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The hand was a little close, and at first, she was not sure that she had read it aright – but a second examination yielded the same interpretation of the words.
With a small sob, she clutched the letter to her breast, finding herself to be shaking.
She was, at least for the near future, saved.
Lady Wexley, her late husband’s mother, had written to invite her to come and live with them, at Wexley Hall.
She would have to stay here until Lady Chittendom could arrange another governess, and until she could arrange a coach ticket – for it was certain that Lady Chittendom would not deign to allow her own coach to transport Verity – but those delays she could bear, knowing that a better future was approaching.
*****
Daniel was exhausted. It had been a little over a month since his father’s death, and it had included quite the most miserable Christmas of his life. There had been seemingly endless paperwork, and a plethora of things that he had needed to arrange.
At least none of the relatives had contested any part of his father’s Will.
His wastrel of a brother had been of no help whatsoever, spending even more time than before in the local Inn, or in the Inns of nearby towns. Now that Daniel was Duke, he was seriously considering cutting off his brother’s funds, in the faint hope that doing so might make Duncan become more responsible. But that could wait for now, at present, all he wanted was a period of time to rest, and to allow himself to actually grieve. His relationship with his father had been somewhat fraught, but still, he had loved the man, despite it all.
Now, he was grateful for the strictures of mourning.
The continuous wearing of black was a little dampening on the spirits, but the requirement to stay away from all social activities was a blessing. No one could expect him to be seen in London during the coming Season now. He had, of course, also needed to postpone his journey to Brighton. But that, truly, did not concern him – for now, the timing of choosing a wife would be entirely his own.
The weather had eased into a steady aching cold, with crisp clear days after misty mornings, and he was able to ride out across his estate each day, finding peace in that, and time to think. He rarely saw anyone else when he was out, beyond a few of his tenants, and he was happy to be alone.
Perhaps, if he lost himself in planning improvements to the estate, he could forget the grief for a while, and forget the demands of the title, which he would have to face up to, eventually. The demands which, inescapably, included the finding of a wife.
*****
It had taken three weeks, but finally, all was in place. Lady Chittendom had grudgingly allowed the few possessions Verity had, which were not able to be packed into her two trunks, to be stored in the attics at Chittendom Park until Verity could send for them. Now, she stood on the gravel at the front of the house, watching as the footman loaded her trunks onto the small chaise, which would take her as far as the coaching Inn, where she would join the mail coach.
The prospect of travelling on the mail coach, crowded in amongst sundry others, did not appeal – but she had no choice. There was no maid to accompany her, and Lady Chittendom’s charity did not extend as far as sending Verity all the way to Wexley Hall in one of her own carriages. Lady Chittendom had bid her a frosty goodbye as she left the house, then turned back to her parlour as if Verity was the most vexing thing she had ever seen, for having the positive insolence to actually leave her employ.
“We’re ready to go, Mrs Millwood.”
The coachman’s voice brought her back from her contemplation of Lady Chittendom’s attitude, and she smiled.
“Thank you, Alfred.”
She stepped forward, and up into the carriage.
As they rolled away down the drive, she did not look back.
She had sent a letter to Lady Wexley more than a week ago, informing her of her plans, and the date of her likely arrival at Wexley Hall, but had not received any reply. Perhaps that was because it was still winter, and the roads sometimes muddy? It did not matter, truly, for she was committed to this path now, and she had to trust that, based on Lady Wexley’s letter to her, she would be welcome at Wexley Hall.
It was a relief to have that to look forward to, for, as the days passed, she had become more and more certain that her husband had left her with more than just grief.
Chapter Two
Not far from Summerfield Park lay the village of Bellbrook. The land it was built on was part of the extensive estate, and its shops and homes paid yearly rent to Summerfield Park and looked to the Duke for protection.
As rent was minimal, and they had been granted the freedom to farm their own small plots of land, as well as the lands which they farmed for the Duke, the Duke of Summerfield’s tenants were largely cheerful and productive. Most did not aspire to higher levels in society, and the village was generally a happy place. The change from one Duke to another, with the death of the old Duke in December, had made little difference to their lives, for the son was as decent a man as the father. It was the new Duke’s younger brother that they did not have much time for.
The village boasted a parish church and two ale houses, one with a small, attached Inn. The Bellbrook Arms appealed to travellers of higher social classes, and was a regular stopping place for those taking long coach journeys. The mail coach paused there too, and the Inn had become rather the hub of the town. The Arms was known for comfort, and for particularly discrete care of gentlewomen.
On one evening in late January, a winsome woman with fair hair and a tidy bonnet emerged from the mail coach and entered the Inn.
“Mr Miles Jeffriesat your service, ma’am. I’m the proprietor. What can I do for you?”
Verity smiled, pleased to be treated with courtesy, even though she shockingly lacked a maid.
