Finding the Bluestockings Heart (The Colchester Sisters Book 3)

by Charlotte Darcy

  “That is excellent, Irving. Absolutely excellent,” Amos said and seemed so pleased to hear that not much had changed about Irving over the years that it was a little unsettling.

  “All right, all right!” Irving said somewhat loudly, drawing scowls from the old duffers all around them. “What is this all about?”

  “Can one not simply give a compliment without suspicion?” Amos said, his eyes wide and his face full of boyish mischief.

  “No, one cannot,” Irving said and laughed. “Oh, let me hear it, whatever it is.”

  “You have seen through me.” Amos shrugged expansively. “Perhaps there is something I would discuss with you over dinner.” He went on as their food was finally delivered to their table.

  “Very well,” Irving said as he picked up his knife and fork.

  Chapter Three

  “I was so pleased that you got in touch with me, Mr. Ayres. It has been such a long time since you have come to one of my evenings and I am bound to say that you have been sorely missed,” Mrs. Barton said as she ushered Irving into the drawing room.

  “The last two years have been rather trying, Mrs. Barton, what with the passing of my father and my own responsibilities now that I have taken over his estate,” Irving said by way of explanation. “But things have settled again, and I thought it was time for me to take up some of my old pursuits and friendships.”

  “Well, I am glad,” she said and smiled at him with such warmth that he was relieved; she did not bear any grudge for not having seen him for so long. “And how is your mother, my dear?”

  “She is coming along slowly, Mrs. Barton,” he smiled, choosing not to tell that good woman that he had every hope of his mother finally coming to terms with the idea of thriving after so many years of darkness under the rule of his pernicious father.

  “That is very good news,” she said enthusiastically. “Now, let me get you to settle down somewhere so that you might enjoy this evening’s talk in comfort.”

  “Thank you kindly,” he said, his eyes hurriedly scanning the room for any sign of Verity.

  He had never met any member of Amos’ family before; they had been close enough at school, but not so close that holidays were spent in one another’s homes.

  Amos’ description of his sister had been fulsome; a little woman with shining dark hair, a pale face, and green eyes. And, more likely than not, sitting alone.

  It was the last of the descriptive points which had finally led him in the right direction, for sitting on a small couch entirely alone was a small young woman with dark hair. Whether or not she had green eyes he would only find out by getting a little closer.

  “Mrs. Barton, who is that young lady who sits alone?” he asked as innocently as he could manage.

  “That is Miss Verity Colchester, Mr. Ayres. You will not have met her here before, for she has only been coming to evenings here this last year, perhaps just a little more.”

  “And she has no company this evening?”

  “She very rarely does. I know her mother, you see, and so her family realize that she is quite safe here.”

  “Oh, of course, Mrs. Barton. I meant no offense at all.” Irving bowed a little in apology. “I just meant that I would be pleased for an introduction if she, like me, is without company this evening.”

  “Yes, of course.” Mrs. Barton brightened immediately. “Although, I must tell you that she is rather subdued with conversation at times, especially if there is something of interest in what the speaker of the evening has to say.”

  “Then we shall be easy companions, if she will have me,” Irving said, relieved that he had identified Verity so quickly, but wondering if he would come to regret listening to any part of Amos’ little plan.

  The truth was that Irving had never been particularly tolerant of matchmakers and it was only that Amos proved to be the first male to approach him with just that intent, that he found his curiosity piqued.

  Had Amos been one of his mother’s friends, a kindly lady who thought she knew what was best for him, he probably would have dismissed her little proposal out of hand.

  As Irving and Mrs. Barton approached Verity, he made a little study of her. She was waiting patiently for the speaker of the evening to begin, so patiently that she was rather still. She did not seem at all self-conscious in being there alone and neither did she fiddle or fidget to occupy herself or look about the room shyly in the hopes of some company.

  She simply sat there with the air of a person who was perfectly content to occupy their own space. She was neither ashamed nor proud of her solo status, just accepting of it. And whilst there did not seem to be anything particularly forceful about her, Irving could not help but already think her rather bold.

  “Miss Colchester, would you allow me to introduce a dear friend of mine? One I have not seen for some time?” Mrs. Barton began brightly.

  “Yes, of course,” Verity said in a tone which could not be deciphered.

  She looked up at Irving before slowly rising to her feet and smiling at him benignly. So benignly that he thought she likely understood the mechanism of introduction very well and could follow its little laws without being at all interested in it.

  “This is Mr. Irving Ayres, Miss Colchester. I do believe he is greatly interested in botany as are you,” Mrs. Barton said with a flourish as if he was an inattentive son whom she was desperately trying to find a wife for.

  “I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Ayres,” Verity said and inclined her head in a manner that, if not entirely graceful, was very neat and efficient.

  “And I am very pleased to meet you too, Miss Colchester,” he said and bowed. “I wonder if you would mind at all if I sat with you for a while?”

  “No, not at all. There is plenty of space,” she said and looked down at the couch and then back up at him. “By all means.”

  “Thank you,” he said and waved a hand to indicate that she ought to sit first.

  Mrs. Barton smiled at him as if she had accomplished some wonderful achievement. She went on to look about the room to be sure that her guests were all comfortable and well attended to.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I must see if Mr. Winstanley is ready to give his talk,” Mrs. Barton began. “Oh, I do hope that everybody will find it interesting. I hope he will not spend too much time talking about microscopes,” she said and sounded a little flustered before disappearing.

  A maid approached with a tray of well filled sherry glasses and Irving smiled as he took two of them, handing one to Verity without a word.

  “Thank you, Mr. Ayres,” she said politely.

  “Do you have a great interest in botany, Miss Colchester?” he asked, wondering how to begin a conversation with her.

  On closer inspection, Amos’ youngest sister was really rather beautiful. She had the strangest expression, one which seemed to move between blank contentment and fierce inquisitiveness. She looked one moment at peace and as if there was not a single thought in her head, and the next, her green eyes were narrowed to slits looking about the room for any sign that the speaker was about to begin.

  “Yes, it is a subject I enjoy very well.”

  “As do I And I am bound to disagree with Mrs. Barton in my quiet hope that Mr. Winstanley spends a good deal of the talk concentrating upon microscopes. I have lately purchased one for myself, you see.”

  “Have you?” Suddenly, Verity was animated. Her green eyes were no longer narrowed into slits but rather wide with interest. “I have a microscope myself, Sir. My father bought it for me last year and I do not think I have made the best use of it so far. I was hoping for some ideas this evening and, like you, I am hoping that Mr. Winstanley talks greatly on the subject.”

  “Then here is hoping that we both get our wish,” Irving said and raised his sherry glass in her direction.

  He was surprised when she did the same. She was certainly not an effusively friendly young woman and he could hardly imagine her being one to trip over her own skirts to imp
ress during an introduction. But it was clear that she liked the idea of him sharing her interest in a subject about which she seemed to be quite excited.

  Already, Miss Verity Colchester was not at all as he had expected. In truth, he had never imagined that she would be anything like her brother’s description. He had assumed that Amos had simply told him what he wanted to hear in the hopes of finding a suitor he could trust for his beloved sister.

  But in her own way, Verity had already surpassed Amos’ description. There was something about her that already had Irving’s interest.

  And interest, Irving knew, was a vital ingredient which had been elusive thus far in his search for female company.

  When Mr. Winstanley took his place at the far end of the room and set a large brass microscope on the long table which had been set up expressly for him, Irving thought that, all in all, he was about to have a very enjoyable evening indeed.

  Chapter Four

  For three days following her evening at Mrs. Barton’s house, Verity had been getting the very most out of the microscope her father had bought for her. Mr. Winstanley, in his talk, had suggested all manner of things to study under magnification that she had not even thought of before and she was really very pleased that she had gone.

  The only thing that she was missing was a small piece of tree bark and so she had to go a little further afield to find it, given that her father would not allow her to take her tiny pocketknife to any one of the trees on his estate.

  She had been in the woodland for some time, enjoying the absolute peace. And so, when that peace was finally shattered, Verity was taken aback.

  “Miss Colchester?” She looked around sharply to see none other than Mr Ayres standing behind her. “Forgive me, I hope I did not startle you. It is a very pleasant day, is it not? Perfect for a walk.”

  “Oh, Mr Ayres,” Verity said, wondering at his sudden appearance. “Do you often walk in these woods?”

  “Yes, very often,” he said, and Verity wondered why it was she had never seen him there before.

  But of course, she only walked there herself once or twice a week and it was perfectly possible that they had both enjoyed that place for years without ever coming upon one another once.

  It would never have occurred to Verity that a man of recent acquaintance would have liked her well enough to seek her out and so she simply accepted the coincidence as just that; a coincidence.

  “I am just gathering some samples for my microscope,” Verity said, feeling the need to explain the small but fully-opened pocketknife in her gloved hand. “Specifically, tree bark.” She held the knife out.

  “Yes, Mr. Winstanley did rather open the whole business up, did he not? I must admit that I am one of the people he described in his talk, one who has simply studied a few leaves. I had never thought to cut berries and squash them on a slide to have a closer look at them, that is for certain,” he laughed.

  “And have you done that now, Mr Ayres? Have you cut berries and studied them?” Verity had quite forgotten about the berries and determined that she would do the same.

  “It is not the season for berries yet, Miss Colchester,” he said with a smile and she lightly tapped her forehead.

  “Of course, silly me. I think I am getting a little too overexcited by all the possibilities of the microscope,” she laughed, feeling strangely foolish for her mistake.

  Ordinarily, Verity did not find herself feeling foolish about anything and she wondered why it was she cared at all about making such a small error in front of her new acquaintance.

  “Although, the strawberries will be here soon. But I must admit, if I began to cut them, I would undoubtedly eat them.” He smiled at her and she thought him very pleasant to look at.

  He was a tall man, not quite as tall as Amos, but perhaps a little better built. He had dark blonde hair which was rather thick and perhaps a little overgrown, but nice, nonetheless. He was not dressed as well as he had been in Mrs. Barton’s drawing room, but then he was wearing the practical attire of a man who had decided to spend his morning walking. And Verity, who had done the same, found a certain amount of admiration for it.

  He wore black breeches and well-worn knee boots, boots which looked as if they had seen a good deal of walking in their time. The greatcoat he wore over his olive-green waistcoat was in cream, and was also far from new.

  And yet she did not get the impression that he lacked for money, although to Verity, that hardly mattered at all. He was just a man who dressed appropriately for the task at hand and, although it was just a simple thing, it pleased Verity and she liked him all the better for it.

  “Yes, I am rather partial to berries of all kinds. But perhaps I will sacrifice a slice to one of my slides when the time comes.”

  “And what of this tree bark? Have you had any success in cutting it?” he asked, eyeing the knife.

  “The knife is a little small, but it is very sharp,” she said, turning to the tree she had been facing when he had first come upon her. “Perhaps I will try it,” she said and immediately began to carve a small incision.

  It was a little tougher than she had expected but with the application of some moderate force, the bark yielded a little. She slid the blade of the knife beneath the incision she had made and used it as a lever, pulling the handle towards her until a sizeable piece of bark, almost three inches in length, came away.

  “Oh yes, that was very neatly done,” he said with interest and moved to stand beside her. “You shall have plenty there to look at when you get home.”

  “Yes,” she said, already losing her attention a little to the piece of bark in her hand.

  Still, as inattentive to him as she had suddenly become, Verity realized that he had said nothing when she had used the knife. He did not try to overtake things by suggesting that he ought to do it for her, nor did he make any mumblings about her being careful not to cut herself or make a mess of her gloves.

  Another point in his favor, she thought.

  “It seems we both gained a good deal from our visit to Mrs. Barton this week. I must admit, I had forgotten how very interesting her evenings are.”

  “Oh yes, she works very hard to find the best speakers, I find,” Verity agreed, sliding the piece of bark into her pocket before closing the knife and stowing it away also.

  “I do hope that our paths will cross again in her drawing room at some point.”

  “So do I, Mr. Ayres,” she answered a little mechanically, although she thought that he was pleasant company and clearly a very clever man.

  “Tell me, Miss Colchester, do you ever attend the dance at the assembly rooms in town? I ask only because I am lately back in society after a period of mourning and adjustment and am keen to take up some of my old pursuits.”

  “No, I am not particularly fond of such things,” Verity said truthfully. “I used to attend when my sisters were both at home, but since they are now both married, I have not bothered. They used to rather force me, you see. There was always some intrigue or other, some little excitement they thought to have there, but it was never particularly my choice.”

  “Oh, I see. Yes, quite so,” he said and looked curiously disappointed.

  “I could stand to be there before because I enjoyed my sisters’ company so well,” Verity went on, feeling she needed to explain and yet not really understanding why. “But without them I cannot imagine being well enough distracted that I would enjoy it.”

  “No, indeed,” he said and smiled with a little less ease than before. “Well, I am keeping you from your microscope, Miss Colchester.” He brightened, but she thought it was rather forced.

  “It was nice to see you again,” she said, feeling at a loss.

  “It was nice to see you too,” he said and bowed. “I shall bid you a good day, Miss Colchester.” And with that he smiled and continued on his way.

  Verity found herself watching his departing back and wondering why it was she felt a little disappointed by his sudden determina
tion to be away from her.

  Undoubtedly, she had done or said something which made her a little unusual to him, something which had made him decide, like so many before him, that her company was perhaps not quite what he had hoped it would be.

  But whereas ordinarily she would have shrugged off such an idea and thought herself better off alone, Verity felt a little sorry that he had gone. The truth was that she found him rather interesting and it had been so nice to be in conversation with somebody who seemed to share at least one of her interests.

  It was a rarity outside of Mrs. Barton’s drawing room or one of the lectures in the town hall. And even in both of those places, Verity did not seem able to draw people towards her for long enough to enjoy such conversations.

  But she could only be herself and, if that was a little strange to Mr. Ayres, there was nothing that Verity could do about it. And in truth, there was nothing she would do about it.

  As disappointed as she felt, Verity could only be true to herself.

  Chapter Five

  “How very nice to see you again, Mrs. Ayres,” Amos said with the open friendliness which had served to make him one of the more popular men in the county. “And what a great shame for me that you are already otherwise engaged for the afternoon,” he went on, much to Irving’s mother’s delight.

  “What a kind young man you are,” she said in her sweet and gentle voice. “But I had promised Lady Fulton that I would help her with the church flower arrangements. Her turn has come around very quickly and whilst she is willing, she is not terribly experienced.”

  “I am sure your help is greatly needed, Mother.” Irving kissed her cheek to send her on her way.

  His mother was a kind and warm woman, one who had raised him well, despite the criticisms of her husband.