As she slowly advanced towards the stranger her heart was full of silent fury.
Who was this woman who had turned her father’s head so? And how dare she think she could take the place of her sweet, beloved mother!
Stiffly Verena bent down and kissed the proffered cheek. As she drew back, she could see a thinly veiled look of disgust in cold eyes as they travelled over Verena’s dusty riding habit and face.
Finally, the new Countess spoke,
“My dear, I can see that you have sorely missed a mother’s guiding hand. I have promised your father that I will look after you and give you good counsel. I can see that I have arrived just in time.”
Verena stood erect, her proud head held high, her body shaking.
“Father, may I please be excused? I need to change.”
The Earl nodded tersely, his face an expressionless mask.
Verena’s eyes filled with tears as she pulled the drawing room doors behind her.
What was wrong with her father? Never, even in his darkest depths of misery, had he behaved towards her in such a cold fashion. He had become a stranger to her and was no longer her own dear Papa.
*
Verena’s worst fears were soon confirmed over the course of the next few months.
The Countess was determined to make her mark on Rosslyn Hall.
“I shall turn this decrepit place into a Palace again,” she had said loftily, as she tugged at the voluptuous, Italian silk curtains in the drawing room that Verena’s mother had brought back from her honeymoon in Florence. “These awful things will be the first to be replaced.”
Verena could only look on in horror. “But my mother bought those. She loved them.”
“And I do not, so they must come down immediately.
I cannot bear to look at them for one moment longer.”
The destruction of everything that Verena loved continued apace.
Everything old went in favour of the sparkling new – even the Earl was dressing differently. He wore coloured cravats and had grown a moustache – all because his new Countess had told him that the fashionable men of London were sporting one.
Verena’s only escape was her riding.
As soon as breakfast was over, she would slip out of the back door and run towards the stables where Barker or Roper would be waiting with Jet.
As she covered mile after mile on the sleek animal, she felt friendless and afraid.
If her father had turned his back on her in favour of his new wife, what could she do? Who could she turn to?
There had been conversations suddenly terminated when she walked in and doors being closed whenever she appeared – almost as if there was some terrible secret lurking within the walls of the house that she was not allowed to know.
Furthermore, the Countess dogged her every step, making comments and passing judgements on how Verena wore her hair, how she dressed and her pastimes.
Verena began to feel like a prisoner in her own home.
Then one day, Verena was on her way back from the stables when she noticed what resembled a pile of old curtains round by the kitchen dustbins. She sighed as she ran to investigate. Rather than throw the things out, she thought that maybe the Church fete would be glad of them.
‘Why, these do not seem to be furnishings,’ she said to herself, pulling at the mound of material.
Slowly the awful truth dawned on her as she pulled out one long silk glove, followed by a tangle of cloaks and gowns.
She could not prevent the sobs from bursting forth as she realised that these were not some discarded chattels, but her own dear mother’s belongings.
‘There can only be one person responsible for this,’ she choked. ‘And I think it is time that Papa knew what kind of woman he has married.’
Grabbing one of her mother’s favourite gowns – a white, summer muslin trimmed with broderie anglaise – she marched straight to her father’s study.
Her knees were trembling as she slowly opened the door without knocking. It was some moments before her father realised that she was there.
“What is it, what ails you? You are looking quite pale, dearest.”
Verena held out the muslin dress.
“Papa, I found this in the dustbins near the kitchen along with the rest of my mother’s gowns.”
The Earl looked puzzled for a second and then a shadow of irritation passed over his face.
“Verena, your stepmother asked my permission to dispose of them and I concurred. It no longer pleases me to have them hanging in the wardrobe when I have a new wife to consider.”
“But Papa –”
“Verena, your mother is dead and whilst she is forever in my heart, there is no place for sentimentality in Rosslyn Hall. I have lived in the shadows long enough. Your stepmother has full authority to do what she will with both the house and its contents, she is now its Mistress and I leave all domestic matters to her. That is the end of the matter.”
Curling up the muslin dress into a ball, Verena tearfully left the study.
‘Truly I am alone,’ she said to herself as she threw herself on her bed upstairs. ‘Oh, Mama darling, how I miss you! If you can hear me wherever you are, please help me!’ Verena cried herself to sleep and was only woken by Violet standing over her.
“My Lady, dinner is in ten minutes! I’ve been knocking for ages and you didn’t hear me.”
“Thank you, Violet, that will be all.”
Verena stretched her arms and climbed out of her bed. Her pink silk dress was hanging up on the armoire. It was the same one that she had worn to her coming-of-age ball only a few months previously.
‘I cannot face another unpleasant scene with Papa,’ she told herself as she dressed, ‘I must make every effort to be as compliant as he wishes.’
Entering the dining room, Verena saw that her father and her stepmother were already seated.
“I must apologise,” said Verena, simply, “I am afraid my ride this afternoon quite tired me and I fell asleep. I do hope that I have not inconvenienced you with my late arrival.”
“Your stepmother and I have something we wish to discuss with you, but more of that later. First, I want you to tell me how that fine stallion of mine is coming along.”
Verena seized the chance to steer the conversation away from awkward matters. Her father’s love of horses was one of the joys of life they had always shared.
“He is a strong-willed beast, Papa, but oh, how he runs! I feel as if I am flying when I’m mounted upon him.
He is as fearless as a lion and takes jumps as if he had wings –”
“It all sounds most dangerous to me,” intervened the Countess, “my Lord, are you happy with your only daughter taking part in such pursuits? Gentle cantering is fine for a lady, but this rough and tumble is most unbecoming for an Earl’s daughter. A lady never goes for jumps, she merely trots.”
The Earl coughed in order to disguise a smile. He loved Verena’s spirit. She was as fearless as any man when it came to horses and secretly, he was proud of her for it.
“I do not see any harm in the pursuit,” he began, “I approve of healthy, outdoor activities – none of this sitting around like London ladies, getting more wan by the second!”
“Ah, I am quite in agreement with you on that count, my Lord, but it does not do for a young woman to be cavorting around the countryside like a vagabond. There is not a gentleman in London who would find that attractive.”
Verena looked up from her hare soup.
“I would not care for a gentleman who did not enjoy the thrill of a cross-country gallop,” she commented.
Her words dried on her lips as, for the first time, she caught sight of what her stepmother was wearing around her neck.
“Pardon my curiosity,” Verena started, “but that emerald necklace you are wearing – I am sure my mother owned one very similar.”
“It was your mother’s and we will hear no more about it,” snapped the Earl.
The Coun
tess fingered the trinket hanging from her far-from-slender neck and smiled to herself.
“Jewels like this deserve to be worn, not kept locked away in a box,” she remarked smugly.
Verena remained silent for the rest of the meal. She could hardly bear to look either her father or her stepmother in the face. Instead, she stared miserably into her plate, hardly touching what was placed in front of her.
“Not hungry?” asked the Countess, as the strawberry soufflé a la Parisienne was taken away uneaten, “I do hope you are not sickening for something? We have a very busy weekend planned for you and I want to make sure that you are looking your very best.”
Verena sat silent and questioning. The tension in the air was palpable. Her father looked most uncomfortable as he cleared his throat, “Your stepmother and I –”
“What your father is trying to say,” interrupted the Countess, “is that it is high time you were wed. I was shocked to hear that you went through your London Season without attracting any suitors and we both believe that twenty-one is the absolutely oldest you can be if you are to have any hope of making a good match.”
Verena was speechless. The blood was draining from her head and she felt as though she might faint.
Her stepmother continued without pausing,
“I can see that there is a danger of your becoming spoiled goods if you are not taken in hand immediately. With this in mind, I have personally selected a suitable gentleman to woo you. His name is the Duke of Dalkenneth and he will be coming this weekend for the hunt and to see if you please him. He is a well-established gentleman with lands and a title and as yet no heir. His first wife died in childbirth, along with the baby and so he seeks a young wife to take her place. It is a very good match and I cannot see any obstacles, so your father and I are both expecting you to accept his suit.”
Verena turned her pleading eyes to her father, who steadfastly looked away.
“Papa?” she said questioningly.
“Your stepmother is quite right. It is high time that you were married and became Mistress of your own household. He is a fine choice and will make a most suitable match. Moreover, when your stepmother has a child, she will not want the worry of an unmarried stepdaughter.”
“But Papa, when I marry, I want to marry for love like you and Mama. I do not think I could bear to be with a man I did not care for.”
The Earl began to tap his fingers impatiently on the dining table.
“Daughter, your stepmother has been kind enough to undertake what you yourself seemed unable to accomplish when you were in London – she has found you an acceptable suitor. You should be grateful that she has gone to so much trouble on your behalf. You will meet the Duke of Dalkenneth and if you are lucky enough to fall in love with him, no one will be more delighted than I.”
Verena could stand it no longer. At the risk of further angering her father, she rose from the table and left hastily without saying another word.
‘How could he do this? How could he?’ she sobbed as she ran upstairs towards her bedroom. ‘I thought he loved me and now I find myself doubting him.’
Rushing past a bewildered Violet, Verena bolted into her bedroom and locked the door behind her, tears streaming down her face.
‘I will not marry a man I have not chosen for myself,’ she cried into her pillow, ‘Mama would never have wanted this for me. But it would seem my wishes do not count. Oh, dearest Mama, I wish you were here, oh, how I need you! What will become of me? Oh, what will become of me!’
CHAPTER TWO
As the hours ticked by, Verena slowly composed herself.
‘I must think of something, I cannot simply resign myself to this fate.’
She tossed and turned on top of her silk eiderdown, her hair a mass of tangles, undried tears on her cheeks.
‘How wretched I will be if I am forced into a marriage against my will. No, I will not marry a man I do not love! I only wish I could remember why the Duke’s name is so familiar to me, yet I cannot recall his face – ’
The past few months had been more than enough to convince of her what a life without love would hold.
She had never known her father to be so distant with her. Only occasionally did he afford her the kind of affection they had previously shared when it had been just the two of them at Rosslyn Hall.
‘Since my stepmother has arrived, it is as if he has completely forgotten Mama,’ Verena moaned to herself sadly and then began to cry again. ‘Truly I am starved of love and it would seem that I will wait a long time before I find love at Rosslyn Hall again.’
She gazed around the room that she had occupied since leaving the nursery and at all the familiar objects within it.
As she turned to face her bedside cabinet, she noticed that Violet had been tidying up. The jumble of books that were usually strewn across the floor by her bed had been neatly stacked with her favourite, Thomas Bulfinch’s ‘Mythology’ on the top.
Verena picked up the heavy book and sighed longingly. She fingered the cover and was immediately transported to another land.
Oh, how she loved the stories of mythical Gods and Goddesses, strange beasts in foreign climes and most of all, the story of the Trojan horse!
‘How I wish that someone like Paris would come and steal me away this very night. If I was a man, I could simply disappear and travel like Odysseus or Jason and his Argonauts. But what can a mere woman do? A lady cannot simply leave as and when she pleases.’
All of a sudden her mother’s face floated in front of her eyes and she could hear her soft voice telling her stories of brave Florence Nightingale, who had risked all to help the men at the Scutari hospital during the terrible Crimean War.
‘And her reputation did not suffer,’ recalled Verena to herself. ‘So it is perfectly possible that I, too, could travel alone in the world!’
Taking comfort from the memory of her mother, her gaze alighted upon a painting of Poole Harbour hanging on the wall by her dressing table.
It was a simple scene showing the ships in their dock and the high, blue sky overhead full of the promise of dreams yet to be realised.
‘What would Mama have done in my place?’ she whispered to herself, ‘she would never have allowed herself to be forced into a loveless union. She would have run away rather than have been made to endure a living hell – ’
It was as if her mother was speaking to her while she pondered her future – Verena would never have dared to think such thoughts without some form of guidance. It went against her loyal nature.
‘I have no choice, I have to leave this place. I will gladly take a risk if it will bring me the kind of happiness I long for, and the unknown has to be better than a marriage I have not chosen with a man I will despise.’
She stood up, dried her tears and walked over to the painting of Poole harbour. It seemed as if those clear blue skies were calling to her!
She had always loved the sea. Her father had a yacht moored in that very harbour and before the death of her mother he had frequently taken Verena on outings.
She remembered fondly her voyage to France en route to her finishing school in Paris when she was sixteen. It had been the year after her Mama died and she had not wanted to go, but once up on deck, with the engines on the new steam ship humming under her feet and the sea breeze in her hair, she had never felt happier.
‘That’s it, I will go to Poole and catch a ship to France or maybe Spain or even Greece!’ The idea filled her with fire and determination.
‘For once, I will not be the dutiful daughter. But I have to leave before the weekend – otherwise my fate is sealed.’
For the rest of the night Verena could hardly sleep with excitement as plans for her flight formed in her mind. She conjured up all manner of situations and hopes and fears.
‘But I will be brave, I must see this through,’ she vowed to herself, firmly. ‘Oh, Mama, guide me! I have never needed you more than I do now.’
*
Verena a
rose the next morning, exhausted but imbued with a sense of quiet purpose.
“How is my Lady this morning?” asked Violet, as she pulled back the heavy curtains and allowed the bright sunlight to stream in. It was a fine morning that hinted at warm weather ahead.
“I am well, very well,” answered Verena, a secret smile on her lips.
“I hear we are to have an important guest this weekend, my Lady. We have been told to make ready for a small hunting party. It’s good to see his Lordship going hunting again.”
“Yes, Violet, it is,” said Verena, cautiously. She realised that she had to behave as normally as possible so as not to arouse any suspicions. “Now, where is my tea?”
The maid hurriedly brought the silver tray laid with the finest bone china.
“His Lordship and her Ladyship are already downstairs, my Lady. Will you be joining them?”
“Presently. That will be all, Violet.”
Some fifteen minutes later, Verena took a deep breath as she descended the central staircase. Even though her mind was still whirling from the previous evening’s decision, she as composed.
Already the house was alive with the bustle of servants preparing for the weekend.
She pushed open the dining room door and was met by the expectant stares of both the Countess and her father.
“I trust you slept well and have had time to reconsider your hasty behaviour of last night?” said the Countess, spreading honey on her toast.
Verena did not reply but simply helped herself to some kedgeree from the salver.
Her stepmother continued, “I am looking forward to planning this wedding immensely –”
“But I thought that the Duke was coming here to see if I suited?” queried Verena, “He may not like me.”
A cold chill spread through Verena. Her stepmother was speaking as if everything had already been arranged and that she had already been promised to the Duke.
The thought made her even more determined to go through with her plan without any delay.
“Of course he will, you are my daughter,” said the Earl gruffly, “he liked you well enough on his last visit.”
The Heart of love Page 2
