This was not about her, she thought, not about her struggles with 7the past. This was about now, and now the girls’ faces were glowing. Verbena felt a smile start down in the middle of her chest as she watched them dig through the mass of colors and fabrics.
Annabelle already had her own worn dress off, all the morning’s careful combing of her hair totally ruined in her eagerness, but that first coveted gown did not fit. Nor did the second or third, but the fourth was perfect. Lizabeth was not far behind her sister, making two increasing piles of clothing, those that fit and those that did not.
It was not long before bubbles of laughter started. Verbena felt herself joining in helplessly. Gowns too large had to be put on and paraded, even if the sleeves slid off shoulders and sashes could go around twice. Gowns too small became headdresses or oddly shaped shawls. She could only make sure that nothing was damaged, but as long as the girls were careful, she let them have their play.
There had not been enough of that in their lives, Verbena thought as she folded another discarded gown. She could not stop herself from sliding a finger along the shiny ribbons, and caressing the delicate lace.
A knock came at the door. “Come in,” she called.
She was not surprised to see Damon.
“Damon! Damon!” Annabelle bounced up to him and twirled, her brown hair flying. “See my new gown? It is so pretty! I have never had anything so pretty in my whole life.”
Lizabeth would not be outdone. She scampered over, and shook out her own skirt. “I took two pink ones and a yellow one, and two green ones, and this blue one. And we are not even done,” she said, and pointed back to the bed. “See that pile? It is all mine.” Verbena was struck by Lizabeth’s unerring sense of what would look good with her blonde hair.
Damon smiled down at both of them. “I’m glad you found things that fit. You won’t need many for now, just enough for the trip and a few days until you get the rest of your clothes made. I’m going to have a whole wardrobe sewn for both of you when we get to the city.”
Annabelle and Lizabeth exchanged glances with silent “oh’s” of acquisitive delight. Verbena watched them, and the look on their faces gave her concern. She was not going to let them become greedy, and surrounded by this sudden luxury, her task was going to be a big one.
Damon turned to her, pulling her away from her heavy thoughts. “I will send a maid up and we can give them the ones to wash for the journey. We will leave tomorrow or the next day, depending on how fast we can get everything ready.” He turned both girls around and eased them toward the bed again. “It is going to be cold on the journey, so make certain you have nice warm pelisses.”
With the girls’ attention again distracted by the mound of clothes, Damon reached for Verbena’s hand. “Come with me, wife. The maid will help the girls find whatever else they will need.”
He hustled her out of the room and into the dim hall, tugging her along behind him as they passed room after room. Verbena looked at the back of Damon’s head, that rich curling hair. Now she knew how it felt against her fingers, how silky it was. Who would imagine a man’s hair could be so soft? She knew, too, the taste of his lips. Knew and craved them. Every moment, he burrowed further into her life.
He stopped in front of a door, heavy wood like all the other doors in the hallway. “On the other side of this door is an armoire filled with gowns.” He pressed her hands together like a prayer. “Yes, they are from my sisters, but this is the closet where all their discards go. They may not be in the latest styles, but any of them is better than what you own. The two decent gowns I bought for you are not enough to carry you until the London modiste can finish a new wardrobe. Forgive me for being so blunt, but we both know it is true.” One eyebrow cocked, and his eyes challenged her.
She swallowed, remembering the feel of the ribbons between her fingers.
His hand closed over the door handle. “I know how much you hurt. I share that. We both have suffered the same loss. Before you feel you must reject this gift out of hand, no one will expect you to wear black indefinitely, so think of the colors you like best, and don’t be afraid to pick your favorites.” He pushed the door open.
Verbena stepped inside. A white-canopied bed with matching curtains draped down each of the heavy carved posts and drawn away on the sides, a massive armoire twice the width of the one in her room, a lovely table with a mirror above and a stool whose pristine skirting matched the curtain around the bed.
Damon strode over to the armoire and opened it. A rainbow of colors, pinks and blues and greens and golds, ruffles and petticoats, silk and satin puffed out at him as if they had been chained behind the door. Verbena wondered how they ever got the doors shut, and if Damon would be able to close them once she was done.
She faced him, trying to ignore the profusion of glorious colors and fabrics at the edge of her vision. She had never owned such beauty. She had never expected it to be this hard to do the right thing. There was a limit to how much of herself she would give up. “I must do something for mourning. She was my sister, and I loved her.”
He just looked at her for a moment, then nodded once. “I wore an armband for Andrew for months. However, we have to get to London. I will order you mourning clothes once there. This is just for now.”
Damon shoved at the ruffles, swatting bits aside as he dug through the colors. He pushed another swath of fluff aside, looking bewildered as he gazed at the feminine frippery before him. “To think, this is only part of their wardrobe,” he muttered. “Good lord.”
He turned back to her. “Pick out something you like. I know there must be respectable colors in there.” His eyes finally twinkled. “I know my way around corsets and ribbons. I will be happy to help you dress.”
She straightened her shoulders, and walked toward the armoire. “I will pick out a few on my own,” she said, and waved him away. “There is no need for you to watch.”
“I have no intention of just watching,” he said with a wicked grin as he moved over toward the curtains, to pull them apart and let the faint winter daylight come through the thin lace curtain hiding behind the heavy ones. “You select what you want to try on, and I will play maid.” He left the window and walked over to the bed to flop down onto it, staring up at her with those keen black eyes. “Come, my dear. No one will interrupt.”
“Damon!” Verbena felt the heat rush up her face.
“Verbena,” he mimicked. “We are fighting against time. We are married. I have seen all there is of you, there are no more secrets.” Sitting up, he made to rise. “Pick out a dress, Verbena, or I will pick one for you.”
She turned back to the armoire. It took a moment, but finally the jumble of colors, of blues and primroses and jonquils and puces and emeralds, began to separate into individual gowns with their own styles, some with collars around the back of the gown plunging into low-cut bodices, some with longer, close-fitting sleeves, others with soft, ruffled styles that just covered the shoulders, some with embroidery all over the dress, others with hems of any manner of design from ruffles to braiding. Muslin, silk, lawn, cotton, and a few she would have sworn were wool, but not like any wool she had ever felt, soft and fine as a breath of air.
She took a breath, and reached into the pile.
*
The house was filled with happy conversation and laughter as they all sat down for supper. If breakfast had been elegant, supper was beyond lavish. Verbena stared in amazement at all the food that had been cooked just for them. Fish, chicken, mutton, Yorkshire pudding, not even mentioning the sauces and a fruity cordial for the older ones, served in etched stemware glasses that caught the candlelight. She watched the children anxiously, wishing she dared whisk most of the dishes away, afraid they would get stomach upset from all the rich foods.
“What is London like?” Lizabeth asked between bites.
“Big.’ Damon smiled at her. “It is people and buildings as far as you can imagine. Parts of the city are beautiful, with parks a
nd trees and flowers growing in boxes under the windows. There are stores selling everything you can imagine.” He turned to Julius. “Bookstores fairly litter the streets. You will never run out of things of read.”
Then he sobered and looked around the table. “I want you all to listen to me. You are used to being able to roam outdoors. That is not possible in London. There are pickpockets and footpads roaming the crowds to fleece you of whatever you carry, so when I say you must never go out unaccompanied, I mean it.”
The children stopped eating and gazed at him. Even the boys were sober.
Annabelle had a puzzled frown on her face. “What do the feet wear?”
Damon blinked at her, then glanced over at Verbena for translation. It even took her a moment to decipher. “Footpads, darling. I don’t know why they are called that, but they are dangerous men who live by stealing from other people.”
“Did their mothers never teach them better?” Annabelle asked innocently, looking between Damon and Verbena with her big blue eyes.
Damon bit the inside of his cheek, Verbena felt a giggle threaten, but swallowed it down. “Likely not.” She did not dare meet Damon’s eyes for fear they both would lose control.
A couple deep breaths later, once again somber, Damon continued. “We have a long journey ahead of us. It will take us at least three days to reach London, and along the way we will be stopping at inns. Everything I said about London applies to them. No one goes around the inn unaccompanied by myself or one of the outriders. I will do my best to get us rooms together, but that might not be possible, depending on how full the inn is. Each and every one of you will do exactly as I say. If I tell you to stay in your room, you will do that. And when I say we have to leave immediately, anything that is not back in the bags is left behind. Is that clear?”
“I don’t know why we are even going, if it is that bad,” Matthew muttered from where he sat across from Verbena.
Damon must have heard, because he fixed Matthew with a fierce glare. “My home in London is in one of the best areas, so when we get there, we will be as safe as I can make it, but only a fool ignores danger signs. I trust none of you children are fools.” He looked around the table. “I want you with me. I have plans for your futures, good ones that will guarantee security for the rest of your lives, but that can’t happen here. Some day when you are older I want you to look back on this move as a happy one.”
He put his spoon down. “Tomorrow morning, the trunks will be packed. My goal is to begin our trip by midday, no later. Can we do that?”
Five faces looked at him, serious under the current of excitement, and nodded.
CHAPTER 21
The carriage creaked and groaned as it lumbered up the hill. Inside the box, Verbena looked around at the tightly packed group and tried to calm her nervous stomach. Damon had promised when they awoke this morning that they would reach London today. Word had been sent to his London home the first day of their journey, so rooms should be ready.
Servants. Her own servants. Every time she thought of that, her heart fluttered with incipient panic.
In a way, she was glad the trip was almost over. Despite the luxury of riding in a carriage, the trip had not been comfortable. The three males sat on one seat while she, the girls, and Roderick in his tidy little basket had the opposite seat, as they had for the past four days. Each morning they all took their respective places in the carriage. Carriage seats, Verbena discovered watching the men opposite, were not meant to sit three adults comfortably, and the boys really were adult-size. Elbows and shoulders had become annoying.
At least they had managed to stay relatively warm, far warmer than she expected. Damon had provided them with the thickest of bearskin carriage blankets. While they all might have been warm under the blankets, the air around them was crisp. The windows were fogged from all their breathing. Stops for nature’s calls had become welcome breaks if only to be able to bend arms. She had seen Damon and the boys stretching and flapping to get the kinks out before they climbed back in.
The inns had been better than she expected. Granted, few places were prepared for a baronet’s son to arrive with four children, a wife and a baby, so one or two nights they had slept in tight quarters, but the beds were clean, the sheets smelled fresh, and no one left itching.
All in all, a successful journey.
They crested a hill and the carriage air was sucked away in a collective gasp as chimneys rose above the horizon, row after row of shadowy square spokes spewing black into the darkening sky. Buildings spread as far as they could see. A grey haze hung over the .air.
Misgivings rose again, giving Verbena a moment of panic. They were driving into gloom. How could anyone see the sun in this place?
“Is that London?” Julius asked in a hushed voice.
“Yes. You will love it.” Damon smiled at him first, then the rest of them, rubbing his hands as if in glee. “I intend to get you tickets to Astley’s Amphitheatre with more horses and dogs than you can imagine. After that, I thought we would go to the opera.”
They were here and there was no turning back. Verbena looked at Damon and wanted some of his enthusiasm.
He grinned at the girls across the carriage. “You have not heard music or singing until you have been to the opera.” He turned his attention to the boys at his side. “It can’t be described, it has to be experienced. I know this is a change for you, but once you start school, you will make new friends. Eton in particular is designed to accept those without privilege, so you don’t need to worry about fitting in, and you won’t be far away.”
The children nodded and went back to staring out the frosty glass.
“We are coming in on the West End,” Damon said, and leaned back in satisfaction. “It is by far the nicest part of London.”
By ‘nicest,’ Verbena thought as she watched him, read ‘wealthy,’ and sure enough, town houses soon appeared, some set far back on snow-covered swaths of grass.
And, much to her relief, there were trees. Not the forests around Thernwood, for which her heart suddenly ached with a sharp sense of loss, but at least something green did grow here. If plants could survive, maybe the children could manage, as well.
Verbena sat up straighter. Ever since Damon had announced the trip to London, the city itself had felt like another load for her to bear. Looking around the carriage at her family, Verbena tried to find a bit more courage. She had taken over the children when Mother died, and she had been much younger then. She had traveled off to take care of Edeline, and survived her death as well.
Damon looked across the carriage at her. His dark gaze sharpened, and Verbena could not look away. She did not like the frightening sense of surrender, but she could no more break the connection than she could make herself invisible. She lifted her chin, trying for a semblance of her old confidence, and smiled.
Damon’s eyes softened, and he gave a quick nod. “That’s the way, my girl,” he murmured so softly that she knew none of the children heard.
For the first time since nearing London, Matthew perked up. He pressed his face against the glass window and gaped. “Lookit how fast they go!” He flinched as a small two-wheeled vehicle whipped past so close Verbena was surprised the two vehicles did not get tangled together and overturn.
When the sporty little gig had rattled out of sight, Matthew sat back, staring dreamily ahead, no doubt planning his own race down the street.
The further in they went, the thicker the city became, streets crossing each other like tangled yarn. They turned down one of those streets, getting a closer look at those houses, stretching tall, three and four stories high, curtained windows on every floor. Wherever there were not houses, there were tall stone walls that held the sidewalks at bay and kept eager eyes from peeking in.
At the end of one street, a four-story house edged with a stone fence dominated the corner, the house set back far enough for a span of snow-clumped grass and a tall, sweeping tree. A walk led up some stairs to the
door, with elegant scrolled wrought iron railings stark against the white background of snow.
The carriage slowed, the driver called, “Whoa,” and the carriage gave a settle, adding a final punctuation to the journey. Leather reins slapped as the horses shook their heads, a sound with which she was now quite familiar.
“Take a look, everybody. Your new home. Our new home.” Damon’s good spirits added sunshine to the carriage.
Verbena took a bracing breath and made herself look objectively at their new home, or what was visible in the last rays of twilight. Three stories? Or was that four? Steps led up to the door, which might take off some height inside. This was the kind of house, she decided, that should be seen in the bright of day. Designs appeared to embellish the brick front, but they were hard to see in the fading light. She would have to go outside tomorrow at noon and take a better look. What it must be like in the summer, when the trees were green!
She remembered their house, and the leaning porch, and faded paint, the roof that was just waiting to spring a leak. No leaks here, she was certain. Undoubtedly the rooms were twice the size of their old rooms, or more, and the children would never have to share beds unless they wanted to. Wallpaper would not dare peel, and the chimney was strong and solid.
She looked again at her new home. At the moment, the windows were dim, as if the only light was coming from the back. Where the servants were? Of course he had servants. No one who lived in a house this big took care of it alone.
“Everybody out,” Damon said, and the girls clambered around the others’ legs in their eager rush. Lizabeth wrested the handle without waiting for help and jumped down as if she never even noticed the dismounting steps should be there at all, typical of her. One of these days the coachman would get there first and she would trip over steps she did not expect. Verbena smiled at her thought and heard the brake groan into place.
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