by M C Beaton
Lord James frowned. “If, as you say, Miss Bascombe wrote those letters, then it does not say very much for Miss Bascombe’s character to be party to such a plot, such a deception.”
“I had not thought of that.”
“Well, I would think of it now. Miss Bascombe obviously considers your title and fortune fair game to be secured for her friend by any methods possible.”
“Put that way, it sounds quite dreadful.”
“I can understand your interest in Mrs. Manners. She is the most exquisite thing I have ever seen. But the clever and plotting Miss Bascombe! That is another thing. Perhaps it was she who suggested the whole thing to Mrs. Manners in order to come to London for the Season. One could hardly call her good ton. Someone told me she is nothing but a country lawyer’s daughter.”
“She has warmth and spirit. I rescued her today from the top of a tree in Hyde Park.”
“What was she doing up a tree?”
“Attempting to rescue Mrs. Manners’s cat. She climbed so high she lost her nerve. Old Lady Wythe waylaid me in Park Lane and told me of Miss Bascombe’s predicament, so I climbed up and brought the cat down, which gave Miss Bascombe enough courage to follow me.”
“Most unbecoming in her,” drawled Lord James. “And very hoydenish. Perhaps it was staged so as to force you to rescue her.”
“Now you are being ridiculous.”
“Lady Wythe knows everyone in London. How odd she should come out onto Park Lane for help at the precise moment you happened to be passing.”
“She didn’t, actually. I saw her standing at the edge of the road from quite a distance away.”
“And who was before you in the carriages?”
“There was—let me see—Byng, Brown, Petersham, and Downie.”
“And is there one of these gentlemen the old dowager does not know?”
“Well… no.”
“Then there you are! I agree that Miss Bascombe, since she seems to have become your interest, has a certain attraction. It is all very well for a man to be clever, but it is a disaster in a woman. You would not want a wife with an independent mind!”
“I think it might be very interesting, and life would hardly ever be dull.”
“Aha, but a plotting and scheming wife?”
“I still would like to go on this outing tomorrow and find an opportunity to tax Miss Bascombe with the fact that I believe her to have written the letters and listen to her explanation. Of course, if you have other plans…?”
“No, I am intrigued by the plot. And if Miss Bascombe is as cunning as I am beginning to think she is, then you will need my protection.”
“Good.” The duke signaled to a waiter and ordered paper and pen. “I will let Mrs. Manners know of the new arrangements.”
“You have been very quiet all evening, Charlotte,” said Verity, as they returned home from the opera. “Yes this, no that. But a definite frost in the air. I did say I was sorry that I spoiled your drive, but just think: If I had not done so, then Denbigh might not have offered to drive you to Richmond, a much more satisfactory arrangement.”
“You keep making me look like a fool,” Charlotte burst out. “Those pets! You deliberately set out to steal their affection away from me.”
“Fustian. You know very well that when I arrived, they were mangy and likely to die. In fact, you ordered them killed!”
“I never said such a thing. You are a liar. There! It is high time someone told you how lying and devious you are, Verity.”
“Do not accuse me of your own character defects. You are cruel and selfish and ungracious, and I shall leave tomorrow,” said Verity, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Good riddance,” said Charlotte. “What is it, Pomfret?”
“This note from the Duke of Denbigh was delivered by hand, ma’am.”
“Then why didn’t you say so, you lummox, instead of creeping about furtively?”
“What does it say?” asked Verity.
“Mind your own business, miss.”
“I hope he is writing to say he has changed his mind,” said Verity.
Charlotte’s eyebrows almost vanished up under her turban as she read.
“Goodness gracious. He is bringing Lord James Castleton with him, for Lord James wishes to further his acquaintance with you. You of all people!”
“Then,” said Verity in a choked voice, “you may tell His Grace I was so tired of your bad manners that I left.”
Charlotte looked at her in amazement. “Don’t you want to go to Richmond with a handsome lord?”
“Not with you,” said Verity, her hands clenched into fists.
“Oh, my dear Verity, you must not pay attention to my rubbish. I am jealous of you. There! I see I have amazed you. Odd, is it not? Like Beauty being jealous of the Beast. No! No! I was only funning. Come into the drawing room, I have something most important to tell you.”
Pride was telling Verity that she should go up to her room and pack. But pride would not help her to see the duke again.
She followed Charlotte into the drawing room. Charlotte drew Verity down onto a backless sofa and held both her hands and gazed into her eyes. “Listen, my friend,” she said. “I am head over heels in love with Denbigh. That is why I behaved so irrationally! Can you understand?”
Oh, yes, Verity thought sadly. That she could very well understand. “I will need your help on the morrow,” said Charlotte urgently.
Verity looked at her miserably. She had not thought Charlotte capable of love, but how could any woman help loving the Duke of Denbigh? She did not know that Charlotte was only in love with the duke’s title. Charlotte thought only very common people fell in love and so had claimed to be in love with the duke to give Verity’s inferior middle-class mind something she could comprehend.
Then Verity realized that if she stayed in London, she would have a front-row seat at the courtship of the duke and Charlotte. Unbearable.
“No, Charlotte,” she said. “I wish you well. But I must leave.”
“Oh, my wicked tongue. My darling Verity. You know I do not have much time for my own sex. But I am very fond of you. We have had such fun, have we not? Do not be too rash. Stay at least for tomorrow. You know you admired my pink silk parasol. It is yours. There! See how I dote on you? Oh, Verity, do not be so cruel.”
Charlotte raised a wisp of cambric to her eyes and began to sob.
Verity herself cried with great pain and difficulty. She did not know that Charlotte could cry at will. Her heart was softened. Charlotte should have the duke. Jealousy has made me as bad as Charlotte, thought Verity penitently. “Please do not cry, Charlotte. I will stay. Only do stop crying.”
So Charlotte stopped. Her tears switched off as if she had turned off a tap in her head.
“We shall celebrate the renewal of our friendship.”
Pomfret came in at that moment, followed by two footmen carrying the tea tray. But Charlotte waved them away and ordered champagne and two tankards.
“I shall be quite drunk,” said Verity, raising a brimming silver tankard.
Charlotte giggled. “I adore champagne. Let us see who can drain the tankard dry first.”
Verity laughed and spluttered as the bubbles went up her nose. Charlotte refilled their tankards. “To us!” she said.
Verity giggled, already feeling tipsy and lightheaded. “To us,” she echoed.
“And you must give me your solemn pledge that you will do everything in your power to help me ensnare the duke.”
“You are really in love with him?”
Charlotte crossed her heart.
“Then I shall!” cried Verity, feeling noble.
Charlotte rang for more champagne. They were both very drunk by the time they reeled upstairs, giggling and laughing and still swearing eternal friendship.
In the privacy of her bedroom, Charlotte lay in bed and laughed and laughed. “The silly ninny,” she said, meaning Verity. “I did very well. That should put paid to any ambitious ideas that creature
might be harboring in her common mind! I really do believe silly Verity had some idea of getting Denbigh for herself!”
It was a perfect morning when two very fragile ladies emerged into the bright sunlight of Berkeley Square. Verity felt wretched. The light hurt her eyes and her mouth was dry.
Charlotte had a pounding headache. Both ladies hung on to the side of the carriage as it moved off. The duke’s coachman was driving the open carriage. Both men were sitting with their backs to the horses and Verity and Charlotte facing them.
Despite her headache, Charlotte looked very beautiful. She was wearing her favorite sky-blue color: sky-blue gown, sky-blue gloves and shoes, and sky-blue parasol. Verity was dressed in a pink muslin gown and pelisse. The color did not flatter her, and her eyes were almost as pink as her dress.
The duke found her dull and quite unattractive. Charlotte sparkled in comparison. The attention of two handsome men was just the tonic she needed. As Verity began to feel sick with the motion of the carriage, Charlotte was quite restored to her usual good health.
At last the duke noticed that Miss Bascombe had turned a greenish color. He suggested they stop at an inn for some refreshments. Verity nodded gratefully.
As the duke was helping Verity down from the carriage, he took the opportunity to say, “You do not look very well, Miss Bascombe.”
“I feel dreadful,” said Verity candidly. “I drank too much champagne too late last night.”
“Wicked Miss Bascombe, to succumb so easily to the fleshpots of London. I had thought you made of sterner stuff.”
“Well, Your Grace, as you can see I am not, and feel likely to die.”
“We shall have hock and seltzer and you will soon be recovered.”
“What are you talking about?” cried Charlotte.
“Restoratives,” said the duke. “I am recommending hock and seltzer.”
The drink worked like a charm. Verity felt a warm glow taking the queasiness out of her stomach. The duke was amused by the transformation. Miss Bascombe’s skin glowed with health once more, and her black eyes sparkled. Lord James caught a warning look from the duke and correctly interpreted it as a reminder that he was to appear interested in Verity at this stage of the outing. He reluctantly wrenched his eyes away from Charlotte’s beautiful face and said, “I feel sure you are a lady of many secrets, Miss Bascombe. You are not perhaps one of those wicked novelists?”
“Not I,” said Verity.
“But you like to write?”
“Not at all,” said Verity uncomfortably. “I am supposed to be keeping a diary of all I see in London to read to my friends at our sewing circle back at Market Basset, but I regret to say I have not even begun.”
“And have you had many fascinating experiences?”
“Oh, yes,” said Verity. “London is full of things to see and do.”
“And is there anything you have not seen which you would like to visit?”
“Yes, I would like to see the mint. They have just moved the mint, you know, from the Tower to Tower Hill. There are presses designed by the engineers Boulton, Watt, and Rennie, which, I believe, are steam-driven and able to strike coins at the staggering rate of a hundred a minute!”
Lord James looked amused. “But what of Almack’s? The opera? The opening dinner at the Royal Academy?”
“Most enjoyable,” said Verity. “But new inventions are intriguing, are they not?”
“Hardly a feminine interest.”
“Being a female does not mean that one is mentally defective, Lord James.”
He colored angrily, then remembered he was supposed to flirt with her and said, “I find beauty such as yours allied to brains somewhat intimidating, Miss Bascombe.”
“I am not clever at all,” said Verity in surprise, “and my looks are nothing out of the common way.”
Lord James looked crossly at the duke, who was murmuring things to Charlotte on the other side of the table. It was too much to ask of him! Dalliance with Miss Bascombe was about as easy as wading through a sea of mud.
“You must trust me to be your looking glass, Miss Bascombe.”
“Very prettily said, my lord,” said Verity, “but I am afraid my opinion of my looks is still the same, much as I long to believe you.”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” he said sententiously, casting a longing look in Charlotte’s direction.
“Perhaps,” said Verity. “But it must be very pleasant to be as beautiful as Mrs. Manners because then one can take all compliments at face value.”
He brightened visibly. “Mrs. Manners is divinely fair. Have you known her long?”
“We attended the same seminary in Bath,” said Verity. “This visit is the first opportunity I have had of seeing her since I was there.”
“And has she changed?”
“As to character, no,” said Verity. “But her beauty is much greater.”
He smiled at her warmly, thinking that Miss Bascombe certainly made up in loyalty and friendship what she lacked in charm.
As they returned to the carriage, Verity was irritated with herself. Lord James was supposed to have come on this outing to further his acquaintance with her. She, Verity, had received many fulsome compliments from some of her admirers in Market Basset. She had responded to them in the correct flirtatious manner. But love had never spoiled any of her conversation with gentlemen before and she had to admit to herself ruefully that she was wishing both Lord James and Charlotte at the devil. She reminded herself sternly that she had promised to support Charlotte in every way, and languishing after a handsome duke who was well above her touch was hardly the right way to go about it.
Verity had to confess that the duke seemed to be enjoying Charlotte’s light prattle and was answering in kind as they bowled along the sunny road to Richmond. Lord James’s behavior was beginning to puzzle Verity more and more. He paid her compliment after compliment, but his eyes kept straying to Charlotte when he was not trying to catch the duke’s eye, almost as if he were begging permission to do something.
Lord James was waiting eagerly for the moment when he was supposed to switch his attention from Charlotte to Verity. As they strolled under the trees through Richmond Park, he thought it would never come. The duke and Charlotte were walking ahead, laughing and joking. Verity had taken herself firmly in hand and was behaving toward Lord James just as a young miss ought. She talked of balls and parties and people in society. But he answered her in an abstracted sort of way, then seemed to remind himself of something and paid her another compliment, stunning in its praise but insulting in the halfhearted, abstracted way in which it was delivered.
They returned to the carriage and went on to an inn situated at the edge of the Thames. The duke called for iced champagne, as the inn boasted its own icehouse. Verity drank sparingly, but Charlotte drank a great deal, her eyes glowing.
Then Lord James saw the message in the duke’s eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. He jumped to his feet. “Charles has had too much of your attention, Mrs. Manners,” he cried. “Pray walk with me a little and we will look at the swans.”
Charlotte, elated at having two titled men competing for her favors, thought it would do the duke no harm to have a little competition and graciously agreed.
Verity and the duke were left alone together.
“My friend seems much taken with you,” said the duke.
“I do not think so,” said Verity, “although he is going to great lengths to make that appear to be the case. I wonder why?”
“Miss Bascombe! You cannot rate your attractions so low.”
“When Mrs. Manners is about, I can and do.”
“What an awkward sort of female you are, climbing trees, bristling up at compliments, and writing other people’s letters for them.”
Verity choked on her champagne. He waited politely until she had recovered and said, “You must think me a great fool if you believe that I thought those letters came from Mrs. Manners. She could not possibly have
written them, but you most certainly could.”
“You must not tease Mrs. Manners with this,” said Verity.
“I would not dream of it. But to tease you, Miss Bascombe, gives me a great deal of pleasure.”
They fell silent. The water chuckled past and the sun sparkled on the little waves.
They were sitting in the inn garden under an ash tree. The shadows of the leaves fluttered across Verity’s face.
“Well,” she said reluctantly, “Mrs. Manners has difficulty in writing letters. Quite a lot of people do, you know. So, yes, I wrote them, but they were really from her.”
“And did you not stop to think such behavior deceitful?”
“No. Had Mrs. Manners not been interested in communicating with you, yet I had gone ahead and written the letters just the same—that would have been deceitful.”
“But I was cleverly wooed in print and came hotfoot to London to meet my charming correspondent.”
“I did not mean to do wrong,” said Verity. “You loved her once.”
“I thought I did, yes. Had Mrs. Manners written herself, then I am sure her letters would have betrayed that she was simply interested in becoming my duchess.”
“You are too hard.”
“Not I! She would not have even troubled to commiserate with me over my recent bereavement. You did. Who did you lose?”
“My mother.”
“I thought the writer spoke from experience, but I was led to believe that Mrs. Manners had been shaken by the loss of her husband.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” said Verity. “Can we not forget those wretched letters?”
“We can try,” he said with a charming smile. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I want to know why you instructed Lord James to pay court to me and then gave him permission to give up and go after Mrs. Manners.”
His eyes glinted with amusement as he looked at her. “I think I shall tell the truth. I wanted some time alone with Mrs. Manners so that I could make up my mind once and for all about the author of those letters. Then I wanted some time alone with you. As you see, it has worked to a nicety. Lord James is enjoying the company of Mrs. Manners and I have found my letter writer.”
“I thought we were not going to talk about those letters.”
