by Jaimey Grant
At his soft words, Verena felt the panic recede. “Truly? What is it?”
“A tea brewed with valerian root. It won’t render you unconscious the way the laudanum does but it will help ease the anxiety that prevents your sleep.”
She heard a note of determination in his tone that helped her believe, ever so slightly, that it was possible.
Four days later, Connor realized he had far more than his fair share of problems. He sat atop his favorite hunter, watching as a great lumbering travel coach wound its way to the castle. He knew that coat of arms. The Earl of Charteris and his wife had arrived, bringing with them their daughter, the Lady Marigold.
Connor groaned. He had hoped he would never again have to encounter the chit who, for all intents and purposes, thought of herself as good as engaged to Lord Connor Northwicke. In his hopes that they had decided to forgo their visit, Lord Connor had neglected to tell Verena about their impending arrival, or even of the other young lady’s existence. He hadn’t thought they would arrive this blasted early. Mari was known for being late for everything.
He didn’t realize that she was late…a full day. He had forgotten—most likely willfully—his father’s having informed him that the Charteris party was to arrive yesterday.
Spurring the great hunter toward the stables, Connor tried to discover a way out of this recent debacle in which he’d managed to land. He was too far from the castle to reach Verena before Mari. Thank God his wife was with his mother and the twins. He knew that they would protect her from any spite that Lady Mari deemed necessary to save face.
Verena smiled at Jenny and wished she had had the opportunity to have the same sort of carefree existence that the twins currently enjoyed. But she had learned long ago not to ponder the unfairness of life lest she become bitter. It had been a struggle every day to avoid slipping into that yawning hole of hopelessness that seemed to be only a thought away, but somehow she had managed. Now she faced a life that might actually bring her some satisfaction, perhaps even happiness—if she could only manage to overcome her fear.
“My dearest friend, Charlotte, simply adores Mrs. Radcliffe’s books. I was vastly disappointed, I must say, Doll. Have you read that lady’s work?” Jenny cast questioning blue eyes on her sister-in-law; eyes so much like Connor’s that Verena experienced a sudden longing to see him.
“No, my father never allowed novels in the house, I’m very sorry to say. He believes they only add flightiness to the weak female mind,” Verena replied softly.
Jenny’s eyes flashed with anger but Gwen just shrugged, her eyes returning to her sewing. “You are not missing much, I assure you. I know Gothic novels are all the rage but I cannot help but think that they are just a little too unbelievable to really be enjoyed. I feel one must have at least an element of reality or else the reader has nothing with which to relate, thereby making the story quite pointless. Why, whoever heard of a heroine being so weak and dull? And Mrs. Radcliffe’s villains are far more interesting than her heroes.”
Verena nodded, already used to Gwen’s usually one-sided conversations about books. The girl certainly didn’t look it, but she was a veritable bluestocking. Her love of books was only surpassed by her love for her family, her brother Connor in particular.
“I have far more respect for the author of Sense and Sensibility. She has taken characters and plots that are so realistic so as to be actual fact. By the end of Pride and Prejudice I felt as if Lizzy was my own sister and I cannot imagine a more romantic gentleman than Mr. Darcy. I recommend her books to you, Doll. Her newest is Mansfield Park. I have read it and I like it immensely, but my favorite is Pride and Prejudice. They are all in the library here and I know mama wouldn’t mind you borrowing them.” She looked up at her mother who nodded her agreement without hesitation.
“Yes, my dear, please feel free to borrow any books you like. This is your home now and you mustn’t feel as though you need to ask permission for something so trifling.”
Verena felt tears come to her eyes at this pronouncement but she was given no opportunity to respond. The butler, Bates, entered at that moment.
In his stentorian tones, he announced, “His lordship, the Earl of Charteris, Lady Charteris, and Lady Marigold Danvers.” Then he bowed and left.
Verena studied the newcomers curiously. His lordship was tall, but he possessed kindly eyes of deep brown and laugh lines. His wife was short and fat with a permanent scowl on her heavy face. Verena could see signs of former beauty in the older woman’s face but her sour expression had nearly destroyed it. What had happened in the lady’s life to cause such dissatisfaction?
Lady Marigold’s golden blond beauty surpassed anything Verena could recall. Her wide smile showed even white teeth and her skin was flawless perfection.
She advanced into the room to embrace Lady Denbigh, then the twins, bubbly effusions of delight pouring from between perfect pink lips. The ladies returned her embraces wholeheartedly, it appeared to Verena—until she caught a look of distaste on Jenny’s face, quickly masked.
Lady Marigold turned in Verena’s direction, one pale brow raised in question and Verena saw what Jenny had—the lady’s smile did not reach her eyes. They were hard as emeralds and there was something else there, something that Verena wanted to call antipathy, possibly actual hatred. She told herself she must be mistaken.
Then the introductions were performed.
Gwen smiled brilliantly on the earl and said, “Uncle Henry, this is our new friend, Lady Verena. Her father is the Earl of Carstairs.”
The earl bowed to her and she was surprised to see compassion in his blue eyes. She frowned.
Lady Charteris recoiled as if Verena were a snake. She could only suppose, she thought with an inward sigh, that her ladyship had heard rumors of her supposed fast behavior. The countess found refuge next to the duchess who immediately distracted her attention by mentioning the former’s not-so-secret passion, dogs.
Lady Mari’s eyes became harder still as if that were possible. Then she smiled with false friendliness and said in her soft tones, “I am so delighted to make your acquaintance, my dear Lady Verena. I am sure half of what I have heard is quite untrue.” Her low voice and her hard eyes suggested she believed quite the opposite but Verena didn’t care—Connor had just entered the room.
He smiled at her, a trifle ruefully she thought and she got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She glanced at Lady Mari to see a look of confident possession on that lady’s face as she gazed at Connor. Oh, dear.
“Connor, my dear, I wondered if you had returned from your jaunt to the south,” Mari said as she approached and laid a perfectly manicured hand on his arm.
Verena watched her husband smile down at the golden harpy and felt anger mingle with despair in her breast. Telling herself how useless those emotions were, she straightened her spine and forced a false smile of welcome to her stiff lips.
Connor’s answering smile appeared strained. “I had to return sometime, my lady, and I thought now would be a good time, all things considered.” He led her over to Verena, his eyes on his wife but his words for the lady on his arm. “Have you met my wife?”
*
Eight
Feeling a little as though the floor had dropped from beneath her, Verena could only stare at the flare of hatred in the beauty’s eyes. Fearing men was something she’d grown used to. She’d never had a reason to fear women.
Lady Mari’s face went white, then red. She opened her mouth but her father whisked her from the room. Everyone else scattered, seeming to sense that there was something between Lord Connor and his new bride that needed discussing.
Verena gave the closed door a long look. Hands fisted at her sides, she turned, her eyes meeting those of her silent husband.
“Who is she?”
Barely recognizing her own voice, Verena frowned. Connor’s face revealed nothing but she thought she detected a glimmer in his eyes that could have been humor. Was he laughing at her? D
id he truly find the situation amusing?
Connor’s mouth opened and closed as if he would say something but thought better of it. Instead, he answered in the vaguest way he could.
“She is Lady Marigold Danvers. I have known her all my life.”
There was an odd tightening in Verena’s chest that she didn’t understand. She thought of Lady Marigold and the possessive way she touched Connor, the warm regard in the girl’s eyes.
Possessive, warm regard for Verena’s husband.
It surprised her to realize that jealousy made her want to do bodily damage to the other young lady.
“Does that give her the right to look at you as though you belong to her?”
They stared at each other, equally shocked. Verena clamped her mouth shut, appalled at her loss of control.
Connor exhaled, the sound seeming to fill the sudden silence. A moment passed and then her husband asked softly, “Are you jealous?”
Verena was astounded by her lack of sense in accusing her husband of she knew not what. He had the right to punish her for her temerity and she wondered what that punishment might be. His face contained no clue as to his thoughts, so she could only guess how angry he was. She decided not to wait around to find out.
Looking down at the floor, she moved around her silent husband only to be stopped by his hand on her arm. She panicked. With a strength that surprised them both, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and darted from the room. Once out in the corridor, she ran through the house, intent on finding her room and locking the door before her husband could reach her.
Right before she reached her haven, she collided with a hard body. She looked up at the Earl of Charteris and screamed before she could stop herself.
“Verena, wait!”
Verena saw Lord Connor behind her and backed away from the earl who watched her with surprise. She ran to her room and slammed the door. The lock was soon secured against anyone demanding entry. She darted to the sitting room door and repeated the process. Then she locked Bridgette out as well. She curled up on her bed in a little ball and prayed for help.
Connor reached her room and knocked on the door. No answer. He tried the handle. “Damn and blast,” he muttered.
“Having trouble already, lad?”
Connor swung around to encounter the concerned gaze of Charteris, who happened to be his godfather. “No…yes…I don’t know! Oh, hell,” he muttered, shoving a hand through his golden curls. “Verena has very good reasons for her actions.”
“I see,” was all the earl said. He studied Connor for a moment before continuing on his way.
Connor spared a thought for the earl and realized that that man had not expressed the slightest displeasure or even surprise that his daughter’s most ardent “suitor” had gone and got himself leg-shackled to someone else.
The door to Verena’s room remained frustratingly closed to him. He felt angry that she distrusted him so much and then felt remorse for that anger. He pounded on the door again and received the same answer as before—none.
“Devil take it,” he swore as he went in search of the housekeeper and her blessed ring of keys. A strident voice, one that had begun to grate on his nerves long before this most recent meeting, halted his determined steps.
“What is the meaning of this, Connor? Have you completely lost your wits? Is she with child?”
Connor turned to Lady Mari, rage evident in every movement of his powerful body. She took a step back. Somehow he retained a cool façade and said, “For someone who claims to be a lady, that was vulgar.” Then he turned his back on her and resumed his search for Mrs. Bates.
The housekeeper turned over her keys without question but Connor saw the concerned little frown between her pale eyes. Their marital spat had already been bandied about the servants’ hall, or so it seemed. He ignored that and told her to send Bridgette to his wife.
He returned to Verena’s room and knocked again. There was still no answer. He used the key with little reluctance. His worry for Verena far outweighed the proprieties or concern for intruding on her privacy.
He silently closed the door behind him. He didn’t lock it, hoping Bridgette would come soon. The thought of having a chaperon when with his wife struck him as not the least bit amusing, but he was willing to agree to it if it would make Verena more comfortable with him.
“Oh, please, don’t!”
Verena was huddled in the middle of her huge bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees and her head dropped down. Her muffled words carried clearly to her husband. She reminded him of a beaten child. He approached the bed with measured steps.
“Verena, we must talk, love.”
Her only reply was a muffled sob.
Connor sat on the edge of the bed. “Doll, I’m not angry.”
She jerked away when he touched her but she met his gaze. He took that as a good sign.
“Why did you run away?”
She sniffed, her wide frightened eyes awash with tears. He took her hand and stroked his thumb over her palm in soothing patterns. Her sobs soon turned to sniffles. She cleared her throat.
“I am sorry for arguing with you, my lord. It was very wrong of me.”
Connor laughed. He couldn’t help it. Noticing the shocked expression on his wife’s face, he hastened to reassure her. “Nonsense! I expect you to argue with me occasionally. If I had wanted to be married to an empty-headed widgeon I’d have married my sister’s friend Charlotte.”
“But—”
“No, Verena. I want you to tell me how you feel. You need have no fear of me.” He dipped his head to better see her face, his gaze sliding over her pale features and dark curls. There was a tightening in his chest that had everything to do with his increasing desire for her and a deep-seated fear that she would never look at him with the same desire.
Despite the gentleness of his tone, she flinched, but she didn’t pull away. He leaned close, watching her face like a hawk, reading every emotion in her eyes that she was unable to voice.
“I am sorry for what your father did to you,” he whispered. She blinked, her throat working as she swallowed against some strong emotion. “I can’t change what he did but I can help you grow away from it. If you let me.”
She said nothing but bit her lip and attempted a small nod. He reached for her, cradling her face. “I have spent more time with you than I have with any other woman. Have you ever known me to be violent?”
She tried to shake her head, the movement brushing her silky curls against his hands. He ignored the urge to draw her closer, ignored the urge to wrap his arms around her, and…
“You never had the opportunity.”
Connor blinked. He drew away, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. “Pardon me?”
Dragging in a deep breath, she said, “You might have, had you been given the opportunity.”
He opened his mouth but could find no words.
“My lord, you wanted to see me?”
Connor looked at his wife’s abigail and forced a smile. “I do believe your mistress needs your calming presence.” His gaze swung to Verena, his mind still reeling from her accusation. “I will give your excuses if you would prefer to forgo dining with our guests. Lord knows, I would love to avoid them but I couldn’t be so rude to Lord Charteris. He is my godfather, you know.”
“No, I did not.”
Connor looked suitably abashed at his wife’s calm tone. “Oh…well, he is.”
He rose from the bed reluctantly. As he made his way to the door, his wife murmured, “I will dine with the family, Connor. If…”
Connor turned back. “If…?” he prompted gently.
“If I am placed by you, please,” she answered in a tiny voice.
Trying very hard to contain his elation at her simple request and the implications therein, Connor bowed solemnly and said, “As you wish, my lady.”
Verena’s request to sit near her husband had been her attempt to trust him. It was a daring move, given w
hat she knew of men and their mercurial tempers, but he was right. He’d never been violent towards her and if she were completely honest with herself, he had had plenty of opportunity. His reaction to her accusation had gone far in reassuring her.
However, she should have been more specific in her request, she realized three hours later.
At dinner, Verena sat beside her husband but Lady Marigold sat on his other side and made sure she monopolized Connor’s attention. Verena couldn’t really fault her husband. He tried several times to turn to his wife but Lady Marigold always countered the gesture with another question or comment that demanded a response. Verena saw the uselessness of trying to speak with her husband so she remained quiet.
Her other dinner partner was Lord Charteris. He soon turned to her with a friendly smile and said, “I have met your father upon occasion. He seems to be a very good man.”
Verena sensed that he was asking for her opinion rather than making a general observation. She smiled slightly. “Appearances are often deceiving, my lord.” She tried very hard not to glance at the earl’s daughter but she feared her eyes betrayed her.
“Quite,” Charteris agreed solemnly. “I have some personal experience with deception, my dear. Perhaps I can be of some help.”
Verena cast a puzzled glance his way. What could he possibly help her with? She gave a tiny shake of her head, although whether it was related to his offer or her opinion of the eels in cream sauce was anybody’s guess.
She took a tiny bite of potatoes, unsure how to answer her dinner companion.
“I see I am expressing myself poorly,” the earl said gently, leaning toward her and lowering his voice. “I couldn’t help but notice your earlier…fear…of Connor. If he has done anything to harm you, I wish you would tell his father or me. I assure you, he was not raised to abuse women.”
