by Louise Allen
Until now.
He stopped breathing. The sounds of the park, the birdsong, the distant voices, the crunch of stone under wheel and hoof all vanished. Then, within a second it came back and he was breathing normally and his hand was steady on the reins and the woman beside him showed no sign that he had said or done anything out of the normal. Certainly not that he had said, I love you.
He was in love with Verity Wingate, the one unmarried woman in England who did not want to catch a duke. Verity, who wanted her freedom of thought and action. Verity, who expected him to conspire with her to give other unmarried women theirs. Miss Wingate, the argumentative antiquarian who handled human skulls without a single maidenly quiver of distaste.
Verity Wingate, who was sympathetic and bracingly kind about his childhood, whose kisses inflamed him, who turned to supple fire in his arms. Who would face ruin rather than marry him.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Are you still convinced you did the right thing in refusing to marry me?’ Will asked. Incredibly, his voice was quite steady. ‘The reception you have received in London has not changed your mind?’
‘It has been far better than I dared hope,’ Verity said. If she was surprised by the change of subject, she did not show it. ‘The Queen’s acceptance has been a great help, of course. There have been some snubs, some cuts, but not too many. There is a Drawing Room at St James’s Palace in a week’s time. My aunt is certain I will receive a card for it and then even the stuffiest matron should decide that it is all a storm in a teacup.’
So, she had not heard about the whispers in the clubs that he had got her with child. Or, alternatively, that she had humiliated him, thrown him in the lake and he was plotting his subtle revenge on her. Some gossip had her as a clever, heartless wanton, others as a frigid prude. He could only pray she did not hear before it died down and a new scandal became the talk of the town. If he could put a name to the whisperers or if he found a wager in the betting books, then he would be issuing challenges.
‘And your decision?’ he pressed, his voice neutral as though this only concerned him as a matter of right or wrong.
‘Of course it was the right thing. How can you doubt it? My goodness, can you imagine the two of us married?’
Yes, I can.
There was a strained edge to her laughter, he had obviously embarrassed her by raising the subject.
‘Friends, then,’ Will said. He turned the horses on the track towards the Stanhope Gate and willed his rebellious body, stirring at the thought of Verity’s embrace, into submission. He had been trained to hide his emotions. Now, for the first time, that restraint was going to be tested to the utmost.
* * *
‘Whatever have you done to your walking dress? Thank goodness it is not one of your new ones.’ Her aunt had followed her into her bedchamber to hear all about the drive.
‘Are these grass stains, Miss Wingate?’ The maid stood ready, clothes brush poised. ‘Only I had best take it now and sponge them before they set, if they are.’
‘Yes, I fell from the phaeton,’ Verity said. ‘The horses pecked, I was off balance. You know what those high-perch phaetons are like. There is absolutely nothing to worry about, Aunt. I landed on the grass, as you can see.’
The maid helped her out of the dress and into a wrapper and hurried off to work whatever magic happened to stains below stairs.
‘You are not hurt?’ Aunt Caroline asked, tugging at the bell-pull. ‘Tea and sal volatile, I think. Now, should we send for Dr Tancroft? What Lord Sedgley was thinking of, I cannot imagine. It is definitely the last time you go driving with him. He might at least have escorted you in to make his apologies for his bad driving.’
‘No need for the doctor. I am just a little bruised and sore.’ Verity sat down with a wince. ‘And Lord Sedgley did not bring me home. The Duke did.’ There would be no hiding it, the footman and the butler had both seen him.
‘Aylsham? But what was he doing there? Oh, there you are, Wethering. Tea, if you please, and ask my woman to bring sal volatile and something for bruises.’
‘The Duke was riding in the park with friends. He saw the accident and, um, was displeased with Lord Sedgley for not driving carefully enough. He suggested that it would be better if he drove me here himself in the Viscount’s carriage.’
‘And Sedgley?’
‘He walked home.’
Her aunt blinked once. ‘Verity, am I to understand that Aylsham struck Sedgley?’
‘I believe so. I was momentarily stunned and I did not see it.’ She braced herself for the explosion.
‘How wonderful!’ Aunt Caroline clapped her hands together. ‘So romantic.’
‘It was nothing of the kind,’ Verity said, wishing that Will had been inspired by love, not by gallantry.
‘If you say so, dear.’ Her aunt bit her lip in thought. ‘Perhaps it would be best to cancel the dinner engagement. You are bound to be a trifle stiff after that fall and I would not wish you to appear anything but graceful.’
And I would like a little respite before I have to face him again... ‘Yes, I think that would be for the best,’ Verity agreed.
* * *
Will normally slept well. It was a matter of composing oneself to sleep and having the discipline not to allow disturbing thoughts to intrude. As he sat up in bed at five in the morning the day after the incident in Hyde Park he admitted to himself that he had obviously never had sufficiently agitating reflections to truly put that to the test. Except, of course, for that wakeful night spent in extreme discomfort on the floor of the island hut.
Being in love as an adult was not the state of idiotic, rose-coloured happiness he had always assumed it was. It was painful and the physical pain of unsatisfied arousal was the least of it.
A month ago, faced with a reluctant young lady, Will would simply have exerted his powers to charm her and would have relied on her own self-interest and her parents’ pressure to secure her acceptance of his suit. But Verity had made him see things from the woman’s point of view and he realised that was simply a form of bullying, with his rank and wealth as the weapon.
Verity did not want him, other than for kisses against her better judgement. She had even been dubious about his offer of friendship. It was not false modesty that held him back from trying to change her mind. Will knew his own worth. His mirror told him that he was acceptablooking. His fencing master, a hard critic, assured him he was in fine physical shape. He knew himself to be intelligent and hard-working, believed that he was fair and loyal. His bed partners always seemed more than content. If there were aspects of his personality or life that a wife objected to he would do his best, within reason, to modify them. No, what stopped him was that Verity knew her own mind, had her fair share of pride and pushing her would only make her either dig in her heels or retreat.
If she could come to like him and trust him, then he could build on that. He had almost a year before he was out of mourning and would be expected to make a public show of seeking a wife. Months to show Verity the man behind the title, to build on what they had. And if that was not enough, then he at least knew how to hide pain.
* * *
Will pushed aside a pile of paperwork sent through by Fitcham and managed a rueful smile for his secretary’s choice of phrase. No, he had not found the tangled tale of an ancient lease of considerable interest. Of any interest at all, in fact, although his concentration was not helped by an internal battle over whether or not to call on Verity that afternoon. It was too soon and she had said she was shopping for a new wardrobe, which would mean time-consuming fittings, he told himself. He would leave it for a few more days.
‘Your Grace. A Reverend Harrington has called.’ One of the footmen proffered a silver salver with one card in the centre. ‘He is waiting in the Jade Room as I was unsure whether Your Grace is receiving.’
‘Harrington?�
�� Will picked up the card.
The Reverend Thomas Harrington, B.D. Cantab.
Vicar, St Wulfram’s Church, Chelsea
Ah, yes, the large, dark, self-assured specimen who had behaved so possessively towards Verity in the park. Now what did he want?
‘Your Grace?’
Will realised that he was tapping the rectangle of pasteboard against the edge of the salver. ‘Show him into here, John.’ It might be more courteous to go to the visitor in the reception room and offer him refreshments, but instinct kept Will in the study. My cave, he thought with an inward smile.
‘The Reverend Mr Harrington, Your Grace.’
They shook hands, Harrington took a seat, shot his cuffs, crossed his legs and smiled, displaying a fine set of white teeth. Will decided that he did not like the man and that he had no grounds other than Verity’s impatience with him the day before and his own instincts.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?’ he asked, taking the other seat on the visitor’s side of the desk. No need for displays of dominance. Yet.
‘As you may have gathered yesterday, Your Grace, I have the pleasure of Miss Wingate’s acquaintance.’
‘Yes, I observed that Miss Wingate knew you.’
‘And I observed that you had an admirably protective attitude to the young lady. Almost, I might venture, proprietary.’
Will narrowed his eyes at the cleric, whose smile hardened.
‘As a man of the cloth I feel it my duty to come to you on a most delicate matter, one I feel bound to mention, as it touches the honour of your great house and name.’
‘I find it extraordinary that you might concern yourself with something so personal to me. It might be best, Mr Harrington, if you were to come to the point directly.’
‘As you say, Your Grace. Miss Wingate is a most attractive, lively and charming young lady, but—’
‘Do have a care, Mr Harrington.’ Will did not move.
‘But she is not what she seems. Miss Wingate, I must tell you with great sorrow, is a young lady of experience, if you follow me. I—Aagh!’
Will stood toe to toe with the man he had dragged from his chair by his neckcloth. ‘I did tell you to have a care, Mr Harrington.’ He let go and the clergyman sat down with a thump.
Will resumed his seat, crossed his legs. ‘Continue, sir. Carefully.’
Harrington tugged at his neckcloth, cleared his throat. He had gone pale, but he hung on to his composure. ‘Some years ago Miss Wingate and I were...close. I was on the verge of offering for her hand. I was young and, as a theological student, inexperienced in carnal matters.’
And I’ll believe that when the Prince Regent takes holy orders.
Will wanted to strangle the bastard, but he needed to discover just how much venom this particular viper contained.
‘A chaste kiss one evening by the summer house became... I tried to be strong, tried to resist, but her attractions overcame me, her wantonness—’
‘So you ate the apple,’ Will said. ‘This certainly has a theological theme to it. Genesis three, if I am not mistaken.’ He stood up and Harrington shot to his feet. ‘I should call you out, of course, for slandering a lady, but duels are for settling matters of honour between gentlemen and you are a worm, sir. I think I will adjust your features until you are ready to apologise for your sordid accusations.’
‘If you lay another finger on me I will make certain that all of London knows that Verity Wingate is no virgin,’ Harrington said breathlessly. ‘I can describe the mole on her thigh, I can repeat what she says in the throes of passion—’ He slid rapidly around the desk when Will took a step forward. ‘I will not fight a duel with you, even if you offer one. It is beneath the dignity of my cloth.’ He eyed Will warily. ‘And I do not think that such a perfect gentleman as yourself, a premier nobleman, will stoop to murder.’
For Verity I might.
But there was more that Harrington wanted to say, he could tell. He would not have risked a beating just to spread his trail of slime over Verity’s good name.
‘So you paid me a call out of the goodness of your heart to tell me the touching tale of how an innocent young cleric was debauched by a wanton and all to protect my good name?’
‘You should be forewarned if you are interested in the lady. I mean only a friendly warning in exchange for a small favour.’ Harrington’s confidence was returning with every second that Will kept his hands by his sides, but he could smell the nervous sweat, see the tremor in his hands.
‘Yes?’
‘The deanery in the diocese of Elmham is about to become vacant, the present Dean is unwell and unlikely to recover. The influence of a duke—your influence—will secure it for me.’
‘Now, why did you not marry Miss Wingate? I wonder. Do not give me any nonsense about being repelled by her falling prey to your seduction. Could it be that her father’s illness meant there were no favours to be got from your prospective father-in-law? Yes, it must be that. And now you believe you can use her again because you have picked up the gossip about the two of us being stranded overnight on an island and assume that Miss Wingate will become my bride.’ He moved a little closer, smiled. ‘You should make certain of your facts before you show your hand, Vicar. The lady has refused me.’
The colour ebbed and flowed in Harrington’s face before he recovered himself. ‘But you care for her, she is your neighbour.’
Will told himself to tread warily. Short of murder, he could not be certain of shutting Harrington’s mouth. There had been something Will could not quite identify in the other man’s tone when he spoke of Verity: anger, perhaps? Certainly, spite. Somehow she had wounded him, because this was not merely disappointed hopes of a marriage schemed for and foiled when the Bishop had been forced to retire. Now he was determined to secure his prize or damage Verity as a reprisal.
There were a number of possibilities for drawing Harrington’s teeth, more or less within the law, but he needed to make certain he knew precisely what was at hazard before he showed his hand. ‘That is true,’ he conceded.
Harrington had edged his way right around the desk and Will reached the great carved chair behind it, the chair that had been his grandfather’s. He sat down and took a moment to recall the old man and his teaching. With a wave of his hand towards the seat opposite he steepled his fingers together, bent his head as though in thought and waited until the Vicar had seated himself, rather more warily this time.
‘The lady’s welfare and good name are important to me,’ Will admitted, his gaze still on his fingertips. The urge to fling Harrington through the window was almost overpowering and that might show in his eyes. Let the man think he had the upper hand for a while; it might dent Will’s pride, but that was a small concern now. ‘I have no influence with the present Bishop of Elmham, who was present when Miss Wingate and I returned from the island and severely displeased him by failing to marry. However—’ he raised his eyes and looked directly at Harrington ‘—the Archbishop of Canterbury is one of my godfathers.’
Greed, triumph, calculation—they were all there in the other man’s dark eyes. He thought he had won the lottery. This was far better than he had imagined, Will could see. ‘I would have to proceed carefully,’ he pointed out. ‘He has many requests and this must seem perfectly genuine if it is to succeed. We must allow a little time to pass for it to appear that I am becoming well acquainted with your virtues.’
Harrington smirked. ‘Of course. I could allow a month, given the state of the present incumbent’s health.’
A man is dying and you calculate how many days he has left so you can step into his still-warm choir stall. I am going to destroy you, Vicar.
Will reached out for the bell-pull. ‘Come back in one week, unless I send for you sooner.’ The door opened. ‘John, see Mr Harrington out.’
Now, the important thing was t
o deal with this without letting Verity find out. She had enough to deal with as it was, she did not need to know that her treacherous lover was using her as a bargaining chip. Will picked up a pen and scrawled an urgent note to Fitcham.
* * *
‘The Reverend Mr Harrington, my lady,’ Wethering announced.
Aunt Caroline broke off from her conversation with Lady Godwin. ‘Thank you, Wethering, another cup, if you please. Mr Harrington, good afternoon. It is quite some time since we have met, is it not?’
The shortbread finger that Verity had just picked up crumbled over her skirt and she brushed frantically at the mess while Miss Yarrow, sitting next to her, flapped with her handkerchief.
What was Thomas doing here? She looked around, but there was no possibility of escape. This was one of her aunt’s regular days for receiving; the drawing room was crowded with ladies, two elderly gentlemen and one awkward youth dragged along by his doting mama. She had actually been relaxing after a morning’s shopping, relieved to find that no one was tactless enough to refer to the scandal or the Duke.
For the first night after their encounter she had hardly been able to sleep, worrying over Thomas’s promise to call at the earliest opportunity, but daylight had made that seem like no more than a passing jibe. He could gain nothing from her and, surely, no one could hold a grudge over lost dignity for so long. When four days had passed she had begun to relax.
Now her stomach felt as though she had swallowed too many of Gunther’s ices and her hands were unsteady as she put down her plate and thanked Miss Yarrow for her help.
Aunt Caroline was introducing Thomas and he, with all the skill of a cleric used to a fashionable parish, was responding with appropriate suavity. Perhaps he was only baiting her, giving her a shock by appearing.
‘I see a place free by Miss Wingate,’ he said. ‘Excuse me, ladies, thank you so much.’ Balancing cup and plate, he wove his way between chairs and chaises and sat down beside Verity as the volume of conversation picked up. ‘And here I am, as I promised. I do hope you have suffered no ill effects from your fall in the park?’