Giving up on conversation, Verity shook her head. She knew what she was doing. She’d assessed the clues carefully. The right people would recognize what she wrote. At the same time, it would not be an outright accusation of anything. It was just a taste of the truth, hopefully enough to stir the waters.
She carefully planned to attend an afternoon musicale the following day where most parties would be present, then Almack’s that evening. And, like the ball where she had first attended with her now husband, Verity ensured the gossip rag was delivered in plenty to the front door for all the guests.
Whispers abounded upon the delivery. She accepted a sheet herself, and stared down while listening.
“My goodness,” said one lady, hurrying to Lady Hamhearst. “Have you read this?”
Hamhearst squeaked and insisted on rereading to be certain she understood every word.
“Oh this is…” Lady Hemphill was left speechless.
The ladies had plenty to say, of course. What caught Verity’s attention was how the gentlemen reacted. Her heart pounded as she watched the trouble brew.
I can only hope that this will work out as I hope… and yet I don’t even know what to hope for, not yet.
CHAPTER 23
“It can’t mean anything,” Lord Hamhearst was saying in the crowded club the same afternoon while Dominic entered the room.
He had only entered to check out one of the history books. It should have been one minute inside and out without conversation. Only the conversations taking place caught his attention. He slowed down.
“It must. I don’t like it,” insisted another.
“What about last autumn’s market? I told you there was something at work there!”
“No, it can only be a conspiracy. You’re mad. All of London surely is.”
“Not if they are accusing someone of murder! Or several people.”
Dominic could see the book on the shelf. This was supposed to be the quiet room with books and newspapers, where a gentleman could enlighten himself while enjoying some peace and quiet.
Murder? What the devil is being discussed today? I saw nothing in the four papers I read. There was the incident of that shipping magnate at the docs, but…
Then he caught sight at last what was in everyone’s hand. It was a starched paper tinged with the slightest pink with a dark gray ink and neatly curled stamped lettering. He hadn’t paid much mind to it since marrying Verity, but now had at least one copy of every edition in his study.
Except this one.
Forcing himself into the fray, Dominic asked no one in particular, “Another one came out?”
“Yes,” scowled Lord Melville. He waved the paper before Dominic with the clear typing up top for “AnotherLondon Grey Truthpiece has been published just this afternoon. It’s not the usual rag.”
“It smells like trouble,” said another lord.
One gentleman shook his head with wide eyes. “I’m certain it’s nothing but a load of crock. Who even writes something like this? I don’t see what it could even mean.”
“It doesn’t mean a thing!” One older lord Dominic somewhat recognized trashed his copy of the gossip rag, stomped on it, and stormed right out.
Everyone watched before resuming conversations. The room grew into a loud buzz. Trapped in this hive, Dominic forced himself to read the words once, twice, and then thrice.
What the devil is Verity doing?
She was hinting at people playing with power to control in places where it didn’t belong. That schemes were taking place. That people might even be hurt over it.
Any action you take requires a consequence.
He exhaled slowly, remembering the way his father told him this repeatedly. It had been a threat in his youth. A reminder in adulthood to be accountable for everything he said and did.
Had no one taught Verity? Dominic grew troubled as he listened about the room. Some of the gentlemen understood clearly what she was getting at, and others did not. But eventually the dots would be connected.
