A Principle of Honour

Chapter 5

Verity shook her head and said, in almost a whisper, 'no, no, thank you.'

'I will pour you one anyway,' he said as he walked across the room towards a sideboard that contained a smart line of crystal decanters on its surface, 'just in case you change your mind.' He carefully poured two large glasses of brandy and placed one in front of Verity. 'Miss Stanford, you are still wearing your cloak. As your host, I have indeed neglected my duties; I must apologise. Please, let me rectify my mistake.'

'It is not necessary...' Verity began to say nervously, wrapping her cloak tightly around her shoulders. The room was warm, far too warm to wear a woollen cloak, but the thick, heavy material wrapped around her body, gave her a little comfort as she sat in his study, feeling very alone.

He put up his hand and interrupted her. 'Of course, it is,' he said smoothly, 'it is very warm in here.'

Verity nodded and then stood up and started to undo the button that held the cloak around her neck. Her hands were still cold, and they shook with the anxiety she felt about being alone with him. 'Let me help,' he said as he moved to stand behind her.

'That will not be...' Verity stopped and shivered when she felt his hands come from behind her and caress the back of her neck. Once he had undone the button of her cloak, he slipped it slowly off her shoulders and placed it on the back of her chair.

'That's better,' he said as he sauntered back to his chair and sat down.

'I have asked you here this afternoon to discuss your future,' he then said, leaning back in his chair.

She took a deep breath and tilted her chin, trying to muster up a look of confidence; confidence that she did not feel. 'I do believe, from the note you sent me this morning, that you wanted to discuss my brother's future, not mine. I do not see how my future is any of your business.'

He leant forward and rested his elbows on the surface of the desk and smiled at her. 'Ah! My dear, but it is. Your future is very much my concern. I did warn you in the churchyard three weeks ago, that it was you I wanted.'

'I do not understand,' she said quietly, in almost a whisper. 'Why me?'

'My dear, Miss Stanford, Verity,' he said, 'how long have you been at that school of yours?'

'Fourteen years,' she answered.

'Fourteen years,' he repeated, nodding his head, 'it is a long time to be in one place, is it not? Do you not wish for something a little more adventurous from life?'

'No, I am very happy where I am,' she said, trying to answer him confidently, 'very happy.'

'I did not ask you if you were happy,' he replied coolly, 'I asked you if you wanted a little more excitement in your life.'

Verity remained very still, she did not feel comfortable with him calling her by her first name, 'no, my Lord,' she eventually said, 'I am very happy at the school, and I would...'

He put up his hand to interrupt her again. Verity immediately obeyed and looked down anxiously at her knuckles that had almost turned white. There was silence in the room, and all she could hear was the ticking of a clock on the mantlepiece and the crackle of wood from a log that had just fallen from its place in the fire. She listened to his chair creak as he stood up, and then she listened to his footsteps as he walked towards her. Once he stood behind her chair, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

'My dear Verity,' a shiver went down her spine as he used her given name once more. There was a familiarity about it that did not sit well with her. 'You are indeed wasted shut away in that place.' He bent down and whispered in her ear, 'you have so many talents, my dear, talents you keep hidden away from the world.'