by Liese Anning
Verity
Liese Anning
Book Title Copyright © 2017 by Liese Anning. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed Liese
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Liese Anning
First Printing: October 2017
CONTENTS
Verity 1
CONTENTS 3
Chapter 1 7
Chapter 1 7
Chapter 2 13
Chapter 2 13
Chapter 3 21
Chapter 3 21
Chapter 4 32
Chapter 4 32
Chapter 5 36
Chapter 5 36
Chapter 6 43
Chapter 6 43
Chapter 7 53
Chapter 7 53
Chapter 8 63
Chapter 8 63
Chapter 9 69
Chapter 9 69
Chapter 10 75
Chapter 10 75
Chapter 11 83
Chapter 11 83
Chapter 12 91
Chapter 12 91
Chapter 13 100
Chapter 13 100
Chapter 14 107
Chapter 14 107
Chapter 15 116
Chapter 15 116
Chapter 16 123
Chapter 16 123
Chapter 17 131
Chapter 17 131
Chapter 18 139
Chapter 18 139
Chapter 19 146
Chapter 19 146
Chapter 20 155
Chapter 20 155
Chapter 21 162
Chapter 21 162
Chapter 22 172
Chapter 22 172
Chapter 23 181
Chapter 23 181
Chapter 24 190
Chapter 24 190
Chapter 25 198
Chapter 25 198
Chapter 26 205
Chapter 26 205
Chapter 27 213
Chapter 27 213
Chapter 28 220
Chapter 28 220
Chapter 1
Cassie, I do not like the sound of that storm. I am certain it has got worse over the past hour.' Verity Stanford, a young woman of four and twenty years, put down the book she was reading and looked at her sister. She then added, looking wistfully towards the windows, 'I hope the tiles on the north side do not get blown away. This afternoon, when I last looked, they did not appear to be very secure.' Verity stood up and walked over to the window and checked the shutters once more. She shivered as she felt a cold draft creeping through the cracks in the window frames. Wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders, she then went back to her seat by the fire.
It had been a month since she had returned to her childhood home, after an absence of just over fourteen years. The once well-kept house, which she had left behind, was now a crumbling wreck. At first, she had been shocked at the state of the neglect, but over the weeks, since arriving back, she had become accustomed to the change.
Verity picked up the novel she had abandoned but found it difficult to concentrate on the story, due to the continual clattering of the shutters. She put her book down for the second time and said to her companion, 'Cassie, I think I will go and check to make certain that all the upstairs windows are firmly shut.'
Cassie sighed, 'Verity, you checked every window in the house less than an hour ago. I can assure you they are all shut, and, before you ask, the front door bolted.' Cassandra Stanford, Verity's younger sister, was sitting quietly by the fire mending her rather worn pelisse. 'We have an evening to ourselves, and, may I add, that in itself is a rare treat. In less than two weeks, you will be back at school. No doubt, at this time, you will be trying to undo the chaos caused by Peggy and Lucy's latest practical joke. Last time, you were up half the night trying to untangle Libby's hair.' Cassie put her sewing to one side and reached out to take her sister's hand. Cassie was only just seventeen, but Verity always thought of her as older, because she often displayed a maturity that was beyond her years. 'I do not know why you care so much about this old house. In a few weeks, it will be sold. You will return to school, and I will start my new position.'
'Of course, you are right,' Verity said, squeezing her sister's hand. 'It is just…' Verity suddenly stopped. She had not been entirely honest with her sister. Cassie knew that Hadlands, their father's estate, was in poor repair, but she did not know the full extent of his neglect. Since their father's burial, three weeks ago, she had shielded Cassie from the full magnitude of their financial situation. How could she tell her the deed of the house and lands was missing? Unlike Verity, Cassie had loved her father, and she did not want to shatter that affection by destroying his character, however tempting that would be.
Verity had never had a good relationship with her father. When her mother had been alive, she had been discouraged from spending time with her daughter. When she passed away, giving birth to her third child, Verity's father had sent the grieving nine-year-old away to school. During the intervening years, up to his death last month, he never once communicated with his eldest child. She had been completely cut off from her family until Cassie came and joined her at the school five years ago. Despite all this, Verity still felt it was her responsibility to shield her younger siblings from the full extent of their father's mismanagement.
Verity picked up the book, she had discarded earlier and began to reread it. But she was finding it difficult to concentrate. The words seemed to dance around the page, making it impossible to keep up with the plot. 'Verity,' her sister said, putting her needlework aside once more, 'I do wish you would confide in me. It is obvious that something is bothering you. You never know, I may be able to help.'
Verity smiled at her sister and felt the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes. 'Thank you, Cassie,' she managed, at last, to say, 'I suppose I am worrying a little too much about nothing.'
'Do not worry about money, V,' her sister said with concern, 'my situation will pay me very well. And I should be able to contribute towards Reggie's education.
After five years, together at the same school, it saddened Verity to lose her sister. Once her time as a pupil had come to an end, Cassie had joined Verity as a member of staff at the school. The headmistress had recently persuaded the restless Cassie to take up a position as a governess with a well-known Scottish family. The wages would be four times as much as she could ever earn as a teacher. Since the financial future, for both sisters, looked bleak, Verity had encouraged her sister to accept the position.
'No, Cassie,' Verity said firmly, 'you must think of your future. Our father left no provision for us in his will, and it is unlikely that either of us will marry. We have no relatives to introduce us to society, and neither of us has a dowry. You must save your money. Hopefully, by the time you retire, you will have enough to live comfortably in a modest fashion.'
Cassie sighed in resignation, 'but,' she said, with a faraway look in her eye, 'would you not like to marry someday and have a family of your own?'
Verity was taken aback by her sister's question. Over the years, she had never given marriage any serious thought. Why should she marry? She was quite happy on her own. And where would she meet a potential husband? Her limited encounters with the opposite sex had not instilled her with much confidence. Her father, who had been an overbearing character, had treated h
is daughter with disdain. And then, there had been the impertinent looks and comments from strangers, which the sisters had endured continuously when they had travelled back to Hadlands for their father's funeral. If marriage meant spending the rest of your life, with such a man, she would rather remain single.
'Not really,' Verity answered, wrinkling up her nose, 'to be honest with you, I have never given it a second thought.'
'Well I have,' her sister replied, with a smile on her face, 'would it not be wonderful to have a home of your own. Nothing too grand. I would be happy in a small cottage, with a husband who loves me.'
'And where will you find such a paragon?' Verity said, a little too sharply for her liking. She saw sadness creep into her sister's eyes as she spoke, and she began to feel guilty about the tone of her voice. Why should she, a woman who had resigned herself many years ago, to a life of a spinster, condemn anyone else to tread the same lonely path? 'I am sorry Cassie, I did not mean to be so harsh to you. You are beautiful and kind. The very best sister anyone could ever have. And you would make some fortunate gentleman an excellent wife.'
Cassie smiled, but the happiness that had been in her eyes, only a moment before, had vanished and had been replaced by sadness. Verity still felt guilty about the manner she had spoken to her sister. 'Let me read to you. I am sure it will cheer you up. It is a book I confiscated from Millie Mylett. It is a typical Gothic romance, with a pathetic heroine and a vain, overbearing hero. And to top it all, it is set in the gloomiest castle. The description of it reminds me of here.'
Cassie nodded her consent and Verity began to read the first chapter. It contained a rather long, but very amusing description of the gloomy castle. And, the pathetic heroine has been put into a dungeon by her evil uncle. Verity could see her sister smile, as she read the description in a theatrical way.
They were interrupted by a series of loud bangs. Verity put the book down, 'what was that?' She said, in a loud whisper.
Cassie looked around the room and then shrugged her shoulders. 'It must be a branch banging on the window,' she said dismissively.
The loud banging happened again, but this time it sounded like someone hammering on the front door. Cassie looked up, a little startled. 'I wonder who that could be? It is the middle of the night!'
'It is just Miller, wanting to air one of his many grievances.' Verity said, standing up and placing the book on the side table. 'Just because father's estate cannot pay his legacy, it does not give him the right to rip up at us any time he chooses.' Verity strode purposefully towards the drawing-room door. 'Do not worry, my dear sister; I will send him away with a flea in his ear.'
Miller had been Sir Reginald's longest serving and most trusted servant. His master had left him a substantial legacy, that he could not claim, due to the estate having insufficient funds. However, the old servant did not blame his master for any wrongdoing. In the eyes of Miller, the blame rested solely on Verity's shoulders. After Sir Reginald's funeral, Miller, who had been her father's only servant, removed himself from the main house and now lived in a cottage by the stables.
Verity carefully walked across the hallway, shielding the delicate flickering flame of the candle she was carrying. The weak light only managed to illuminate a few feet ahead of her. Cassie, who was also holding a candle, tiptoed quietly behind her older sister. The knock became louder and sounded more desperate, and this only made Verity even angrier. 'If it is Miller,' Verity mumbled under her breath through clenched teeth, 'I am going to kill him… Slowly.'
Verity unbolted the large oak door. It creaked and moaned as she slowly opened it. An icy blast of wind caught the door and wrenched the handle from her hand. The wind that blew, through the door, extinguished both candles, leaving them all in darkness. 'Miller,' Verity muttered under her breath, 'this time, you have gone too far.'
She was just about to launch an attack against the aggrieved servant when she looked up. To her surprise two gentlemen, neither of them Miller stood on the doorstep. It was very dark, and Verity could only see their silhouettes.
'Good evening, may we come in?' One of the gentlemen eventually said, in a well-spoken voice, 'it is a bit wet out here,' he added after receiving no initial response.
Cassie, who was not in the least bit shy, had already returned with another lit candle. 'Of course,' she said, 'please come in.'
The two men entered the hallway, dripping water onto the flagstones that covered the entrance. Verity was dumbstruck. They were unlike any gentlemen she had ever seen. Tall, broad-shouldered and extremely confident. One of them had a slight limp as he crossed the threshold into the house.
'Let me take your coats,' Cassie said, as Verity just stood there staring, 'you must be soaked to the skin. Come with me and warm yourselves by the fire.'
'Thank you, ma'am, but before we get too comfortable, would it be possible for one of your servants to help us. The wheel of our carriage has broken, and we have had to abandon it on the roadside by your entrance.'
'Can it not wait until the morning.' Verity, at last, managed to say, 'we do not have any servants.'
'But V,' Cassie said almost immediately, 'there is always Miller. I am sure he will help.'
'I do not think...' Verity said before she was interrupted by her sister.
'He is the only one who can give these gentlemen any assistance. I will go and fetch him.'
'No,' Verity said quickly, 'I think you better let me deal with him.' Verity knew that her father's old servant would not take kindly to being disturbed, and she would rather bear the brunt of his anger.
Before her sister could object, Verity turned to the new arrivals, who were still dripping on the stone, and began to address them, with a confidence that she previously lacked. 'I am going to try and get some help,' she said, examining the two gentlemen closely. The one with a limp had a gash above his right eye, and blood from the wound was beginning to trickle down his neck. 'You,' she said, pointing to the injured man, 'should go with my sister, and she will see to your injuries. 'And you,' she said, addressing the other gentleman, 'should follow me.'
Chapter 2
Less than a week ago, the Honourable Major James Mitford, had been at his club, drowning his sorrows with a rather good scotch. Since returning from Spain, after being injured at the battle of Salamanca, he had spent a lot of time there, trying to avoid various members of his family. He did not want to socialise; he just wanted to be left alone to grieve.
His wife Isabella, the daughter of a Spanish noble, had died, along with his unborn child. He had not yet forgiven his mother for voicing her relief that she had gone. His mother had disapproved of the marriage and had written him a lengthy letter listing her many faults. Once she had discussed in detail his wife's failings, she had then said, "the honour of the family must be maintained." She finished the letter by listing the attributes a wife of good standing required, making it clear that Isabella did not meet any of her high expectations.
As well as his overbearing mother, James was also avoiding his elder brother, the Earl of Wrexham. He was a well-regarded member of society, who to his credit, did not publicly voice the same concerns about Isabella. However, he wanted to parade his brother around society and introduce him as a war hero to all his friends and acquaintances. James knew, of course, he was no hero. If he could have been one, he would have been able to save Isabella from the chaos of war.
All James wanted, was too dull his memory, and the only way he knew he could do this was drinking himself into oblivion. The problem was that to suppress those painful memories, one had to imbibe daily more and more scotch. Then what had he to show for it the next morning? A sore head and hazy memories of the previous night's excesses. He was becoming a little disgusted with himself, but the alternative was to submit to his family’s wishes and find himself a wealthy wife. But Isabella still loomed large in his memory, and he could not contemplate another marriage. Anyway, he had been in love once, and one always knew that a love like that only came
around once in a lifetime.
'Mitford,' a familiar voice boomed across the room, 'how are you?'
The voice belonged to an acquaintance from school, Major Stephan Ellington. Ellington had also been injured at Salamanca, and the two old friends had travelled back to England on the same hospital ship.
'You know how it is, Ellington, trying to avoid my mother and the rest of my family.' James said as he motioned to the seat opposite him. 'Come, join me for a drink.'
Ellington sat in the chair offered to him by his friend and motioned to the waiter to bring another glass. 'How’s the shoulder?' Ellington had asked, as his friend poured a drink. James had sustained a broken collarbone, caused by a blow from a French cavalry sword. He had lost a good deal of blood and had nearly died at the hands of the regimental surgeon. 'I heard that you would be able to return to Spain in the new year.'
'Yes,' replied James, 'I am still a little stiff on the left side, but it should not bother my sword hand. What about you? Still walking with a limp, I see.'
Ellington sighed, 'my fighting days are over. There is still a fragment of the bullet, in there somewhere. I have been to see another sawbones today, and they confirmed it was too dangerous to remove. It looks as though I will have to sell my commission.' He said as he drank some more scotch. 'In fact, you can congratulate me; I am engaged to be married.' He drained his glass, poured himself another large drink and continued. 'She’s not my usual type,' he added, 'but she has an enormous dowry, enough to cover my debts and set me up for the future. My family arranged the whole thing.'
'My family have also been trying to match me with every eligible girl in the city. That is why I am here. It is the only place I can seem to avoid them.' James said bitterly in reply.
‘Well, I am about to make my escape. My mother and the chit are organising the wedding and do not need me around getting under their feet. Therefore, I have decided to take myself off to the country. I have a cousin, you know him...Lord Melrose,' James nodded in recognition when he heard the name. 'He has invited me to a house party at his estate in Devon.'
