Misleading Miss Verity, page 4
At least there was no need to rush. Indeed, his lips twisted, rushing home was quite out of the question. Ships returning to England were often booked as soon as opportunity arose, as once hope-filled settlers found the harsh climate and harsher conditions of the convict colony far from their liking. He would have to rely upon the goodwill of a God-fearing captain and hope the route taken would not be too protracted in order for him to assume his new responsibilities. Not that he need worry. The estate would have been empty for many months now. A few more would hurt no one.
“Sir?”
He glanced up.
“Would you like me to see when the next passage is available?”
“Yes—wait, no. Not yet.” He studied the man whose concern about Anthony’s sudden flight had prompted his rescue from the clutches of The Romping Horse.
How he wished he could repay such service. Not once had Mac ever alluded to that time save to say he had been sorry to be so late. His swiftness in getting Anthony to medical attention had been his saving, Dr. Jennings had said, although by that time night had settled in, along with the rain that had soaked him through, leading to the worst case of pneumonia Anthony had experienced in six years.
Lord, how can I help him? He is a friend—no, a brother—whom I cannot abandon.
His mind raced, scraping the walls of memory for any vestige of money that could secure passage for two. Would Marsden—? No. Foolish thought. The Chief Chaplain held dim views on emancipists; he would never lift a finger to help. But who else could?
“Sir?”
With a sick feeling, he gave instructions for the passage home. As soon as he was alone, he moved to the cracked window from which the lonely caw of the magpie warbled louder than the soothing birdsong he remembered from home. He tilted his face into the bright glare of early February sunshine, summer here in the Antipodes, filled with so much that was so opposite to his former world.
He lifted his chin.
He would simply pray that he could take more than just a changed perspective into his new role.
CHAPTER THREE
Aynsley Manor, Somerset
April
WAS IT POSSIBLE one could truly die of boredom?
Verity yawned, dropped the atlas with a thud, and rubbed her eyes. Last week in London for Cecy’s wedding already seemed an age ago; her time at school a dusty memory. This morning’s gallop had proved the only highlight of a week otherwise filled with droning duty and lectures from Mama about Verity’s lack of familial responsibility and need to turn her attention to her upcoming London season.
“But what about school?” she’d asked.
“We shall see,” her mother had responded, a death knell to her hopes.
Fears she might not return to finish her education had tamped down her usual exploits—what if she never saw Helena again?—but impatience still clawed within, begging escape.
A knock came at the door. “Excuse me, miss, but Lady Aynsley requests your attendance in the Blue Room.”
Verity sighed, offered the maid a resigned look. “Thank you.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and Verity made her way to the blue drawing room, where Mama waited, her face pinched tighter than a pincushion. Lady Heathcote, their nearest neighbor, and mother of Sophia and Stephen, perched on a striped gold and white settee, holding a little smile and a plate with a buttered scone. This did not bode well. Verity offered her a small curtsy. “Good afternoon, Lady Heathcote. What a pleasure to see you again. How is Sophia?”
“She is very well, thank you,” said Lady Heathcote, her smile widening to become reminiscent of a plump satisfied cat.
“I’m so pleased.” Verity studied her, until the older woman’s smugness seemed to dim, not unlike the luster from the cheap tableware Miss Haverstock always hid from parents. “What brings you here today? Did you not call yesterday?”
“Verity!”
She opened her eyes wide. “Oh, I do beg your pardon, Mother. Was I supposed to not remember Sophia’s visit?”
Her mother closed her eyes briefly then gazed upwards, as if expecting help from the painted cherubs cavorting around the ceiling rose.
Except, they never did. Yesterday’s visit from someone she’d once considered a friend had proved instead to be an exercise in tedium and patience, as she’d listened to Sophia’s mean-spirited chatter with nothing of substance to say. Verity had resorted to her mother’s oft-preferred position on a number of occasions—to no avail. Cherubs were like angels, mythical and useless.
“Please excuse my daughter, Lady Heathcote.”
“I always do,” their visitor murmured, as if through clenched teeth.
Verity lifted a brow, scrutinizing the older woman through narrowed eyes until their visitor was forced to look elsewhere. Then she turned to her mother. “Was there something you needed, Mama?”
“I need the truth. Is it true?”
“Please forgive my ignorance. Is what true?”
“That you were seen galloping through Aynsley earlier today?”
Verity bit back a smile, shifting her attention back to their guest. “So that’s why you have come. I must confess I did not see you, and I was very careful to keep a lookout in case something like this should occur. Perhaps I didn’t see you as I was riding so terribly fast.”
“Verity,” her mother uttered in awful tones.
“I must admit”—Lady Heathcote’s cheeks pinked—“it was not my eyes that saw you.”
“No, really? Was it dearest Sophia who saw me? She has always had my best interests at heart, hasn’t she?”
Their guest twitched and fussed uncomfortably as Lady Aynsley placed her teacup down with a clatter. “We are not discussing Sophia’s motivations, Verity.”
“Oh, but we should. One has to wonder why she should feel the need to tell tales on others.”
“It … it is as you said before. She has your best interests at heart.”
Verity compressed her lips, head tilted as she eyed Lady Heathcote, whose scone now listed dangerously on the china plate resting on her ample lap.
“Such things are not what a proper young lady should do, my dear girl.”
Her dear girl? The patronizing tone accompanying such falseness made bile rise in her throat. “Why you should take it upon yourself to come here and regale my mother about things which are no concern of yours is something indeed at which to wonder.”
Lady Heathcote’s face reddened. “I … I see it as merely my duty as a neighbor, my Christian duty.”
“Well, my understanding, despite years of dull as ditchwater sermons at Haverstock’s, is that it is a Christian’s duty to love one’s neighbor, not to seek division—”
“Verity! That is enough! You will apologize this instant!”
Heat pounded in her chest, forbidding speech. How dare this insufferable woman come here and stir up yet more conflict between Verity and her mother? Even now she sat smug and fat opposite, her gaze clearly triumphant as she waited.
Verity drew in a deep breath and rose. “Lady Heathcote, I hope in time you will come to realize my desire for truth and plain speaking is not vindictive, and will pardon me accordingly. I am sorry that you and Sophia prefer gossip and tattling on others, and sorrier too that today has caused such pain for my mama. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.”
She curtsied and departed to the sound of twin gasps, quickly followed by Lady Heathcote’s high-pitched “Well, I never!”
The door closed, and the footman’s wisp of a smile wiped clear when Verity glanced at him.
“Tell Edwards I will be needing Banshee directly.”
His head inclined. “Very good, miss.”
Quickly, before her mother could come and remonstrate, Verity raced upstairs and changed into her riding habit again, then escaped down the back stairs to the stables where freedom and solace always lay. She patted poor Bunty, the one-eyed Labrador who shadowed Edwards, the head groom, and entered the dimness within.
“Good afternoon, miss.”
“Hello, Eddie. I trust she’s ready?”
“Aye, but I wouldn’t ride her as hard as before.”
“Aye.” Verity grinned.
The head groom’s wide red face split into a smile. “Now don’t be letting your pa hear you speak such things, not after you just returned from such a fancy school and all.”
“I’ll be sure to not let him.”
A stable hand led Banshee to Verity, nodding as he handed over the reins.
“Thank you.” She patted her pet, smoothing the chestnut’s dark mane. “Are you ready for another run?”
The horse nickered, rubbing Verity’s face with her nose. She laughed. “I take that as a yes.”
Edwards finished checking the saddle. “She be fond of you, miss.”
“At least someone is around here,” Verity murmured into Banshee’s pricked ears.
Edwards boosted her into the saddle, just as another footman made an appearance at the far end of the stables.
“Oh no.” She nudged Banshee to the exit halfway along the long stone building.
The footman hurried toward her. “Miss, her ladyship requests you—”
“Tell her you were too late!” Verity grinned as she escaped into sunlight.
A minute later she had cleared the Manor’s grounds and was heading to the Aynsley woods, where sunshine and shadows dappled patterns onto the ground. Banshee thundered across the meadow, echoing the indignation roaring in her ears. How dare Lady Heathcote presume to interfere? How dare Sophie? And why did Mama always take sides against her?
She drew in deep lungfuls of fresh air. Perhaps this ride would help clear some of the turbulent restlessness she experienced whenever her neighbors grew too assiduous in their attentions. If only Mother had consented to Mrs. Chisholm’s invitation for Verity to spend part of the summer with Helena’s family in Scotland! Her fingers clenched the reins tighter as she ducked under a low branch, Banshee’s hooves continuing their steady drum. How much longer would she stay, doomed to dodging disappointed parents and unwelcome duty?
“VERITY! WHERE HAVE you been?”
Verity grimaced from her position halfway up the main stairs and turned to face her mother. She lifted a corner of her riding dress. “I would have thought it obvious, Mama.”
“Don’t be insolent!”
“I am sorry, Mama.” Her cheeks heated, her gaze flickering to the motionless footmen in the hall. She kept her voice low. “Do you wish to discuss something?”
Her mother blinked. “I … er, yes.” Her expression returned to its usual imperious manner. “I expect you in the Blue Room directly.”
“Of course.”
Verity exchanged her riding dress for the morning gown worn earlier—no need to add to the maid’s washing duties. After splashing her face and smoothing her hair she hurried downstairs to the Blue Room, relief filling her as the footman closed the door. Lady Heathcote had gone.
“Verity, your behavior earlier was nothing less than scandalous!”
Verity bit her lip. Mama’s ideas about what constituted scandal must surely differ from the norm. Haverstock’s had in no way been isolated from society’s biggest scandals; rather, it proved a hive of gossip, especially as so many well-connected selectees knew a great many things about society scandals—part of the education Miss Haverstock did not realize her seminary provided. Verity’s actions were, by contrast, excessively mild. But somehow, she did not feel her mother would appreciate this being pointed out.
“You should not be so outspoken, Verity. I was embarrassed by your words.”
“I am sorry, Mama, that I have caused you discomfort. But would you rather me hide behind a curtain of false nicety whilst stabbing supposed friends in the back as Sophia does?”
As her mother stared at her, Verity felt a growing certainty that her mother actually would prefer to have Sophia as a daughter, in order to play pretend with.
“You are a constant disappointment to me.”
Her heart wavered. She blinked away an unaccustomed sting. “I am sorry, Mama.”
“You are always sorry, but I have given up believing you will ever change.”
“I know.”
Her mother turned away.
The imp that always bade she speak the truth nudged open her mouth. “But if you would name me Verity …”
“That was your father’s doing, not mine.”
She stiffened. Her mother’s disavowal of her name seemed to epitomize her mother’s complete rejection of her very existence.
“I—”
Her mother held up a hand, precluding further speech. “I do not ask for much, Verity, only that you would not disgrace yourself, or your family. Aynsley ladies are supposed to behave as ladies, without a whiff of scandal.”
Verity nodded. That was core to her mother’s complaint. Disgrace reflected badly on the parent, although in this case … “We can always blame it on Miss Haverstock,” she suggested.
“We cannot! Oh, why can’t you be more like your sisters?”
Verity clamped her mouth. She loved her sisters, but had no desire to adopt their sensibilities, their fixation on matters of eternity, or their interest in whatever new and fashionable trinket the current edition of Lady’s Monthly Museum decreed. How pointless, how utterly futile were such doings.
At least Cecy had proved this past year to have some interest in a world beyond her social standing, and Caro’s scientific husband, and the impending birth of her baby, had extended her vocabulary beyond the petty concerns of the day. Her lips twisted.
Her mother sighed heavily. “Go tell Mary to pack your things.”
Oh, joy! “Do I now get to return to school? I have missed Helena so much, and I cannot wait—”
“No.”
Disappointment crowded her chest. Not finish her education? Granted, not all selectees returned for the final term, especially if they were to make their debut into society. Had Mama heard from the Lord Chamberlain? “Are we going to London, then? Has the date for the Drawing Rooms been announced?”
“I have decided that your behavior is not such that can be trusted to a season in London.”
That was something, at least. But what, then? An idea, wondrous in its scope, lit her heart. “Am I to visit Scotland? Oh, please, Mama. I promise not to trouble Mrs. Chisholm. She is such a kind lady, and I promise not to get into mischief, not even if it were a month of Sundays.”
“Are you quite finished?” Her mother’s face was devoid of expression.
Verity nodded, heart hoping against hope, willing her mother to agree. Please, Mama. Please!
Her mother flicked at a piece of invisible lint on her sleeve. “You are going to your grandmother’s. Now go, pack your things. I want you gone by daybreak.”
“But Mama—”
“Go!”
Moisture filled her eyes and clogged her throat. She bit her bottom lip to stop her chin from quivering. To be banished like Caro had once been? Verity rose, dropping her mother a curtsy, but her mother did not see her. She had turned away long ago.
Southern Ocean
Anthony clutched the rail as he dragged in long gulps of fresh air. He rubbed a hand over his face then squinted into the distance. Nothing save the interminable blue of rocking waves met his gaze. The past weeks had seen unimagined speed, but the strong winds propelling them onward had also seen treacherous storms. He thanked God for their safety, and thanked God that the recent sightings of albatross and sea turtles suggested land was close, something his unsteady legs would appreciate. Wind whipped his cheeks, threatening to unseat his hat as he remained by the bow, where he hoped he would be out of the way of those sailors yet inclined to activity. Past days had seen sailors and passengers alike succumb to scurvy, and long hours had seen him render assistance to not a few. Thank God the signs of illness had been identified early, permitting treatment with lemon and bark. He would continue to pray and trust God for their restoration to health.
He smiled at himself. Trust? This entire trip was built on trust. Faith that God would provide passage had been rewarded with this most unique of opportunities. When word from the senior chaplain had reached the governor’s ears that a young man of good family was returning to Scotland, his Excellency had requested Anthony’s urgent attendance in his chambers.
He had met the governor on numerous occasions, as Macquarie was assiduous in his church attendance and promotion of godly values, but never had Anthony experienced an encounter like the last. Macquarie’s recent illness had given him the appearance of great weariness, and there had been rumors he’d tendered his resignation.
The great man had looked him over. Thankfully Anthony’s face no longer bore a trace of the humiliation inflicted at The Romping Horse. “Jardine. Ah, I had forgotten.”
“Forgotten what, sir?”
Macquarie’s sudden smile took Anthony by surprise. “Nobody bends his head to the task like a true Scotchman.”
“Aye, sir. My family now lives in Edinburgh, but originally hails from Dumfriesshire.”
“And that is where you soon return?”
“Yes. I have recently received notice of an inheritance.”
The lines around the governor’s eyes seemed to soften. “News of an inheritance is often a mixed blessing.”
His throat grew tight. “It is that, sir.”
Macquarie nodded, his cheeks sagging in a way that suggested fatigue. “I trust I may count on you to fulfill a task for me, Jardine.”
“Of course.”
His eyes shadowed. Anthony’s heart twisted. Was Macquarie that concerned about the rumors stemming from Commissioner Bigge’s report that had the whole colony abuzz? Apparently London was not happy with the governor. “I’ve been given to understand you would likely not oppose postponing your return a little in order to assist in a certain matter.”
Anthony inclined his head. No doubt he had Marsden to thank for giving the governor such ideas.
“I wish for you to visit Rio de Janeiro.”
