forever! Do not come here!
Verity Nicolet
One might imagine a young lady breaking off an engagement that was not her own would be scolded severely. Which she certainly would have, had the duke not found the letter so amusing. At the end of it, Valor had only shrugged and said she must have been sleepwalking when she wrote it. She really could not remember anything about it.
The following day, despite his having his troth broken by her hand, Valor received a rather magnificent gift. Lord Wembly had delivered a bed for Sir Galahad.
Rather than the pile of blankets by the window that he liked to nap on, or Valor’s bed when she was around to lift him into it, this was a bed fit for a monarch’s canine. It was a four-poster canopy bed in miniature, with silk hangings and an overstuffed mattress. It even came with a brass plaque announcing it belonged to Sir Galahad, the most tremendous dog in England.
Like the capricious potentate she was, Valor was greatly soothed by this offering from one of her acolytes. She took to sitting with Mrs. Right and, under the housekeeper’s close direction, sewing little pillows to go on this remarkable new bed. The duke had since been informed that it must travel with them to the Dales.
Winsome predicted her chances of a successful season without Valor throwing a lit torch on the proceedings grew slimmer by the day. At least, if history was anything to go by.
Since then, Lord Wembly had come every day. Sometimes, they sat in the drawing room. Sometimes, they rode to the parkwith the duke’s grooms following for propriety’s sake. Verity was insistent that Lord Wembly not miss any special lectures at The Royal Society. He would come and recount what he’d heard, even the effects of magnesia on reducing uric acid. Verity took it all in, every new fact was interesting.
The morning came when she was determined to call on Lady Lilith. She did not know if it were the lady’s at-home day, but she had discovered where the lady resided through Felicity. She was on Berwick Street.
Verity had not prior traveled to Berwick Street. It was respectable enough, but she’d somehow assumed that Lady Lilith would live on a square. Despite the very modest appearance of the street and worrying that Felicity might have got it wrong, Verity was determined to proceed. She could not ignore a heartbroken lady and was determined to cheer her up.
She would point out all the admiring glances she’d seen going in Lady Lilith’s direction. Verity had not seen any particularly admiring glances, but that had only been because she’d not been looking out for them. Lady Lilith was very pretty and an earl’s daughter. Certainly there had been no end of admiring glances.
Her father’s groom rapped on the door. He had to rap several times and Verity waited for some minutes before it was answered by a rather surprised young lady in a stained apron. At least, Verity supposed she must be surprised as her mouth was hanging open.
“Lady Verity Nicolet,” she said. “I’ve come to call on Lady Lilith, if it is convenient.”
*
Lilith had spentthe past week attempting to dodge her father over the idea that she must seriously consider Mr. Grantley’s suit. It was not that her father was at all admiring of Mr.Grantley, or at all admiring of the idea that his daughter might marry a gentleman in trade. It was just the economy of the thing. They might scrape the money together for another season but what was it all for? Their best chance had been Lord Wembly, and he had engaged himself elsewhere.
Lady Verity had stolen Lord Wembly right from under her nose. She’d taken one of the few single gentlemen who did not need a substantial dowry.
“I’ll give you one thing,” Clara said, “it’s a deal more complicated to be one of the high and mighty than I thought. I got a pa who makes a fine living so I can marry or not and won’t find myself in the poor house. Then here is you, having to marry a fellow you don’t even like.”
“I do not have to marry Mr. Grantley,” Lilith said. “I’ve not agreed to it. At least, not yet.”
There had been incessant knocking on the downstairs door. Lilith presumed it was a tradesman dunning for a bill. “Why does not that kitchen maid answer it and tell that person to be gone?” Lilith said.
“She’ll be pretendin’ she don’t hear it, the little minx,” Clara said. “I’ll go and see to it.”
Before Clara could go and see to it, the kitchen maid threw the door open and said, “She’s come to see ya. A lady.”
The kitchen maid stepped aside, and Lady Verity sailed into the room. Lilith and Clara leapt to their feet.
