by Gayle Buck
The lady barely glanced at the butler as she pulled off her gloves. “I am Mrs. Arnold. I am a friend of Miss Worth’s and I have come to speak with her. Is she still downstairs?”
Stafford was startled and bewildered by the lady’s knowledge that his mistress was in residence. It was a certainty that few as yet knew of her return, so this lady was undoubtedly in Miss Worth’s confidence. However, he considered that the lady’s timing could not have been worse. The high hour of Sir Charles’s return should be a private one. “In the sitting room, ma’am. But I hardly think—”
Mrs. Arnold brushed aside any subtle objections that might have been put forward. “Never mind, I can find my own way. Meek, we shall stay the night here.”
“Very good, ma’am,” said the hatchet-faced female. She fixed a baleful glare on the butler. “I shall inquire where we are to be housed, ma’am.”
Stafford’s uppermost thought was that he had never seen a woman who so little resembled her name. He appealed to the mistress. “Ma’am, we are terribly understaffed. If you will but permit me to make arrangements—”
Mrs. Arnold had finished drawing off her gloves. She glanced at the butler. “Tell my man where the stables are, I pray you. It is hideous weather and I do not wish my cattle to be kept out any longer than necessary.”
Without waiting for the butler’s reluctant offices, Mrs. Arnold swept down the hall to the one doorway through which light was visible.
* * * *
When Mrs. Arnold entered the room, Verity, who had recognized her friend’s imperious voice, had already started to her feet. She stepped forward. “Betsy! Whatever are you doing here?”
Mrs. Arnold crossed over and met her in a quick embrace, retorting, “I might ask you the same, mightn’t I?”
She did not wait for an answer, for her glance had fallen upon the tall, harsh-faced gentleman who was slowly rising from the settee. Mrs. Arnold’s brows rose in swift surprise. “And who is this fine gentleman? No, allow me to guess, for there is a certain resemblance. This must be the missing brother, Sir Charles Worth!”
Swift color had surged into Verity’s face at her friend’s tart rebuke, but she recovered sufficiently to make the proper introductions. Indeed, it was the necessity of observing the civilities that enabled her to regain her balance. Her manner and expression would have seemed completely normal to anyone not thoroughly acquainted with her.
“Charles, this is Mrs. Betsy Arnold. She and I were at seminary together and we came out the same Season.”
“Yes, and we have been good friends ever since. Though perhaps we have not been living in one another’s pockets as much as we should have been, since I stay much in London while Verity merely visits in town. I have missed your sister dreadfully. That was brought home to me when I ran into Verity at a recent house party,” said Mrs. Arnold, offering her hand in a friendly way to the baronet. “I am so very pleased to meet you at last, Sir Charles, for Verity has told me a great deal about you. I know that she is most pleased that you have come home.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance also, Mrs. Arnold,” said Sir Charles, amusement touching his face and relieving the stern visage he had worn when the visitor had first come into the sitting room.
Mrs. Arnold tilted her head, assaying his hawk-like features and superb physique. He was not a gentleman one could easily forget, she thought, as she said, “I cannot think why we have never come into one another’s way before.”
“Doubtless it was because I had already gone into the army before Verity left the schoolroom,” said Sir Charles. “I am a few years older than my sister.”
“That is probably the reason,” agreed Mrs. Arnold, nodding.
“Betsy, where is Herbert? Is he not with you?” asked Verity, as she realized that her friend’s spouse was conspicuously absent.
“I sent him on to London without me. He grumbled a good deal about it, too, since he had counted upon me to make things comfortable for him when we arrived. He wished me to convey his disgruntlement at having his placid habits upset by what he called your ‘pesky start,’ Verity,” said Mrs. Arnold.
Verity’s color rose once again, especially as she felt her brother’s curious gaze upon her. “I shall certainly apologize when next I see him.”
“Oh, Herbert is such a dear that he will have forgotten all about it already. I, however, am quite a different species altogether,” said Mrs. Arnold.
“Betsy, please!” said Verity, smiling, trying to turn it all into an amusing pass. “Must you continue to scold?”
Mrs. Arnold ignored her friend’s plea. She smiled at the silent baronet and said confidingly, “I hope that you do not think me rude, Sir Charles. But obviously I have a bit of a bone to pick with your sister, which I intend to pursue. It is the entire reason behind my abrupt arrival.”
“Not at all,” murmured Sir Charles.
He saw his sister’s quick shake of the head at Mrs. Arnold, obviously made to warn her friend against speaking out of turn. He was made very curious. He had been quick to note Mrs. Arnold’s reference to a house party. It seemed very probable that the house party in question had been held at the Pettiforths, for he knew that Verity had not been in London. And now Mrs. Arnold had rushed to follow Verity back to Crofthouse.
It seemed that his sister had something that she wished to keep secret from him. He was equally determined that he would learn the whole. He had gathered enough from Verity’s unguarded hasty words to have considerably alarmed him. Now that he knew that Mrs. Arnold was in possession of that same secret, he was not about to leave the two alone as courtesy demanded of him. “I trust that my presence will not be a hindrance to you, Mrs. Arnold.”
“Charles!” exclaimed Verity quietly, glaring reproachfully at her brother.
He ignored her look and spread his hands in a deprecating gesture. “You see, Mrs. Arnold, this is the only room in the house which appears to have been opened. Apparently Verity, like myself, arrived only a short time ago. Forgive me, but I have no wish to substitute a draughty parlor for the well-established warmth in this room. In addition, Verity was just relating some of her experiences while I have been away. I am certain that you will recognize my reluctance to miss any subsequent details.”
Mrs. Arnold leveled a stare upon him, weighing the advantages and disadvantages, her quick brain having already absorbed Verity’s reluctance to have her brother present. Verity had not, then, divulged anything of importance to her brother. Mrs. Arnold decided upon the instant to honor her friend’s desires, and she smiled. “I do not mind in the least, Sir Charles. And I cannot conceive that Verity would have any objections, either, for nothing can be tamer than my own contribution.” She looked meaningfully at her friend.
The renewed protest on Verity’s lips died before it was spoken. She realized at once, and with gratitude, that Mrs. Arnold did not intend to betray her.
She had done quite well at that task for herself, she thought, bitterly regretting already the words that had poured out of her several minutes before. She had never meant to say so much to her brother. She only hoped that he would dismiss the major portion of it as feminine nonsense. She meant to do her utmost in fostering that impression with him as soon as she possibly could. Meanwhile she must play the role of the unconcerned.
“Pray let me remove that holland cover, Betsy, so that you may be comfortable. You must be famished. Charles, pray ring for Stafford.”
“Oh no, I supped earlier. I need nothing else, I assure you. Unless you are taking tea?” Mrs. Arnold sat down in a wing-back chair, smoothing her gloves on her lap.
“We shall send for it,” promised Verity, smiling.
“While we are waiting for Stafford, perhaps you will relieve my lamentable curiosity, Mrs. Arnold, and reveal why you are so displeased with my sister,” said Sir Charles.
Mrs. Arnold exchanged a look with Verity. She said coolly, “it is no great matter after all, Sir Charles. It was o
nly that I had thought we might travel to London together, but Verity stole away before we had quite settled our plans. I have hopes of persuading Verity to come to me for a long visit in town.”
“Certainly that would seem to hold out more possibility of entertainment than keeping company with the holland covers,” said Sir Charles with a glance about the sitting room.
“Just so, my lord,” said Mrs. Arnold.
The butler appeared then and it was seen that he had anticipated the visitor’s preferences. He had brought a pot of tea, cream, and a selection of biscuits. There was also the madeira for Sir Charles and a plate of sandwiches.
Sir Charles was appreciative. “Thank you, Stafford. You know to a nicety my tastes.”
“Verity, I have for you a letter from Mr. Pettiforth. You had left so very unexpectedly that he had not had an opportunity to convey his sentiments and since he understood that I was going to call upon you, he entrusted the letter to my charge,” said Mrs. Arnold, handing over the packet.
“Did he?” Verity did not dare to meet her brother’s eyes. She could feel his thoughtful gaze upon her and a slow flush rose into her face. She knew that her brother had taken notice of Mrs. Arnold’s artless reference to the hurried manner in which she had quit the Pettiforths. “Thank you, Betsy. I shall read it later at my leisure.”
“Why do you not read it now?” suggested Sir Charles quietly. “Stafford has not quite finished setting out the refreshments. You are such good friends that I feel certain Mrs. Arnold will not feel that you are neglecting your duty toward her.”
“No, indeed. Of course you must not stand on ceremony with me, Verity. I quite feel that I am amongst family. In point of fact, I shall be happy to pour out the tea,” said Mrs. Arnold.
“As you wish, Mrs. Arnold,” agreed Sir Charles, inclining his head.
Mrs. Arnold quietly dismissed the butler and proceeded to carry out her self-appointed task. “I know that Verity takes only a little cream and sugar. Do you also, my lord?”
Sir Charles indicated that he did, but his polite attentiveness was soon returned to his sister. “Pray do not allow us to keep you any longer in suspense, Verity. Mrs. Arnold and I shall manage without you for the few moments that your letter shall take to read.”
“Very well.” Verity felt that she had little choice but to break the seal on the missive. There was really no reason for such reluctance to glance over her own correspondence, except that she was so aware of her brother’s lazy smile. It seemed to hide some thought behind it.
As Verity unfolded the missive, a cheque fell out onto her lap. Before she realized what he was about, her brother had leaned over and retrieved it.
“What is this?” He glanced at the front of the cheque and his brows lifted. “Generous, indeed! It appears that our cousin truly valued your services, Verity.”
“Yes, Mr. Pettiforth was most generous. He understood that Mama was making a sacrifice in letting me go to them,” said Verity quietly. She wondered at the unacknowledged depth of her brother’s interest.
“How odd, then, that you felt obligated to flee his hospitality so precipitously,” Sir Charles remarked.
His mouth hardened suddenly and when he lifted his gaze to his sister’s face, she was startled by the ugly expression in his eyes.
“Was it Pettiforth, Verity?” he demanded harshly. “Was it he who forced his attentions upon you?”
* * *
Chapter 21
The teapot clattered onto the tray. “Oh, my word!” Mrs. Arnold gasped. She snatched up a napkin to clean up the drops of splattered liquid. “I am so sorry. So very clumsy of me, to be sure,” she said, attempting to pass over her violent start.
But neither of her companions was paying the least attention to her words. Brother and sister were locked in tableau. Sir Charles’s expression was measuring and cold, while Verity’s face had whitened.
“No! Of course not, Charles! Don’t be absurd!” exclaimed Verity.
Sir Charles reached out and ungently grasped her wrist. Very quietly, he said, “You are to tell me the truth now, my girl. I shall wait no longer.”
For a moment, Verity met her brother’s implacable gaze. Then she averted her face.
Mrs. Arnold took one look at Verity’s pale expression and hurriedly said, “I can assure you that it was not Burton Pettiforth, Sir Charles. And whatever was said was an absolute parcel of lies, to be quickly discounted and forgotten.”
Sir Charles turned his head and thoughtfully regarded Mrs. Arnold’s anxious countenance. He would have his answer, indeed. But still he did not release his sister’s wrist, being fully aware from the tension that he sensed in her that Verity wanted passionately to flee from the sitting room and so escape from his prying. “Will you be so good as to identify the gentleman, Mrs. Arnold?”
“Betsy!”
Mrs. Arnold glanced quickly at Verity’s face, then dropped her gaze away from her friend’s pleading eyes. “I am sorry, my dear. I meant to honor your confidence, truly I did. But since Sir Charles already knows so much—”
“He knows nothing except that I was made a fool,” said Verity hastily. “It is over and I simply wish to forget it all!”
“Verity, you must recognize that as head of your family, Sir Charles has every right to know! It is his duty to protect your honor,” said Mrs. Arnold.
“But I don’t wish a question of my honor to be upheld to the public. It is above all things the one most repugnant to me!” Verity cried, feeling her spirit to be lacerated. “Have I not suffered humiliation enough?”
“Pray do not be an idiot!” said Sir Charles, almost indifferently. Without ever glancing at his sister, he said, “Mrs. Arnold, if you please.”
“It was Viscount Rathbone. He showed Verity such pointed interest that she became the object of malicious gossip,” said Mrs. Arnold firmly.
“I see. And precisely what form did this ...interest take, Mrs. Arnold?” asked Sir Charles. He smiled slightly, his eyes very cold and hard. “You must be painfully honest with me, Mrs. Arnold.”
It was Mrs. Arnold’s turn to grow pale. It was clear to her that Sir Charles desired to know whether his sister had been seduced. She shot a swift glance at Verity and hoped that there was nothing more to be revealed. She was already involved too deeply for comfort. “You must not think that your sister behaved in any way reprehensibly, my lord! Indeed, I believe that she did try to warn Lord Rathbone away. But—but still she was labeled Lord Rathbone’s flirt.”
Verity gave a low cry and covered her face with her free hand.
Mrs. Arnold was moved by her distress. She said helplessly, “I am so very sorry, Verity. But what else can I do? You must see that it is better for your brother to be told what actually took place rather than to leave him to imagine worse things.”
Verity let drop her hand. Her riotous emotions were such that she felt ready to sink through the floor. In a low, trembling voice, she said, “Now you know the whole, Charles. Will you please release me?”
Sir Charles let go of her wrist. At her quick movement toward escape, he said, “Pray do not go just yet, dear sister. I feel certain that you would far rather put me in possession of the full details rather than leave it to poor Mrs. Arnold to repeat whatever she might have heard or seen.”
At that, Verity’s head came up. Her gray eyes blazed, sparkling like diamonds behind unshed tears. “I would infinitely prefer it!”
The touch of a smile flitted over his face. “So I thought. But I think that we shall have Mrs. Arnold remain so that she may prompt you if you chance to forget some small detail.”
“Really, I would much rather not, Sir Charles,” began Mrs. Arnold, starting to rise. She had rarely been put in the position of such discomfort.
“You have little choice, ma’am. You have chosen to make yourself privy to my sister’s affairs. I am not likely to excuse you now,” said Sir Charles in a hard voice. He waited while she sank down once more on the
settee. Then he turned toward his sister. “Well, Verity?”
“How utterly detestable you are! I had quite forgotten,” she shot at him.
He laughed. “Yes, I think that you must have. But never mind trying to bludgeon my sensibilities. I have been at war too long to pay much heed to anything that you may throw at my head. Now the round tale, if you please.”
“Very well. I hope that it may edify you, brother,” said Verity coldly.
She began at the first, relating the fatal words that she had spoken to Mrs. Arnold without realizing that she had been overheard. She spoke concisely, calmly, as though she was commenting on another’s ill-fortune in becoming the object of gossip and slander. Her voice betrayed her only once, toward the last, when she related how Lord Rathbone had admitted he’d brought ruin upon her out of a desire to teach her a salutary lesson.
“I threw his lordship’s apology in his teeth and left to go up to my bedroom. A few minutes later Betsy knocked on my door and she had not yet left when I sustained a visit from Miss Pettiforth and her mother.”
Verity paused, reliving that horrible scene and the interview afterwards. “The upshot of it all was that Mrs. Pettiforth accused me of stealing Lord Rathbone from her daughter and drove me out of the house.”
“My dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, greatly distressed. “I guessed at breakfast that something of the sort had happened, of course. But whyever did you not come to me? I would not have allowed her to treat you so. Or why did you not appeal to Mr. Pettiforth, for you must have known that he would have stood your champion.”
“It did not even occur to me, Betsy. I believe I was in a state of shock by then. I wanted only to be away from that woman and her dreadful daughter and...and everything! So I left just as I had been ordered. It did not dawn on me until I had been let off in the village that it was the small hours of the morning and that there would not be a coach to buy passage on,” said Verity.
