𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐃𝐄 ♚ 𝙩. 𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙗𝙮

xxxvi - 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

Getting ready for the day was a slow and rather painful exercise; each step into the items of clothing was done with care – and if not for bashing her ankle a few times, Verity had managed to dress herself considerably well under the circumstances.

Making her way back into the room, brush in hand as she combed through her hair slowly, she eyed her large stilettos with cold stare of pure venom. How they had betrayed her into this very sorry position.

-

Downstairs, the house was eerily quiet – and felt lessened of the usual turbulent energy that hung about in the air whenever Tommy was about.  Charlie was in the study, his tutor having arrived (and still completely unbeknownst of their letter cockup) and lessons were underway.

How these times much reminded Verity of when she had first lost her home when her sister found out about her work with the Shelby's. How Verity would stalk the house daily trying to find things to do if Charlie was busy – and would pray for the excitement of the train journey down to the club twice a week.

She hobbled carefully into the sitting room – eyeing the piano that had gotten her so wrapped up in all this in the first place. She cursed herself for ever pressing those few keys and mumbling her stupid little song. Maybe then Tommy would have been less inclined to ruin her life.

"Ah, Miss Grant!" Francis' voice in the doorway behind her caused Verity to jump a little – the psychologist turning on the spot as she directed a sweetened smile to the courteous maid.

"How is your ankle? Mr Shelby had me call the Doctor, he's coming to see you this afternoon."

Verity sighed deeply, of course he did.

"It's tender I must admit, but I can manage." She returned, a placid smile on her face which betrayed her all but frustrated emotions.

"Can I fetch you any breakfast? A Pot of tea at least?" Francis always seemed so genuinely caring, and not just a forced front that all house staff were expected to put on. Verity had always seen Francis be nothing but kind and caring always towards her work and the people in the house... even the volatile likes of Tommy.

"Some jam toast would be welcomed... and a pot of tea wouldn't hurt." Verity replied with a bashful smile, "But on one condition... you must sit down and have a cup with me."

The housemaid seemed conflicted, as if she knew that was very much slacking off from the long list of duties she had to attend to that day. However, Verity's pressing stare, and perhaps the desperate flicker for some company all but swayed the maid in the end.

"I'll be back shortly." She confirmed, disappearing from the room with that ever so efficient swing to her step – whilst Verity at least tried to get comfortable in the house that had caused her so many conflicted emotions in such a short space of time.

-

The steam wove it's way into the air in a stream of wispy white curls, as Francis held her cup and saucer with some rigidity, like she was already anxiously thinking about the fact she technically wasn't doing any work.

"Do you know where Mr Shelby has gone today?" Verity asked inquisitively, hoping to distract Francis from feeling she had to rush off to get work done.

"Down to London I believe, Miss Ebson is due to have her baby soon. I think Mr Shelby wanted to have some discussions with his brother." She explained, one of those sheepish smiles on her face like she feared for talking too much out of turn.

Verity tried to disguise the abundant pain that flashed through her chest upon the mention of Scarlett... another one of her ghosts she had pushed to the very back of her mind, so much so it had become a cluttered cupboard and the woman had almost entirely repressed the sweet and happy memories of the American who had brought her so much joy... and crushed her heart so carelessly.