And at the start of the season, Octavia had teased her, “You are so proper that you are the ton. You know everything and say nothing. You are London more than you are a person. Funny thing, that?”
There were more questions and teasing. Much of it from her family and past friends.
Because Verity was proper. She was appropriate. Having been the eldest daughter, she knew what she was supposed to be––the right words, the right posture, the right dance, everything. Becoming the right young lady, the best young lady, was supposed to fix her entire life.
“It led me to a marriage with a duke,” she mused to herself. “I suppose I could not do much better than that.”
But it didn’t bring me what I wanted. I gave myself that, me. My journal. No one takes female writers seriously but they all hunger for my work. They wait for my paper. They crave it. They want my words, me. They simply… don’t know it.
Did anyone know her?
Dominic’s smile came to mind. He didn’t mind her questions or her answers thus far. Though she surprised him, he took every surprise with grace. While there were moments where he appeared affected or stumbled through their conversations, he had been surprisingly generous.
Would he accept her, every part of her?
A short laugh escaped Verity. Unable to bear looking at herself another minute, she turned away from the mirror. She hardly knew herself. Who else could understand her? Who would care?
Be reasonable, you fool. My family doesn’t know. They will never know. My current family or my new family, none of them will ever learn my truth.
“Your Grace?”
She inhaled deeply before turning to Lucy coming through the side door. “Yes, what is it?”
“I forgot about your dancing slippers. They’ll use the same thread as the gown, so I might as well address them both at once,” she said before moving to the wardrobe. “Also, I do believe you’ll be interested in learning your third footman, Danny, is the second bastard son of Lord Winthrop. Fancy that? Apparently, Winthrop had quite a name for himself before hisincident. He’s a charmer. Danny, not his marquess father. I think he’ll be a fine kisser if I get my hands on him.”
A polite blush covered Verity’s cheeks at the mere mention of her maid once again looking for some improper fun. “Lucy! Are you attempting to cause a scandal under this very roof?”
“I think it will endear me to the household as another member of the gossip tree here,” the girl said defensively, winking. She carried the shoes in her hands. “Besides, I think he knows more about Winthrop than you’ll someday find intriguing. But until then, I can tell you that one of the chambermaids, Bridget, was originally working for Lord Laramie and his household. The gentleman is an absolute tyrant.”
“I’m afraid most of London knows about that,” Verity said whilst wrinkling her nose. “I do hope you’ll be careful with Danny. If you can find me anything else…”
Tsking, Lucy skipped forward. “You know I’m getting to it.” She glanced about like someone else might barge in. “Bridget heard about Laramie’s financial dealings. Just before she left, she heard he came into quite a bit of money. Some of the servants suspect it was from his estate, the one that burned down. Do you remember?”
It took a moment for her to rack her brain for that. She subscribed to every newspaper in London and read them frequently. “Vaguely… An accident, yet? Out in Yorkshire.”
“No, and yes. Servants said it was all a trick for the insurance.”
Her spine tingled like it often did when she heard something. “Oh really? That is… quite a bold thing to say.”
“Indeed.” For all Lucy’s propriety, she did adore some juicy details. She beamed. “What do you think about that?”
“I think if you can convince Bridget to tell you everything she hears, you can have an extra day off next week,” Verity reassured her.
And off her maid went, humming in satisfaction.
Verity took her time alone to write down some notes from what she’d learned. Questions needed answers and setting the tone early would help her know exactly what to write.
Afterward, she ventured down to the kitchens for the supper plan. The household was distant so far, but polite. Respectful. She hoped that in time they would grow more friendly like her household was in the last couple of years.
Then it was still too early for tea. Having been promised a visit by an old friend of hers recently returned to town, Verity thought she might work on her artwork. It never hurt to keep up the idea that she was attempting to learn to draw.
“Mrs. Ridley,” she said when she found the housekeeper. “I’m in search of some charcoal. To draw; I thought I might practice my drawing. Unfortunately, it appears I haven’t any in my belongings.”
The older woman paused in the hall. Her gray hair was drawn back so tightly it kept most of her wrinkles at bay. All the same, she ran a decent household and understood the servants much more than Verity did.
“Charcoal? We haven’t naught to draw. A few pens and the like in His Grace’s study, I believe, but I had best have someone send out for someone. Do you have a preferred shop?”
“Yes…” An idea sparked in Verity’s mind as she mentioned the shop. “Can you open a tab with them, if you please?”
