Finding the Bluestockings Heart (The Colchester Sisters Book 3)

by Charlotte Darcy

  “I had wondered the same myself,” Irving began. “But then I had assumed that your feelings were such that you were comfortable without one.”

  “And that is exactly what I had assumed myself,” Verity said, finding that the truth was very much setting her free; or setting her tongue free, at any rate. “I have enjoyed our conversations very much and you are a very handsome man, Irving,” she said, seeing the suddenly stunned look on his face. “But I did not consider that I had come to think of you as something other than a friend. I did, of course, detect some sympathy between us in the matter of our interests and perhaps even our quietly held opinions of society,” she went on. “But when I took your arm this evening, on the way in here, I realized that just because I had not thought about it did not mean it was not there. What I am trying to say is that I have discovered that I like you very much indeed and I have discovered it quite suddenly. Forgive me, for it made me a little tongue-tied and uncomfortable. It is not something that I am used to experiencing, you see, and it took me quite unawares,” Verity said and gave him a very simple smile to indicate that she had finished.

  “Goodness, you are a very honest young woman,” he said, now seeming a little tongue-tied himself.

  “Forgive me, should I not have been?” Verity asked, feeling all at sea in an area of life she did not know well at all.

  “Oh, no, you absolutely should have been,” he said and smiled at her, laughing a little as if he could not quite believe it. “I am just taken aback because I have never heard anybody speak so plainly. No wonder you thought the young man creeping along the assembly rooms so amusing. You are very direct.”

  “I would like to say it is simply because I have always thought it easier to be so, but the truth is that I do not know how to be any different. I am afraid this is my character; this is how I am,” she said without any hint of apology.

  “And I am glad of it, Verity. I had never dared to hope that I would experience something like this in my life. I am ten years older than you, as you know, and I had quite given up on the idea of finding something like this, something so unusual.”

  “And you are pleased to find something so unusual?” Verity said, not entirely sure that she understood.

  “I am more pleased than I can ever say,” he said, and he looked into her eyes for a very long time.

  They sat in just such a fashion, quietly looking at one another, until the room fell to a hush and the speaker for the evening cleared his throat and introduced himself.

  Without another word, Irving smiled at her and they both faced the front, easier with each other than they had ever been and ready to share the wonder of an interest in common.

  Chapter Twelve

  For the first time, the dark and somewhat claustrophobic atmosphere of Clarendon’s did not bother Irving at all. He had arrived before Amos, but the host recognized him from his previous visits and ordered the clerk to sign him in as a guest.

  He was keen to speak to Amos for something had been greatly playing on his mind ever since that wonderful evening in the town hall with Verity.

  Her honesty would have knocked him down into his seat had he not already been seated, for he was sure that he had never known a young woman to speak so plainly before. And yet she spoke her truth gently, with poise and dignity, and it had affected him to the very core of his being.

  Verity did not go against her mother’s undoubtedly careful training in a willful sense, she was just the sort of woman who answered a question truthfully for good or ill. She did not twist things or have another person guess at her mood. She simply declared it there and then and it had been the most refreshing thing that Irving had ever encountered.

  Not only refreshing, but it had made him face a little truth of his own. He had known almost immediately that Verity was a young lady he would not only fall in love with easily, but one whom he could love for the rest of his life without ever wondering about another.

  And by the time they had parted company and he had taken his own carriage home that evening, Irving knew that he had fallen in love with her. He allowed it to surface naturally, without questioning it or trying to rationalize it. He took a leaf from Verity’s book and simply looked at the truth and let it be. No denial, no pondering, just plain acceptance.

  “The clerk told me that you were already here, my good fellow,” Amos said with a broad smile and his customary hearty tone which, unsurprisingly, drew glances from the more morose in the dining room.

  “I hope you are well, Amos?”

  “Yes, very. And I would say that you look well too, Irving. This business of happiness is starting to suit you,” Amos said with the same teasing smirk he had worn on his face throughout all his years at Eton.

  “I believe it is,” Irving said honestly.

  “Your evening at the town hall went well?”

  “It went well. I had not expected it to go so well, especially since Verity did not have a chaperone,” Irving said and when he saw Amos’ eyes open wide, he rushed to explain. “For heaven’s sake, man! What on earth do you think I am about to tell you?”

  “Forgive me, I do rather tend to judge other men by my own rather poor standards.” His grin resurfaced, and Irving knew that they were back on familiar ground.

  “Although I realize you perceive it already, I feel I must tell you that nothing improper occurred at all,” Irving said flatly. “But I do believe that your sister and I are moving ever closer to a formal courtship. We spoke a little of it and she admitted very honestly that she feels as I feel.”

  “I knew it. I knew the two of you would get along if only I could put you together,” Amos said triumphantly. “I cannot wait to tell my sister Jane what a fine matchmaker I am. She will be green, my dear fellow. Green. She thinks herself such an authority on these things and it turns out that it is I who am Cupid.”

  “Amos, try to concentrate for a moment, my old friend,” Irving said with an expression of exhausted disbelief. “You really are the most excitable man I have ever met.”

  “Anything to pass the time.” Amos turned as if to look for one of the servants. “Where are they all?”

  “I am sure somebody will be with us in a moment,” Irving said. “As to the subject of you gloating to your sister Jane that you are Hertfordshire’s greatest matchmaker, I would beg that you do not.”

  “But why?”

  “In the last days I have begun to grow uneasy with the manner in which I made your sister’s acquaintance.”

  “What do you mean?” Amos said, looking at him with genuine blankness.

  “Well, I did not truly happen upon her in Mrs. Barton’s drawing room, did I? In fact, if you had never talked to me of her, I would never have met her at all. But Verity does not know any of this.”

  “I see.” Amos nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, so you would not like her to discover it by my carelessly telling Jane. Yes, I understand perfectly. Have no fear at all, Irving, your secret is safe with me.”

  “Whilst I am pleased with your uncharacteristic perception, Amos, that is not entirely what I meant. I do not want you to tell it to your sister Jane because I would prefer that Verity hear it from me.”

  “You mean to tell her?” Amos said loudly, causing an elderly gentleman who had seemed to be almost asleep over a steamed pudding to raise his head and tut somewhat forcefully.

  “Yes, I think I must.”

  “But why on earth would you tell the truth?” Amos said, incredulous.

  “You are her brother; how can you ask such a question? Why would you not want me to be honest with your own sister? The idea of anything other should make you furious.”

  “Yes, yes, with any other fellow it would,” Amos said earnestly. “But this is a little bit different, is it not? Perhaps the manner of your first meeting was a little contrived, and even the second meeting. Actually, possibly the third as well,” Amos said, bungling the whole thing terribly. “But the point is, the rest has been natural, has grown from what is truly t
here. The little plans are over, and it is time to forget them. It is time for life to be lived. Why on earth would you do or say anything to upset it all now?”

  “Then you admit that your sister would not be entirely happy to discover it?”

  “It is too hard to tell with Verity. I am sure that you are becoming aware that she is a most unusual young woman. One might say something and assume it would offend only to find her taking the information quite sensibly and rationally. She is not quick to moods or temper, but she is rather a rational sort. She might sit down for a while and wonder if one very small untruth at the beginning of things might indicate a pattern for the rest of her life. She is a thinker, sir. A philosopher and a theorizer, if you will. And I am not enough of either of those things to be able to predict with any certainty that she would take such news without consequence.”

  “I do not think I like the idea of being anything other than entirely honest with her. You see, Verity has such courage. Her level of honesty requires such courage, you see. And if I do not display the same honesty, I do not display the same courage.”

  “Then you will get on very well being every bit the philosopher and theorizer that my sister is,” Amos said with a modicum of disdain. “Oh, my dear fellow, can you not simply forget it? Let it be?”

  “I must admit, I would not like to forfeit her good opinion of me,” Irving said slowly, wondering if it really did matter after all.

  “That is the spirit, Irving!” Amos said with a broad and boyish smile. “Ah, if you would?” He called loudly across the room, smiling at the approaching servant. “Could I have my usual, please? And the same for my companion if it would suit him.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Irving said, hardly registering Amos’ words.

  Instead, he was imagining how he would feel to lose Verity. They were hardly courting yet but if she walked away from him now in anger, Irving knew that he would never find anybody to replace her in his heart. He knew that was why he had come to regard her so well and so quickly; there was not another woman in the world like Verity Colchester.

  If he spent the rest of his life looking, he knew he would be a very lonely man. And so it was, in that moment, he decided to take the advice of his old school friend. He would say nothing of how it was he had first come to set eyes on her all those weeks ago in Mrs. Barton’s drawing room. And if his life took the wonderful turn he had begun to suspect it might, would it really matter in the end?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Less than a week later, Verity and Amos made their way to Forton House to have afternoon tea with Irving and his mother.

  Verity liked the house very well, for it reminded her somewhat of her father’s house. It was of respectable size and wealth, but comfortable rather than ostentatious. The drawing room was decorated warmly, with dark wood furniture, light brocade upholstery, and heavy green velvet curtains. And yet it did not detract from the summer at all, for large windows let in such wonderful light.

  “It is such a warm day, Verity,” Mrs. Ayres began. “I wonder if you think we should take tea on the terrace instead of in this room?”

  They had arrived only five minutes before, and yet Verity was already at her ease with Irving’s mother. She was a gentle woman who gave herself time to think before responding to any question; a quality which Verity liked very well for the simple fact that she shared it.

  “Oh yes, what a nice idea. It really is so warm, and it would be a shame to miss the day,” Verity replied enthusiastically.

  “I shall make my way down to let the maids know,” Irving said and bowed before disappearing.

  “Let us go out through the morning room,” Mrs. Ayres said, and Verity and Amos followed her.

  The terrace was streaked with warm sunshine, so lovely and bright that Verity had to squint. There was a well laid out seating area, with wrought iron benches and chairs, and a table large enough to accommodate a tea tray when it arrived.

  “All done,” Irving said when he stepped out through the French windows of the morning room to join them. “Tea will be with us shortly.”

  “Thank you, Irving,” Mrs. Ayres said. “Verity, my son tells me you are greatly interested in botany,” she smiled at Verity and it was clear that her interest was genuine.

  “Yes, I have a great interest. I first met Irving when we both went to listen to Mr. Winstanley give a talk on the use of microscopes.”

  “Irving told me that you have a microscope of your own.” Mrs. Ayres looked more interested than ever. “What a thrilling thing. You must have found so much of interest to look at.”

  “I have.” Verity spoke with enthusiasm. “All manner of things, Mrs. Ayres. I have looked at leaves of all kinds, even tree bark. And just last week I cut up a strawberry and put a slice of it on a slide and studied it very closely. They look quite different when magnified, especially the skins. The tiny seeds are so distinct when one looks at them through a microscope.”

  “You have beaten me to it, Verity,” Irving said with a laugh. “I had quite forgotten about strawberries.”

  “Verity would never have forgotten about the strawberries, Irving,” Amos laughed. “She is very steady when she has an idea in her head. She is never happy until it is brought to some conclusion.”

  “Quite so,” Irving said and gave her a slow, handsome smile which made her blush a little.

  “That is a very good quality to have, Verity,” Mrs. Ayres said with some determination. “A quality you ought never to let go of under any circumstances.”

  Verity nodded her agreement and wondered what life had been like for Mrs. Ayres with a husband of the type that Amos had briefly described to her.

  Would she have been allowed to speak so freely when they had guests if her husband had still been alive? And how was it that the father’s influence had not seemed to pierce the son’s heart? For Verity was sure now that it had not.

  Jane had been right; Verity was blessed with intelligence and absolute rationality and, of course, she could discern a man’s character. If Irving had been anything like his father, he would not be so obviously respectful of his mother.

  Verity was beginning to feel as if all the pieces of life had started to fit together and fit together well. It all gave her a tremendous feeling of excitement.

  “This is a very fine garden, Mrs. Ayres. So many trees and such a lot of interest to it,” Verity said, peering out across a smooth sunlit lawn to the trees beyond.

  “Thank you, Verity. The gardener deserves all the credit if I am honest.”

  “Just to the left of the trees there, Verity, you will see that I have some raised beds,” Irving said. “I have been growing all manner of plants and herbs for study. There are many which have medicinal properties as I am sure you already know.”

  “I have read a little on the subject but have really only studied classical botany and have very little idea of the uses of plants for health.”

  “Perhaps Irving could show you after tea,” Mrs. Ayres said and smiled as two maids approached carrying trays.

  Verity enjoyed the serenity of the garden and the warmth of the conversation. Mrs. Ayres seemed to like Amos very much, laughing at his amusing comments and prompting him to make more. She really was a very nice woman and Verity thought that she would easily get on with her.

  “Would you like to take a little walk across the garden to the herb beds?” Irving asked and smiled at her when tea was finally done.

  He looked so handsome wearing dark cream breeches, brown boots, and a brown tailcoat and waistcoat. His blonde hair seemed to glint a little here and there in the sunshine and his skin looked a little more tanned.

  “Yes, please,” Verity said, looking at Amos and Mrs. Ayres.

  “Do go on, my dears,” Mrs. Ayres said warmly. “I have Amos to entertain me.”

  “I shall do my best,” Amos said and embarked upon some little piece of gossip he had picked up at the assembly rooms, much to Mrs. Ayres’ delight.

  Verity and Irvi
ng walked across the lawn side-by-side, some little distance apart. It was as if they were both self-conscious about their burgeoning relationship in the company of others. But it was still exciting to her, even though she did not enjoy the luxury of walking arm in arm with him.

  “I began with feverfew, Verity,” he said the moment they reached the first of the raised flower beds. “I had suffered greatly from headaches, you see, and had read that feverfew was the very thing for such a malady,” he said and pointed out the plant to her.

  “And did it work?” Verity asked, leaning over the bed just a little so that she might inspect the plant closer still.

  “I would not be without this wondrous little plant, Verity. I suppose that was where my interest in the subject began. I had only grown this, you see, as a means of discovering if it really did help to cure headaches. When I realized that it did, when I had the very proof of it, my interest was fully drawn. I wanted to find out what else there was to be discovered.”

  “And this is St. John’s wort, is it not? I have seen it growing wild.”

  “Yes, it is very good for a low mood. I grew that for my mother when my father was still alive,” he said and winced at the unwitting revelation.

  “And did it work for your mother?” Verity said without any hint of embarrassment.

  “Yes, it worked very well. Although I am bound to say that she has no need of it anymore.” Irving gave an irreverent chuckle and Verity could not help but laugh.

  “I think that you do not miss your father greatly,” Verity said innocently.

  “I do not miss him at all.” He shook his head. “My mother missed him at first, or at least I believe she thought she did.”

  “Only thought she did?”

  “It was just such a great change that she struggled to get used to, that is all. She was free suddenly, but she did not realize it. That is the power that some people have over others, I suppose. His control of her seems to extend beyond the grave and I wondered if she would ever become her own person again.”