by Gayle Buck
“Miss Worth is scarcely a fool, dear ma’am,” said Lord Rathbone, softly, his mouth hardened. He had straightened in the chair, his easy posture abandoned.
Lady Rathbone threw a measuring glance at the viscount. She was mildly surprised at how quickly he had taken up the cudgels on his betrothed’s behalf. It would be interesting to see whether he would expose himself further.
Lady Rathbone smiled, but her eyes did not perceptibly warm. With deliberate calculation, she replied, “Indeed. We shall see. I do not wish her to be lulled into a false sense of romantic nonsense through her betrothal to you, my son. Verity must understand that you will no doubt make the very devil of a husband. You will probably continue in all of your extravagances and keep a mistress or two along the way. She will have your name, access to your wealth, and will bear your heirs. That must necessarily be enough.”
Verity stared, her lips parting slightly with astonishment.
“I will thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, my lady,” snapped Lord Rathbone. His eyes glittered with wrath. “I did not bring you here today so that you might insult Miss Worth.”
Lady Rathbone raised her brows. Her smooth expression effectively hid whatever thoughts she harbored. “Nonsense. I have not insulted Miss Worth in the least. On the contrary, I have done her the honor of considering her to be a rational creature.”
* * *
Chapter 24
Lord Rathbone stared across the short space between himself and her ladyship, his own brows snapped together in a tight fashion. He ground out, “I do not know what you are about, ma’am. But I warn you that I shall not sit idly by if you mean to deal in abuse and insult.”
Attempting to overcome her astonishment, Verity made a graceful gesture of dismissal. “I am not so easily insulted, my lord. On the contrary, I am grateful for her ladyship’s plain speaking. It makes it so much easier, does it not?”
Lord Rathbone scowled, but he settled back into his chair.
Verity turned her head then and looked at Lady Rathbone. Her gray eyes held a hint of anger. “You choose to take off the gloves, ma’am, and so shall I. I have few illusions regarding this bargain that has been struck between myself and Lord Rathbone. You need not fear that I shall be shocked or disappointed with my lot. Nor, I should think, should you be anxious on his lordship’s behalf. We both of us go into this marriage with our eyes wide open. It is a marriage of convenience, and we shall treat it so.”
“You are not a fool, then. Very well, Verity. I shall lay aside whatever reservations that I might have held. Indeed, I suspect that you and George will deal very well together,” said Lady Rathbone suavely.
Altogether she was immensely satisfied with Miss Worth. The young woman was obviously made of resilient stuff, not easily overset nor of a foolish turn of mind. And if she was not mistaken, she detected signs that Miss Worth was not altogether indifferent to her son. It showed in the pains that the young lady had taken in not glancing at the viscount any more often than civility demanded.
As for her son, Lady Rathbone had been pleasantly surprised to discover that he was himself not quite without feeling toward Miss Worth.
Lady Rathbone pulled on her gloves, signaling the end of her visit. She glanced over at Verity with the faintest of smiles. “I shall give a small party in your honor, my dear. You will thus be able to meet several personages that in your position as Lady Rathbone will not ordinarily come in your way.”
Lord Rathbone narrowed his gaze upon his mother. He snapped, “Have you in mind what I suspect, ma’am?”
Lady Rathbone glanced at the viscount. “Not knowing what you suspect, George, how can I say?”
She rose to her feet, Verity following her example. Giving her hand to Verity, Lady Rathbone said, “I am glad to have made your acquaintance, Verity. Perhaps we shall even come to like one another.” She turned. “George, you may escort me downstairs to the carriage, if you please.”
Lord Rathbone bowed, his expression saturnine. “Of course, dear ma’am. I am yours to command.”
Lady Rathbone uttered a deep-throated chuckle. For the first time since she had entered the drawing room, some expression other than cool appraisal crossed her face. “No doubt, my dear. Perhaps you will explain to me how that is so.”
Upon the departure of the Rathbones, Mr. Arnold entered the drawing room looking for his wife. Verity had resumed her embroidery, a slight frown drawing her brows. She was glad of the interruption. Her expression lightened. “Betsy has gone shopping for a particular gauze to compliment her Italian silk. I expect her to return within the hour, however.”
“What, Verity, you remained tamely at home when there was frivolous female frippery to be bought? You are not the lively young miss to whom I once paid court,” he said teasingly.
Verity laughed a trifle ruefully. “No, I suppose that I am not,” she agreed. “But it is just as well that I did not go shopping today. Lord Rathbone brought his mother to call upon me.”
“Yes, I met them going out. The viscount spoke civilly enough, I thought.” Mr. Arnold grimaced. “However, her ladyship could freeze a pheasant to death with but one of those frosted glances of hers. I daresay you have done well for yourself with Rathbone, Verity, but I do not envy you that connection!”
Verity laughed again, this time with genuine amusement. “I have the most lowering feeling that you may have the right of it, Herbert. However, one cannot repine too much. Lady Rathbone did me the honor of informing me that she does not think me to be a fool, at least.”
Mr. Arnold stared at her. With a good deal of affront, he exclaimed, “Well, I say! That’s mighty handsome of her, indeed!”
Verity saw that he had not quite entered into what she had felt to be a joke. “Never mind, Herbert. I didn’t take it to heart. Have you by chance seen Charles since we breakfasted? I wished to ask him whether he had yet heard anything from my mother.”
“I should think that he has! I ran into him just as I was coming out of my club. He was off to some agent or other to rent a house for Lady Worth and your sister and some aunt. What the deuce he wants to rent a house for at this time of year, I can’t fathom. Told him that they were welcome to my roof for as long as they wished,” said Mr. Arnold, vague hurt replacing the placidity of his expression.
Verity tried to excuse what was obviously seen as the lapse in her brother’s manners. “I expect that he was thinking of my Great-aunt Mary, who is something of a semi-invalid and can be hard to manage on occasion.”
“Peckish, is she?” said Mr. Arnold knowledgeably. “Had a grandmother once who was a regular tartar. She was bedridden, but wore her household to flinders. Shouldn’t like that in my house. I shall thank Sir Charles when next I see him.”
He started to withdraw through the door, then paused. “By the by, I asked Sir Charles how the settlements were coming. He said he met with Rathbone this morning. His lordship came down handsomely with nary an objection. It is all made tidy. That must relieve your mind, I don’t doubt.”
“Yes, of course it does,” said Verity, managing a smile.
Mr. Arnold nodded and went his way, whistling, confident that he had done all in his power to support Verity’s spirits.
Verity’s feelings were mixed upon learning that the settlements had been completed. She felt at once strangely resigned and rebellious. It was a curious thing. If she had given any thought at all to examining her emotions, she might have discovered the courage to defy her brother’s decree.
Perhaps sensing his sister’s wavering acquiescence, Sir Charles did not allow her time for introspection. He commissioned Mrs. Arnold to see that his sister had a proper trousseau. Mrs. Arnold, always a firm believer that shopping raised even the most recalcitrant of spirits, enthusiastically embraced the task of bullying and badgering Verity into a constant round of fittings and trips to the shops.
Verity’s life began to take on a whirling aspect. Town was virtually emptied
of polite company, but there were still a number of souls who would not dream of leaving the metropolis. Those who remained for the winter season sent out a stream of invitations. A heavy abundance of them found their way to the Arnolds.
Verity and Lord Rathbone saw much of each other during these social functions. His lordship invariably made up the foursome when the Arnolds and Verity went out. Hostesses made certain that she and the viscount were always seated together. In the minds of everyone, Verity and Lord Rathbone had become an established couple.
Verity alone questioned the truth of the appearance that she and Lord Rathbone made to the world.
Lady Worth came up to London accompanied by her daughter, Elizabeth, and her aunt, Mrs. Moffet. Lady Worth rejected all of Sir Charles’s efforts to ensconce them in a town house. She insisted instead that they could do very well with apartments in a respectable hotel.
“For we mean to make only a short stay, Verity. Elizabeth must be gotten back to the seminary and dear Aunt Mary will fret if she is kept too long away from her home. I wished only to assure myself of your happiness and well-being,” said Lady Worth. She looked closely at her daughter’s face. “You appear somewhat pulled, Verity. Is there aught that I should know?”
Verity summoned up a laugh. Not for worlds would she make her mother anxious by disclosing her misgivings over her betrothal. “Nothing, dear ma’am. I am fagged to death, if you must know. I have been in a positive whirl to get my trousseau made up. Betsy is forever dragging me off to another round of shopping or out to enjoy some frivolous dissipation. You would scarcely credit how in demand we are, Mama. I never dreamed that so many personages remain in London over the winter.”
“No doubt Lord Rathbone is particularly fond of London,” said Lady Worth. She smiled and laid her hand over her daughter’s. “But you shall come down to Crofthouse over Christmas, I hope? Charles has made everything comfortable again. In fact, once I have seen Aunt Mary back at home and settled Elizabeth again, I shall be returning to Crofthouse to oversee the preparations for the holiday.”
“I do not know. That is, it never occurred to me, so I have not spoken of it to Lord Rathbone,” said Verity.
“Well, you must do so. I should like all of my children with me over the holiday. August and Sally mean to come and of course there will be Timothy and Bart and Elizabeth. It will be exceedingly jolly,” said Lady Worth.
“I shall speak to Lord Rathbone,” Verity promised, smiling. Nostalgia was a welcome pain in her heart. The thought of being reunited with all of her family made her spirits rise. “Perhaps I shall do so this very evening, if there is opportunity. You will be at Lady Rathbone’s tonight?”
“Of course, my dear. I would not miss a soiree given in my own daughter’s honor,” said Lady Worth. She rose from the settee. “You must convey my respects to Mrs. Arnold and tell her that I was sorry to find her out. Now I must run. I promised Elizabeth that if she sat with Aunt Mary while I was out, I would take her to Gunther’s for an ice as a reward for being so good.”
Verity laughed as she walked arm in arm with her mother toward the door. “Poor Elizabeth! I hope that her ingenuity will not be taxed too greatly in entertaining my great-aunt.” They reached the door, which the porter quickly opened.
“Oh no,” said Lady Worth, turning to her daughter. She smoothed her gloves over her wrists. “I told her to read the latest on-dits from the newspapers to Aunt Mary. That will stir the old lady’s memories and you know what a positively wicked lady your great-aunt was in her heyday. I imagine that I shall find Elizabeth sitting wide-eyed absorbing it all. It would not astonish me to discover that she will have quite forgotten all about our outing.”
Lady Worth took her leave with a last wave and Verity turned back into the hall. A swift glance at the standing clock showed her that it would soon be time for dinner and she went upstairs to change.
The Arnold household sat down to dinner at their own table, each resplendent in formal dress. Mr. Herbert tugged restlessly at his tight waistcoat. He sucked in his comfortable girth, only to let it out again in defeat. “I do not wish to complain, my dear, but I find this rig devilish uncomfortable.”
“It is only for tonight, Herbert,” soothed Mrs. Arnold. “Then you may go down to Crofthouse. Sir Charles told me only today that he has made all the arrangements for your enjoyment.”
Mr. Herbert brightened. “Yes, by Jove! And dashed good of him it is, too, since he will remain stuck here in London. Not to say that I am not glad for all the notice you and the viscount have been enjoying, Verity. But all this fol-de-rol makes a man pine for a good gun and a hunting dog.”
“I understand perfectly, Herbert,” said Verity. “If I had my preferences, I would also be going down to Crofthouse in the morning.”
Mrs. Arnold glanced over at Verity quickly, but Mr. Arnold was the one who responded. “Would you indeed! I always thought you were a sensible one, Verity.”
Satisfied with his world, Mr. Arnold applied himself to his repast. When dinner was finished, he pronounced himself ready to escort the ladies to the evening’s entertainment.
They had stepped out of the door and were about to enter the carriage when Lord Rathbone arrived. After exchanging greetings all around, Lord Rathbone turned to Verity. He arranged her cloak more closely about her shoulders. The lamplight spilling down from the open door of the town house glimmered in her wide eyes and drew sparks from the diamonds she wore in her ears and about her slender throat. His hands rested briefly on her shoulders. “You look well this evening, Verity. I have rarely seen you lovelier,” he said quietly.
Verity cast a startled glance up at him. His face was in shadow and she could read nothing in his expression. Heat had risen to her face and she was grateful for the uncertain light. “Thank you, my Lord. It is a pretty compliment.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders, then slid away. Politely he offered his hand to her so that she could climb up into the carriage. When she was seated, Lord Rathbone entered and took the place beside her. He pulled the door closed and rapped their readiness to the driver.
* * *
Chapter 25
The soiree was an elegant affair. All of the ton left in town were in attendance. It was a compliment to Lady Rathbone’s hostessing abilities as much as a testimony of the interest to which Lord Rathbone’s betrothal had given rise.
There were a number of individuals that Verity did not know, however. These personages turned out to be Lord Rathbone’s relations. As Verity was introduced to the viscount’s uncle, his aunts, and several cousins, she became progressively more aware of an oddness about the high degree of curiosity in their eyes. The manners of several of the younger female cousins could only be termed as spurious. But their example was obviously set by their mothers. The viscount’s aunts shot more than one measuring glance in Verity’s direction as they talked behind their hands.
A foppish young gentleman, whom Verity was told had lately come back to England from several years of living abroad in France, sauntered up to make her acquaintance. Mr. Harold Sandidge bowed elegantly over her hand and said all that was polite, but with such an indifferent air that Verity was positive that he was merely acting out of habit. Her suspicion was swiftly confirmed.
“I must make my father’s apologies, Miss Worth. He is a near-invalid or otherwise he would most definitely have graced this function with his presence,” said Harold Sandidge languidly. He had not bothered to look at her as he had spoken, being occupied instead with surveying the company through a large, ornate quizzing glass.
“I regret that I shall not have the opportunity of making Mr. Sandidge’s acquaintance,” said Verity politely.
Harold Sandidge lowered the glass and swung round his body—his stiffened shirtpoints were so ridiculously high that it was virtually impossible for him to turn only his head. He glanced penetratingly at her. “Are you, indeed? How very praiseworthy of you, Miss Worth,” he murmured.
&nb
sp; Lord Rathbone came up then. His cousin almost immediately excused himself and sauntered off. The viscount looked after Harold Sandidge’s elegant person with dispassionate contempt. “My cousin is a bit of a fop and a ne’er-do-well,” he commented.
“I did think him not quite the thing,” ventured Verity.
Lord Rathbone uttered a short bark of laughter. “Oh, I imagine that he is harmless enough. It is his father, Forde Sandidge, whom one must necessarily despise.”
Verity looked up at him curiously. “Is your uncle so disagreeable, then?”
“Not more so than Bastion, I suppose,” said Lord Rathbone, giving a nod in the direction of the one paternal uncle who was present.
Mr. Bastion Sandidge was a tall, stoop-shouldered gentleman. When Verity had met him, she had thought she had never seen a set of colder black eyes.
“I see,” she said thoughtfully. She had observed all evening the mutual lack of cordiality between Lord Rathbone and his kinsmen. Though civil words had been exchanged, there had been no warmth in eyes nor expressions. With the exception of Bastion Sandidge’s son, Philip, she did not think that any of Lord Rathbone’s relations held him in the least degree of affection. “My lord, it seems to me that there is a singular lack of family feeling amongst your relations. The undercurrents of dislike are positively rife through this gathering.”
Lord Rathbone looked down at her, a curious intentness in his stare. “Are they, Miss Worth?”
“One cannot help but notice it,” said Verity quietly. “You will think me inquisitive, no doubt, but is there some animosity that lies between you and the others of your family?”
Lord Rathbone gave his peculiar twisted smile. “There is bad blood, certainly. But it was all a long time ago. It is nothing that need concern you, ma’am.”
Verity was not at all certain of that since he had made such a point of guarding her against lengthy private conversation with any of the Sandidges. But she did not give voice to her thoughts. She was not on such terms with Lord Rathbone that she felt able to challenge his indifferent assertion.