Not that she cared about romance any longer.
After four demoralizing seasons searching for the man of her dreams, all she had encountered were nightmares.
Vee had had offers. Plenty of them over the years—but unfortunately, they had all been improper and from the sort of gentlemen whowere only ever interested in the carnal and not the spiritual, in the mythical goddess of love from the gutters they were convinced she had to be rather than the reality of the bluestocking she undoubtedly was to her core.
If anything, the fact that she possessed a mind at all was irrelevant, because she was only ever seen as attractive by the sort of man who had no interest in it whatsoever. Nor any interest in forever for that matter. Like the Judas Lord Argyll who had played her like a fiddle when it suited him and promptly forgotten her when a better, blue-blooded opportunity had presented itself.
She was twenty-two, for pity’s sake! Quite sick and tired of being judged by her stupid name and the much-too-generous figure fate had saddled her with. Sick and tired too of the silly, shallow, and selfish men who couldn’t see past her larger-than-average bosom.
Whereas Lord Dorchester wasn’t that sort of man at all.
Being closer to forty than he was thirty, he appreciated her mind most of all, she was convinced of it. He also seemed oblivious to her bountiful physical endowments. He had never ogled her or made inappropriate suggestions regarding her improper name or talked to her cleavage or tried to seduce her into bed. He certainly showed her more respect than that vexatious young Yankee who considered her one big humorless, prudish joke!
Lord Dorchester never made jokes.
Vee sincerely doubted he was capable but refused to hold that against him, either, because instead, they discussed politics and science and books. Or at least he discussed them while she listened. And while he wasn’t charming in the slightest, when one looked at him in the right light, parts of him were aesthetically pleasing.
If she ignored his unchecked dandruff, which never seemed to be brushed from his ill-fitting coats.
Or the slight, stooping shoulders it dusted.
Or his unattractive tendency to sniff all the time as if his nostrils were blocked.
Or his small and unsettlingly smooth hands, which always felt clammy.
But those were also minor flaws in the grand scheme of things, and with her new pragmatic approach to her future happiness, she was working hard to appreciate the man beneath. In the apparently vain hope that he would appreciate the intelligent woman beneath the ghastly name and voluptuous figure. Or at leastseeher as a woman at all.
An irony that wasn’t lost on her after she had spent the last four years being ogled by men who saw only her flagrant womanhood.
“I believe he is due to attend the Rokeby Ball on Friday, so I shall be sure to send the orphanage’s regards for his continued benevolence.” Knowing him, he would likely forget to ask her to dance as he had at the last three balls they had conversed at until she had unsubtly prompted him. Not that Lord Dorchester ever asked anyone else to dance, either—but still. His continued indifference was most unflattering when she was trying so hard to appeal to him specifically with her daring new gowns. “Unless I see him beforehand, of course, in which case…”
“Oh dear,” the Reverend Smythe interrupted with a grave expression on his face as he stared at the missive in his hand. “Oh dear, oh dear. Poor Mrs. Leyton-Brown.”
“Has she taken a further turn for the worse?” The matron sank into the chair beside Vee. The ailing Mrs. Leyton-Brown had always been one of the orphanage’s most generous benefactors.
Not only had her annual stipend kept the wolves from the door, but she had also been one of their most relentless fundraisers in society, holding benefit after benefit in their honor, until ill health had forced her to spend more and more of her time at her house in Brighton. She had even donated this building to them when the reverend had wanted to create a different sort of orphanage, simply because she believed in his vision.
“Hasn’t the poor dear suffered enough?”
To add to her many health burdens, Mrs. Leyton-Brown had suffered a stroke six months ago, which had left her bedbound.
“Her suffering is at an end now, Mrs. Witherspoon.” The Reverend Smythe passed the letter across the desk so both ladies could read it. “She apparently died peacefully in her sleep last week. This is from her solicitor in Brighton who is the executor of her estate. He has invited me to call at his office at my convenience to sign the particulars of the generous bequest left to us by Mrs. Leyton-Brown in her last will and testament.”
“What a selfless and generous soul she was.” Vee did not want to sound mercenary, but in their current predicament, the orphanage needed all the generous bequests it could get its hands on. “Do we know how much?”
“Let’s hope Mrs. Leyton-Brown left us enough to fix the roof.” Mrs. Witherspoon winced with guilt as she said this. “God rest her.”
The Reverend Smythe patted the older woman’s hand with a bittersweet smile on his face. “Oh, I am sure it will, Mrs. Witherspoon, and then some. I’ve never mentioned it, because it felt disrespectful to do so to a benefactor who has already done so much for us, but when I visited her in Brighton in September, Mrs. Leyton-Brown faithfully assured me that not only was she leaving our little orphanage a sum of four figures in her will—”
“Fourfigures!” The good they could do with a thousand pounds took Vee’s breath away.
“God bless her!” Mrs. Witherspoon clutched her bosom in excitement. “We can finally fix the roof.”
“We can indeed.” The reverend’s smile transformed into a grin. “We might also be able to do something about our distinct lack of space, because—” His wily old eyes shone as he paused for dramatic effect. “—she also promised to leave us the building next door!”
Chapter Three
I am trying not to think ill of Papa for missing my birthday—again. Even if it is for the third year in a row. I am convinced there must be a very good reason for his continued absence and silence. I am also trying not to think ill of Diana, who said his lack of presence in our lives was surely present enough…
