by Jane Ashford
As the woman left them together, Verity’s budding elation collapsed. It could not be that the first man she met in London—and such an attractive man—was a clergyman. Were there so many in the world that she couldn’t be spared another? Possessed by an oddly urgent sense of danger, Verity blurted, “I could never abide life in a country parish.”
He blinked, clearly startled.
“I would find the limited society unendurable.” It came out sounding like an accusation. Verity bit her lower lip. There was no reason to be this keenly disappointed. What was the matter with her?
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” he said.
“The isolation makes people narrow-minded.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He looked offended. Verity couldn’t blame him. She was right, of course; she’d observed the tendency often enough, but there was no need to say it aloud. Or to continue this conversation. She should move away, find a more promising prospect. Instead, she said, “And quite behind the times. Antiquated, even.”
“Indeed?”
His blue eyes had gone cool. What had come over her? She was never rude. She ought to apologize.
“If you will excuse me, I see that some friends have arrived.”
Lord Randolph gave her a small bow and walked away. Which didn’t matter, Verity thought. She’d meant to stop talking to him. And yet a pang of regret shook her. Stop it at once, she told herself. That was not the sort of man who searched for the wellsprings of the Blue Nile or discovered unknown species or peoples. Silently, she repeated her talisman phrase—Twelve Waterloo Place—and turned to find other town dwellers to meet.
Randolph crossed the room to join his brother Sebastian’s party. They’d come in at just the right moment to cover his escape from the opinionated young lady. Who had asked what she thought? Who did she think she was? “I’ve just met the most fearsome girl,” he said.
“Really?” His military brother looked sleepily formidable, as usual.
“Which one?” asked Sebastian’s lovely blond wife, Georgina, resplendent in pale-green silk. Her sister Emma stood just behind her, a younger, less self-assured version of Stane beauty.
“The one over there, with the extremely vivid hair.”
“And the generous…endowment?” Sebastian said. When Georgina elbowed him, he added, “I was only making an observation. It’s nothing to me.”
The pair exchanged a lazy smile that told anyone with eyes of their marital bliss. Randolph envied both the fact and the ease of it. “That’s the one. Miss Verity Sinclair. Daughter of the Dean of Chester Cathedral, if you please.” Which had seemed promising. Until it turned out that it wasn’t.
“Cathedral? I would have thought that was right up your alley,” his brother replied. “What’s so fearsome about her? She looks harmless enough.”
“She imagines that I am narrow-minded. And antiquated.”
“What? Why would she do that?” Sebastian frowned.
“Whatever did you say to her?” Georgina wondered.
“I had no opportunity to say anything. She…graced me with her opinions all unasked.”
“Will there be any dancing?” Emma asked.
Georgina turned to her sister, shaking her head. “Not tonight. This is a small party, a chance for you to make some acquaintances before the big squeezes later in the season.”
Emma scanned the crowd. “Everyone looks old.”
“Not everyone. You’ll meet plenty of young people.”
“Georgina’s been studying up,” said Sebastian proudly. “She means to give Emma a bang-up launch into society.”
“You make me sound like some sort of ship,” Emma replied. But she smiled.
Scanning the crowd, Georgina did look rather like a canny navigator plotting a course. “Come along,” she said to Emma, ready to plunge in. Then she paused. “Sinclair,” Georgina said. “Wouldn’t she be a connection of the Archbishop of Canterbury?”
“Would she?” It needed only that, Randolph thought. Given his unfortunate…incident with the archbishop, the chit was a walking recipe for disaster. It was fortunate that she’d put him off. Who knew what trouble he might have fallen into otherwise? Now he could make a point of avoiding her.
The ladies went off to begin Emma’s introduction into the ton. The Gresham brothers snagged glasses of wine and stood back to observe.
“Did you meet Georgina at an evening like this?” Randolph asked after a while.
“At a ball,” replied Sebastian.
“Dancing is a good way to become acquainted.”
“I had to fight my way through a crowd of fellows to snag one.” Watching his wife, Sebastian smiled. “Say, Georgina could give you a few pointers.” He offered Randolph a sly grin. “Bring you out along with Emma.”
“I’m no bashful eighteen-year-old,” replied Randolph, revolted.
“Or you could marry Emma. Two birds with one stone and all that.”
“No!” The word escaped Randolph without thought. “I mean, she’s a nice enough girl, but—”
“Only joking,” Sebastian assured him. “You’ll want a serious, brainy female. Likes poetry and that sort of thing. Emma’s more along my line, a bit dim.”
“You aren’t dim,” said Randolph. Unwillingly, he found his gaze straying back to Verity Sinclair. At first glance, she’d seemed so beguiling, her eyes brimming with interest and…a crackle of spirit.
She turned, and he looked away before he could be caught staring at the archbishop’s relative, for goodness sake. It was a sign, he concluded, a warning to be careful on his hunt. One spent one’s whole life with a wife. A mistaken choice would be disastrous. He turned his attention back to his brother.
Toward the end of the evening, Verity found herself briefly alone. Even though this had been called as a small party, her mind whirled with names. It seemed as if she’d been introduced to scores of people, more than she met in a month at home. The buzz of conversation was positively thrilling.
Verity ran her eyes over the crowd. She noted the whirl of colors in the clothes, particularly the ladies’ dresses, the sparkle of jewels and candlelight. She breathed in the mingled scents of perfumes and pomades and hot wax. She absorbed the oceanic rhythm of talk. The taste of lemonade lingered on her lips. She gathered all these details into one impression and fixed it in her mind with a mental click. Then she added this Moment to a string of such memories stored in a special place in her mind—a string of vivid scenes that punctuated her life. She’d been creating Moments since she was quite young. She could move down the string and revisit each epoch of her life. And before long, she’d be adding far more dramatic, exotic Moments to her collection. She was absolutely resolved on that.
Verity looked about her. The blond girl nearby was Lady Emma Stane. Verity remembered her not only because she was one of the few here near her own age, but also because she was part of the group Lord Randolph had joined when he abandoned her. Not abandoned, Verity thought. What a poor choice of words. She’d wanted him to go away. Indeed, she’d repelled him. On purpose. A country clergyman! Still, she drifted toward Emma. They’d been introduced as cohorts, both at their first ton party. Emma was obviously younger, but Verity had as little experience of high society. “Have you enjoyed the evening?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” Emma replied. “I’ve waited so long to be in London!”
“I too. I had such a time convincing my parents to give me a season.”
“Mine just refuse to come to town,” said Emma with an incredulous smile. “They are absolutely fixed in Herefordshire.”
“And so you are here with—?”
“My sister Georgina.” Emma indicated the beautiful blond woman Verity had noticed earlier. “She married Lord Sebastian last summer.”
Following her gesture, Verity eyed the two handsome men
in the corner of the room. Lord Sebastian and Lord Randolph, then. They were clearly brothers.
“And now she’s brought me to London just as she promised. I intend to have a splendid time. The duchess has promised me an invitation to her ball.”
“Duchess?”
“Lord Sebastian’s mother. She’s positively the height of fashion.”
The man was a duke’s son? As well as handsome and obviously self-assured? Why bury himself in a country parish? Not that she cared. It had nothing to do with her. Verity turned her back on the impossible Lord Randolph. Her mother was beckoning. It was already time to go.
Order Jane Ashford’s next book
in The Duke's Sons series
The Duke Knows Best
On sale December 2017
About the Author
Jane Ashford discovered Georgette Heyer in junior high school and was captivated by the glittering world and witty language of Regency England. That delight was part of what led her to study English literature and travel widely in Britain and Europe. She has written historical and contemporary romances, and her books have been published in Sweden, Italy, England, Denmark, France, Russia, Latvia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Spain, as well as the United States. Jane has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews. Born in Ohio, she is now somewhat nomadic. Find her on the web at www.janeashford.com and on Facebook. If you’re interested in receiving her monthly newsletter, you can subscribe at www.eepurl.com/cd-O7r.
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