by Jaimey Grant
Adam had been exceedingly odd since returning from the war.
The footman stepped forward to refill Connor’s coffee when Adam spoke again.
“I’ve been thinking, Con.” He paused, wrinkling his nose in a way that went far in conveying the unpleasantness of those thoughts. “I apologize for the insult to your wife. I hope I am wrong, but even if I am not, you are already married so there’s little anyone can do about it.”
“Careful, Adam. That sounded more insulting than contrite,” Connor warned softly. He shoved his empty plate away and looked up to realize the footman, John, listened avidly to their exchange. “Leave, John.”
The footman bowed and withdrew, but Connor saw the disappointment on the young servant’s face.
Adam looked at him in surprise. “Why did you do that?”
Connor shrugged. “I grow tired of having my business bandied about among the lower orders like the finest wine to be enjoyed and shared. I sometimes forget they’re present and say things I probably shouldn’t. The last thing I need is Verena hearing things through Bri.”
“What do you know about your wife’s maid?”
“Not much,” Connor admitted. “I know why you ask. On the road here, I noticed her accent is that of a lady rather than a servant. And she seems to carry herself as a lady. She has none of that subservient air that is either inborn or taught to members of the servant class.” He stared at his cup. “Actually,” he said with a laugh, “the thought did cross my mind that I should take your advice and open a home for runaway ladies since it appeared Bri may be one as well.”
“You’ve discovered nothing beyond that?”
“No. I have had little opportunity to speak with the chit. Verena spends a lot of time with her, of course.” Some imp prompted him to add, “Why don’t you ask her about Bri? I am sure she’ll be more than happy to tell you what you want to know.”
Adam glared at him, then smirked. “No doubt your lady would much rather stick her knife in my ribs than answer any questions I might have.”
“Why all the interest?”
When Adam’s expression became shuttered, Connor wasn’t really surprised. His friend had developed that infuriating habit after his return from the peninsula. It was very effective in dissuading the curious.
“I just want to know if I should lock my doors at night for fear of ending up in your unwanted position,” Adam said unwisely.
Connor half rose from his chair, his blue eyes hard, when Verena stepped into the room.
“That’s hardly likely, Mr. Prestwich,” she said with a smile, having heard Adam’s last few comments. “Who would want to marry you? ”
The gentlemen rose to their feet. Connor crossed the vast room to the door and tucked his wife’s hand into his arm, smiling down into her eyes. A slight flush crept up her cheeks. Did she ponder the night just past? As the color deepened and she glanced away, he knew she did. While her embarrassment was adorable, he couldn’t help but wish it was justified.
He escorted her to the long table, seated her on his other side, across from Adam and went to fetch her tea and toast.
“Where’s the footman?”
“Con has decided he no longer wishes the lower orders to gossip about him.”
Verena smiled. She glanced at Connor. “Wouldn’t it be easier to, oh, I don’t know, stop Mr. Prestwich’s infuriating cynicism?”
“Or Lady Connor’s way of bringing out the best in me?” Adam added with a mocking smile.
“Or your way of looking at women as if we are all the devil’s children?” she countered sweetly.
Adam’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Then he smiled for once without a trace of his habitual cynicism. “Not the devil’s children, my dear. Women actually are the devil.”
Verena laughed. “That’s rich. We are the devil. I can’t wait to tell Bri. And what would that make men? God?”
“But of course,” he replied smoothly. He returned his gaze to Connor who sat down next to his wife, amused despite the ugly turn the banter had taken. “But none of this has anything to do with Con’s sudden aversion to servant gossip. Perhaps he could attempt to stop the sun from rising.”
“Maybe he could stop the trees from growing,”
“You can all laugh at me if you want,” Connor said with unruffled good humor. “And it’s not that I want to stop the servants’ endless chatter about me. I just want to make it more difficult for them to collect their little on dits.”
His smile was infectious and soon all three were laughing. Then Adam dropped a cannonball.
“Why don’t you both come with me to London? We will arrive in time for the end of the Little Season and that will give Verena a taste of what the Season is like and get her used to Society.”
Verena sat there, a piece of toast halfway to her mouth, wondering what he could possibly want to accomplish by getting her to London. She carefully set it back on her plate.
“Why?” she asked, watching him intently.
Adam shrugged, a cynical gleam entering his eyes for only a moment. “To make amends for past and present rudeness?”
Verena glanced at her husband. He had a little frown on his face that was highly unusual. She had no opportunity to ask what concerned him.
He took her hand and rose, setting her fingers on his arm. “Thank you for the offer. Verena and I will discuss it and let you know.”
As they left, questions ran through Verena’s head with alarming rapidity. She held her tongue until they’d entered a little used antechamber—the house was positively riddled with them. Connor directed her to a seat with as much care as any gentleman could boast.
With a little sigh, Verena smoothed her skirts. Glancing at her husband as he paced, she asked, “What is there to discuss? Do you not want to go to London?”
He paused, his hand clenching. “It is not that.”
Becoming more alarmed by his agitated state, she asked, “Then what is it?”
“Your father.”
That had not occurred to her. In all the excitement, she’d managed to place her father in the back of her mind, where he belonged. Denbigh Castle offered a freedom from her father that she’d accepted and learned to expect.
“You think Carstairs will make mischief?”
“Mischief? Perhaps.”
“If not mischief, what is it you fear?”
When he made no response, she stopped breathing. What if his reluctance was due to her and her reputation rather than anything her father might do? Was Connor ashamed of her?
If he was ashamed now, what would he be when he discovered what she really was?
“I don’t understand.” She closed her eyes against incipient tears, regretting the trembling words.
Warm, strong fingers enclosed hers, their firm grip a comfort to her distressed senses. She lifted her eyes to look at Connor. He crouched before her, putting him about eye-level. A soft smile curved his lips, concern and worry darkening his eyes.
“I would love to take you to London and display you on my arm for all to see and be the envy of every man.” He stroked her cheek, the caress going straight through her. “I worry for you.”
“Me?”
“If your father learns of your presence in London, he may decide to journey there himself.” Connor paused, his fingers giving her cheek one last fleeting caress before dropping to take her other hand. “Do you believe Carstairs poses a threat?”
Verena’s heart stuttered, her hand lifting in helpless gesture of horror. “Threat?” She searched her husband’s features for a clue as to his own feelings on the matter and concluded that he believed Carstairs capable of anything. “He wouldn’t dare! Not while I’m under your protection.”
Connor frowned, the expression flashing so briefly that Verena wasn’t sure she saw it at all. When he smiled again, relief shot through her.
“Of course not,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “He wouldn’t dare.”
He rose. “Shall I ac
cept Adam’s invitation?”
Verena nodded. As Connor left the room to inform Adam of their acceptance, she had the sinking feeling that her husband’s reluctance had little to do with the Earl of Carstairs.
*
Seventeen
After announcing their plans to the rest of the family, Verena stared, eyebrows raised, as the duke and his duchess announced they’d go as well. Her surprise lessened when she learned the twins would need to go for the Season to be presented to the Queen. Arriving in London a few months early could only give them the polish they needed.
Despite her natural desire to hide in the country forever, Verena knew her husband well enough by now to know that he was not quite comfortable there. He occasionally needed the bustle of London, the constant life and adventure such a city could offer. And she couldn’t bear to disappoint him yet again. Swallowing her fear, she smiled and nodded, appearing for all the world as though she too relished the coming journey.
Two days before they were due to leave, Bridgette packed feverishly but her unusual silence weighed on Verena. She tried in vain to get the maid to talk to her but nothing worked. Something was very wrong.
No matter what she said, she could not get Bri to open up. She finally gave up, telling the maid to take herself to the garden.
It said something for Bri’s intense preoccupation that she didn’t even bother to curtsy before leaving her mistress’s presence.
The next morning, Verena rang for Bridgette only to be informed that she was unavailable. She brushed it aside, assuming that the maid had simply gone out early to visit someone to say goodbye.
The twins arrived to chatter as she packed, regaling her with tales of London, all the sights and sounds, parties and gatherings. Almack’s dominated their conversation, but Verena only listened with half an ear. She had little interest in the marriage mart and saw no reason to change that. What use would she have for two husbands?
The very idea made her chuckle, stopping the girls mid-sentence.
“You think it’s funny?”
There was no hurt in Jenny’s tone but the curiosity was thick. Verena stopped what she was doing, turning to her young companions with a smile.
“I’m afraid I was woolgathering. What did you say?”
“At Almack’s a young lady may only waltz when given permission.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes,” Gwen inserted, her nose wrinkling as she perused a book she’d lifted from Verena’s dressing table. “One must be given permission from one of the patronesses to waltz.”
“What would make them refuse permission?”
Both girls looked at her, wide blue eyes frankly assessing. They saw far too much and she could tell they heard the worry in her tone.
Gwen clasped her arm, giving it a comforting squeeze. “You needn’t worry about that.”
“Needn’t I? You have heard what is being said. Lady Charteris made that very clear.”
“Oh, fiddle!” Jenny replied inelegantly. “Connor is a very great favorite with Lady Jersey and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell who are the most uppity of the patronesses. They will accept you simply because Con does, so do not fret about that.”
While she felt relief at this pronouncement, Verena couldn’t quite absolve her doubts.
The girls continued to chatter as she carefully packed the last few items she’d take on her journey. The silver pendant she often wore lay clutched in her hand, the chain draping over her fingers. She debated within whether she should simply wear it or not, deciding that she’d feel more at ease with it clasped around her neck. Opening her fingers, she gazed down at the bauble, lost in memories both sweet and sad.
“Oh, what a pretty pendant!” Gwen exclaimed, reaching to take it from Verena’s hand.
With a smile, Verena relinquished it, explaining, “It was a gift, long ago, from a very dear friend.”
As if sensing the sadness in the tale, Jenny leaned forward, her eyes glued to the pearl gleaming in the silver setting. “What happened to your friend?”
“I do not know. Her parents took her for holiday many years ago and they never returned. I believe they decided to remain where they visited.” She shrugged, wiping a tear from her eye and forcing a smile. “It doesn’t matter. I grew used to the loss and had the necklace to remind me that good exists.”
The twins sighed. “The only thing that could make the story better is if the gift was from a gentleman,” Jenny said. She raised a hand to her mouth at the disloyal thought. “Oh my. How very rude to my brother.” Her giggles belied any true remorse she might have felt.
There were times that Verena felt much older than her nineteen years. This was one of those moments. The twins were not very much younger but their upbringing so vastly different that Verena sometimes felt a decade older.
She shooed the twins from her room and went in search of Bridgette. She found a footman and asked him to search out her abigail. They were set to leave the following day and Verena hadn’t seen her since late last night after the majority of Verena’s belongings had been packed.
The footman, James, returned nearly an hour later to report that no one had seen Bridgette since dinner last night. Verena thanked him absently and he bowed and moved to leave.
“Wait, James. Where is Lord Connor?”
“In the library, milady.”
Verena, of course, knew where the library was so she dismissed the footman. The unease that had started last night grew alarmingly. She hurried along the wide corridors to the east wing.
Her worry took over, propelling her through the door without the courtesy of a knock. Connor looked up and stared at her in surprise. Adam, the duke, Evan, and the steward all looked up as well.
“Oh, pardon me. I was looking for Connor because…” She wrung her hands miserably and blurted, “I cannot find Bri anywhere. James looked for her for an hour and she seems to have just disappeared.”
Something flashed in Adam’s sea-colored eyes, but the expression was lost before Verena could really assess it. The duke gestured to the other gentlemen, the three filing out without a word.
Connor helped his wife to a chair, urging her to sit. She did but her gaze settled on Adam Prestwich, eyes narrowing and mind spinning in circles. He had something to do with it. She just knew it.
Adam made no move to leave. He just resumed his seat from which he had risen when Verena had entered the room and watched the scene with his customary cynical amusement.
“Calm, Verena. Hysterics accomplish nothing.”
Verena favored her husband with a look of annoyance. “I am not having hysterics, my lord. I am simply worried. She’d been acting strange ever since we decided to go to London.”
“And have you any idea why?” Adam asked blandly.
“I imagine she wishes to avoid her family,” Verena said shortly. “And don’t sit there, either of you,” she directed pointedly at her husband, “and tell me that you did not notice that she is a lady.”
“We did have some suspicions,” Adam admitted with a smirk.
Connor sat down beside his wife. “We suspected she was not who she said she was, but beyond that,” he shrugged, “we have no idea.”
“If you did know, what would you do?”
“I guess that would depend on what she is running from and why. If she is underage, which I suspect, I would be obliged to turn her over to her family.”
“As you did with me?”
“That was different, Verena, and you know it. I could hardly return you to a man who’d give you to one such as Winters.”
“What if Bri was experiencing the same, or worse, at the hands of her family?”
“Well I can hardly marry her, now can I?” Connor said impatiently.
“No, you cannot,” Verena said. She gave Adam a slow mischievous grin. “But Adam can.”
“Are you fishing for insults, Lady Connor Northwicke?” Adam asked with an actual note of laughter in his voice.
“Not exactly, and it
’s very wrong of me to make light of a serious situation. I will tell you what I know but I doubt it will help in uncovering her identity. She was very careful about not really revealing anything. The only time I got any information of real importance out of her was about a week ago when I asked her something”—the heat rose in her cheeks at the memory—“that upset her and reminded her of her mother.”
“What did she reveal?”
“Her mother apparently sold herself in marriage to a man forty years her senior for money and a title. Bri had a nanny who was once her mother’s and Bri called her father a lecherous brute and her mother a twit, so I imagine she was a bit flighty, probably a diamond in her day, and she hated—” Her eyes widened in horror at what she almost said and she broke off in confusion, looking down at her clenched hands.
“But you have now sparked our interest, my lady. What did she hate?” Adam inquired with a note of maliciousness.
Verena threw him a look of loathing. “Has anyone ever told you what a great dunderhead you are, Adam Prestwich?”
“Not lately, as I recall. Why do you ask?”
“Leave off, Adam. Doll, we all know what you are referring to. But that doesn’t help. You describe about ninety-five percent of society marriages.”
“Closer to ninety-nine, I should think,” Adam mused with a sardonic quirk of his lips.
Verena’s face drained of some color. Which part were they talking about? Ninety-nine percent of women found the intimacies of marriage painful, unpleasant, and disgusting? Wouldn’t that suggest that Bridgette was wrong? But she had sounded so sure!
“Doll, are you all right?”
Looking at her husband’s concerned face, Verena forced her thoughts back to her missing friend. “I am well. Where do you think Bri went?”
“She could be anywhere,” Connor replied. “If no one has seen her since last night, she most probably fled while the rest of us slept. We have no idea who she is or who she knows, she’s been gone more than twelve hours, and she’s managed to survive on her own before.” He took Verena’s hand. “We’re not going to find her, my dear.”
