Lady in Rags

Chapter Twenty-Two: Desperate Conviction

At first, Verity thought that at any moment she might receive notice that she was not, and never had been, married. But weeks passed without any further notice on the matter. She half-believed the Earl of Albroke had given it up, though Neil always looked away with pursed lips when she suggested it.

In June, summer arrived, late as usual, in the sleepy little valley. Neil went away for two weeks, to Albroke, to argue with his father. It was the first time he had seen him in eight years, and he was only seeing him to have an argument. Verity didn't like it, and had wished to go with him, but he had flatly refused to allow her. He had so many good reasons why she should not go too: it was the first time he had seen his father since he was a boy; the journey was a long one and the heatwave unpleasant for her; she must maintain her presence in society; his father would greatly abuse her. Nevertheless, watching the forlorn slope of his shoulders as he left, looking like a dog who had been beaten by its master, she could not help but think he needed someone to support him. But no. He did not want her.

Instead, Verity stayed home. It was true: she chaperoned Clare and a few other younger village girls to a picnic; she went to tea with her grandmother; she bought herself two new ribbons at the village haberdashery store, a frivolous indulgence like she had never been able to afford until now. But apart from those interludes, she prowled around the house, upsetting Mrs Roper and the butler Perkins, who had begun a sort of civil war over the housekeeping duties and certain accusations of disloyalty. Recently Verity had begun to suspect that the butler, who had always been superior, as is bred into butlers, was beginning almost to be contemptuous. It irked her. So when he knocked on the door of her bedroom that day, put a finger to his nose, and said,

"A visitor."

Verity replied sharply, "You may call him by his name, Perkins. And take your finger from your nose. You look ridiculous."

The butler removed his hand from his nose with dignity. "I had an itch, my lady. And the visitor is a lady. She has given me her card."

He presented the card on a silver platter, and Verity took it up with confusion. She had assumed it would be Richard Armiger again, come while his brother was out. She had been expecting somehow that he would.

Mrs Walter Walthrope presents her compliments

Jane Walthrope!

Verity dropped the card in her lap, as though it was a rat. The instinctive reaction did not pass the butler by, and a faint smile hovered on his flat-cheeked, long-chinned countenance.

"She is here now?" Verity snapped, and he drew himself to attention, the emotion fading like mud drying up in the sun.

"In the drawing room, my lady."

"Then I suppose I must see her." Verity stood up, and tossed the card in the waste paper basket. "You are dismissed."

Verity did not like dismissing servants, as a general rule, but Perkins seemed to need it. He bowed, ever so slightly, and turned and left. She went down to the drawing room alone.

When she got there, Jane rose from the couch, held out her hands and said, "Verity," very warmly. For a moment, Verity could do nothing but stand still and stare at her. She had only met her twice, and neither time had she liked her. Moreover, an echo of emotions of betrayal and horror came to her at the sight of those deep blue eyes. Perhaps sensing it, Jane let her hands fall to her side.

"You weren't at the Thompson's ball!" Jane prattled. "Or the Merritons', or the Kimberlys'. I didn't know where I would meet you if I didn't come by – and Neil isn't here either! But that's alright. We don't need men. It's you I wanted to see."