Finding the Bluestocking’s Heart: The Colchester Sisters

by Darcy, Charlotte

  “I do not know her, of course, but it strikes me that she has recovered herself,” Verity said tentatively.

  “Yes, she has done very well. It has taken these last two years, but she is finally free of that man.”

  “He was unkind?”

  “He was afraid, and it made him unkind.”

  “But what did your father have to be afraid of? Surely not your mother?”

  “He was afraid of my mother entirely, but not in the common way. He knew, you see, that my mother was a clever woman. I have no doubt that it was one of the things which drew him to her in the first place. But as with many of his type, the thing he loved her for was the thing he hated her for.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “He admired my mother in the beginning. But when he realized that she far outshone him, his insecurities got the better of him and he slowly stripped away everything that was once her. It really was the cruelest thing imaginable, as cruel as if he had been a brute who struck her.”

  “You would not behave in such a way, I think,” Verity said, and whilst she was certain of it, she still wanted to hear it from him.

  “I cannot understand why a man would want to live with an empty shell. What better thing in the world than to spend your life with a person who shares your interests and your passions? What a very satisfying thing that would be,” he said and was staring directly into her eyes, not letting her go.

  “Yes, that would be a very satisfying thing,” Verity said, her heart beginning to beat a little faster.

  “I hope to be able to prove that you can trust me, Verity. I am myself always and do not change.”

  “I think I had begun to perceive as much myself, Irving.”

  “Miss Colchester,” he said and took her arm to lead her a little further along to another herb bed. “If you like.”

  “And you must call me Verity,” she said, feeling her heart opening further still.

  It hardly seemed possible that so much had changed for Verity in so short a space of time. She had never believed that she would feel so strongly about any man and yet she did. But it had not changed her, not in essentials. Verity had not become another person altogether simply because she found herself falling in love. She was still herself.

  And yet she could not deny that the opening of her heart had been a most wonderful thing, for it had allowed her to see that there was truly room for love not only to exist, but to be enjoyed.

  “I have come to regard you very highly, Verity.” He looked at her with such intensity that Verity could not take her eyes from his face.

  She looked at him in wonder and tried to imagine his feelings. Were they the same as her own? Did his stomach feel light and heavy all at once? Did his heart beat a little faster? Did his skin feel hot to the touch?

  “I did not know these feelings were possible,” Verity was whispering, despite the fact that they were barely in view of her brother anymore. “It has an effect that is physical, Irving. At first, I did not like it,” she said, and Irving laughed.

  “You are always so honest.”

  “My mother says that I am blunt.”

  “You are blunt at times, but pleasingly so. Perhaps we think of such things as blunt simply because they are honest. Our world is not used to open honesty.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yes. I find I cannot stop thinking about you. My every waking thought, you are there.” His voice became heavy and slow. “My every dream.”

  “I wonder what it is like to be kissed,” Verity said, and he straightened up, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised.

  “I would like to kiss you,” he said, when he regained the power of speech.

  “I like your honesty too,” Verity said with a teasing smile.

  She waited to be kissed but it seemed that Irving was unsure. He peered over her shoulder before taking her hand and leading her to stand behind a tall raised planting bed filled with willow herb, its thin green leaves and delicate pink flowers spreading wide.

  “Did you mean it?” he said, and she could hear his breathing coming fast and a little ragged.

  “Yes.” Verity looked into his eyes, willing him to see right into her soul.

  He gave one final look over her shoulder to be sure they were not overlooked before taking her gently into his arms. He was so tall that Verity, the smallest of the Colchester women, had to tilt her head back to look up at him. The sun was in her eyes a little, but she narrowed them, making his handsome face come into view wonderfully.

  When he pressed his lips against hers, he was so gentle. His lips were so smooth, and Verity so overwhelmed by the feeling that she could hardly catch her breath. And then it was over.

  He released her from his embrace, but held on to her hand, gently stroking her smooth skin with his thumb in a most caring, warm gesture.

  “That was wonderful,” Verity said, her heart cantering and her excitement riding high. “I have never felt such a thing.”

  “You are so beautiful,” he said and looked as if he were dazed by it all.

  And in truth, Verity was also. She could hardly believe the events of the last few moments and the wonder of it all was something she would never forget. Perhaps this was why Jane loved the idea of romance so well. Verity had to admit, it certainly felt very good.

  “We should return to your mother,” Verity said, wishing that they could simply stay right where they were for the rest of the afternoon, embracing and kissing so gently.

  “I suppose we must,” he said and pulled a face, making Verity laugh. “I hope I am still able to talk sensibly when we get there.” He smiled and raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it before releasing her completely.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What a very fine day this is, Verity,” Jane said as she and Verity wandered about their father’s grounds with their brother.

  “Yes, the summer is proving to be very warm this year,” Verity said in agreement.

  “Oh, Verity, I was not talking about the weather,” Jane said with a sigh and Amos laughed.

  “What?” Verity said, feeling that little confusion she often felt when the three of them were together.

  “Even I understood that Jane was not talking about the sunshine, sister. She is talking about your wonderful new life. This is the first she is hearing of it and that is what makes it a very fine day, Verity.” Amos was still chuckling.

  “What a funny world it is when my brother understands such things and my sister does not.” Jane was equally amused.

  “Well, I am my own character, Jane. I might not always see things as you do, but I am not so sure I would want to. I like to see things the way I see them. In the end, that is what makes me, well, me,” Verity said a little plaintively.

  “I would never want to change you, Verity. I would not change a single thing about you, you are quite adorable,” Jane said and linked her arm through her sister’s.

  “Yes, like an adorable little horse with blinkers on who can only see a straight path ahead and nothing to either side.” Amos was in the mood to tease.

  “Oh, do be quiet, Amos,” Verity chastised him. “You are always teasing me.”

  “Forgive me, Verity, I thought you liked it. I thought that was what made me such a charming brother to you.” He pulled a face, opening his eyes wide and innocently.

  “Yes, all right, it is what I like about you,” Verity admitted. “But you both seem to understand all the things I do not, and I suppose it has become a little worrying to me of late.”

  “It does not matter how you see things, Verity. And it has never worried you before.” Jane stopped walking when they reached the shade of one of the willow trees. “Is something the matter?”

  “No, nothing is the matter,” Verity objected.

  “Perhaps it is because things are changing for you, perhaps you are changing just a little. I daresay it is very disconcerting at times,” Jane carried on gently.

  “Yes, especially for
one who has always…” Amos began but Jane cut in.

  “Amos, you are not helping,” she said in a low determined voice and Amos smiled and held out his hands in front of him in surrender.

  “I suppose things are changing. Not everything, I am still the same in essentials. I suppose things have been added to, that there is more to think about than I had ever considered,” Verity said truthfully.

  “It is not always an easy thing to be in love,” Jane said with pride in her own knowledge of the matter. “But it is always wonderful.”

  “Yes, it is rather wonderful,” Verity said, and Jane’s eyes immediately shone with tears.

  “Oh, Verity, I really could not be happier.” Jane threw her arms around her sister and squeezed her tightly. “I wish I could meet this young man of yours. Do say I can meet him soon.”

  “Yes, you can meet him soon,” Verity said and embraced Jane with equal ferocity.

  “Oh, you would like him very much.” Amos chattered on in the background. “He is a very fine fellow. But he is a clever sort, one who has his little interests and obsessions. He was just the same at Eton,” he chuckled. “That is why I thought he would be such a good match for Verity. They are almost exactly the same in certain……”

  “I beg your pardon?” This time it was Verity who cut him off.

  “I just mean to say that you are well suited,” Amos said appearing suddenly flustered.

  “No, you said that our similarities were why you thought he would be a good match for me,” Verity said in a quietly accusing voice. “And I think I would like you to explain just exactly what you mean by that.”

  “Verity, it is nothing,” Amos said in a tone she recognized well.

  It was the tone he had used for years on his parents whenever there was some trouble coming. Whenever he had been caught out in some piece of mischief or other, Amos had always smiled and made very light of it. And Verity was certain that there was some piece of mischief at the root of everything she had thought to be real.

  “Amos?” Jane said, releasing Verity but still holding onto her hand. “What is this?”

  “It really is nothing. At least it ought not to matter, at any rate,” Amos said defensively.

  “What ought not to matter?” Jane asked with an air of maternal chastisement.

  “That I did not meet Irving by accident,” Verity said, feeling the truth of it all hit her with a horrible clarity.

  “Does it matter what circumstances you met him in?” Amos said, looking annoyed with himself for having spoken out of turn.

  “What circumstances?” Jane went on, clearly not seeing any of it.

  “That is why I have never seen him before at Mrs. Barton’s house.”

  “He is acquainted with Mrs. Barton and he did spend a good deal of time there before his father passed away and his mother needed him,” Amos countered. “That is the truth, Verity.”

  “But he would not have been there that day but… to meet me, would he?”

  “Well, well…” Amos faltered.

  “No, he would not,” Verity finished his sentence for him. “Oh, I see it now.” She shook her head, feeling angry and foolish in equal measure. “First it was Mrs. Barton’s house and then the woodland. He was not there by accident, he does not walk there.”

  “As a matter of fact, he does,” Amos said with certainty.

  “And yet you know exactly what I am talking about. If you had no part in it, how would you know that I had ever happened upon Irving in the woodland?”

  “I am not trying to hide the truth from you, Verity. I am just trying to tell you that it does not matter.”

  “And when did the truth cease to matter, Amos?” Verity felt like crying and holding it back could only be achieved by replacing her deep upset with anger. “You told him I would be there. Oh, and then the assembly rooms. I told him I did not like the dancing at the assembly rooms and then you insisted that I go with you. What a fool I have been not to see it!”

  “All right, I admit it, I had truly thought that the two of you would get on well. And you have. I know I interfered, but I have not done so for a long time.”

  “Amos, that does not make it all right,” Jane said quietly.

  “Why not?” Amos said, becoming a little angry himself. “It is only because I care about you, Verity.”

  “That is not caring, Amos. You interfered because you did not think I was good enough as I am. You thought that I ought to be married just as my sisters are. Just as everybody else seems to be. You could not simply accept me the way I am. No, there is nothing caring in that.”

  “Verity, you make it sound quite dreadful and I can assure you that it was anything but.” Amos took a step towards her but Verity, so tiny and slight, held one hand up in front of her that managed to stay him as effectively as colliding with a rock might have done.

  “It was quite dreadful, Amos. Dreadful and cruel. You have led me along a path blindly and I have been foolish enough to open my heart and accept Irving inside it. You have made a fool of me and I shall never forgive you for that.”

  “But, Verity, Irving does not think you are a fool.” Amos looked crestfallen now, his anger all drained away.

  “Just leave me alone. From this point onward, Amos, you are not to interfere in my life in any way. For it is my life, do you hear me? My life, not your life. And if I choose not to marry ever, then that is my decision, not yours. I will not have you mold me so that I am acceptable to you. If you do not like the way I am, you need not look.” And with that, Verity turned on her heel and ran for the house.

  She could hear her brother and sister in pursuit, but she was smaller and faster, and she did not stop running until she had dashed to the house, up the stairs, and into her own chamber.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Verity avoided her brother for two days together, eating her meals in her room and only going down into the drawing room when she was certain he had gone out of the house.

  She was sure that it could not be long before Amos sought to interfere again, if he had not done so already. Perhaps he had already told Irving that he had unwittingly given them both away for tricking her so badly.

  “There you are, my dear,” her mother said gently when Verity crept into the drawing room.

  “I had thought you were out, Mama,” Verity said and continued into the room, certain that she could not comfortably escape her mother’s company now she had been seen.

  “I could not go out and undertake charitable works for others as a priority over caring for my daughter, could I?”

  “Well, that is very kind, Mama, but you need not have worried. I am perfectly all right.” Verity sat down on an armchair.

  “Why do you not come and sit by my side, child?” Her mother patted the seat next to her on the couch.

  “I would rather sit by myself,” Verity said and truly meant it.

  “You have always been a little apart from the rest of us. But we all love you dearly, I hope you know that.”

  “I am not apart, Mama, I am just different.”

  “Yes, that is a better way of putting it.” Her mother did not argue, and Verity was grateful for that. “But I do wish that you would accept a little help now and again.”

  “I honestly do not need any help, Mama. But I am grateful for your offer,” Verity said simply.

  “Amos really is very sorry, truly sorry.”

  “It does not matter how sorry he is for I am not yet ready to forgive him. I do not know if I ever can forgive him for this.”

  “For caring?”

  “For interfering. He has made such a fool of me, and so has Irving. Why would they do such a thing? I know I am unusual, but am I really so amusing that people must poke fun at me all the while?”

  “I truly do not think that they had ever intended to poke fun at you.”

  “And yet that is what they have done.”

  “I wish you were not quite so angry.”

  “Really?” Verity said incredu
lously. “And why is that? Do you not think I have a right to it?”

  “I just think that any other young woman might have been pleased for her brother’s interest in her life. And then for Mr. Ayres’ interest; you have seemed to get along so well.”

  “Yes, but it was based on a pretense. And you wonder why I am a little apart, as you put it? I have managed to keep myself out of all this silliness in womanhood. I was happy to be myself, to follow my own heart and my own interests. And then I allowed myself to be dragged into it all and I am not only a part of all this silliness now, but I am also at its very core. But I will never be made such a fool of again.”

  “But you like Mr. Ayres, my dear. In fact, I believe that you are very much in love with him. Are you not pleased to be so?” Mrs. Colchester, ordinarily amusing and at ease with her daughters, was now being so very cautious.

  “I do like Irving,” Verity said, feeling the very words catch in her throat. “But that is not the way I ever wanted my life to be. I am not the sort of woman who would be happy to win her prize, her perfect suitor, without her feelings being absolutely and equally returned.”

  “I know you would not, and that is not what I am suggesting.”

  “Then what are you suggesting? And please, be plain in what you say, Mama. I find it hard enough to hold onto the threads of conversation with you, Jane, and Esme at the best of times. But I am currently very out of sorts and I would much rather you say whatever you have to say outright. I am likely not to grasp any hints you might lay down.”

  “All right, then I shall be plain. You are in love with Irving and I believe that he is in love with you also.”

  “You do not know him, Mama. And even if you did, why would you believe that? When he has taken part in a game with my brother, the kind and caring brother for whom I am not good enough on my own, why would you think he had any regard for me whatsoever?”