by Liese Anning
It was a beautiful crisp Autumn morning. The fallen leaves that were haphazardly dispersed across the drive, where various shades of red, brown and gold. Their vibrant autumnal colours were accentuated by the dazzling morning sunlight. The sky that was azure blue had a few fluffy white clouds scattered randomly across the horizon. They trotted quickly across the sky in response to the brisk wind that blew from the West.
Cassie, as usual, had left straight after breakfast, leaving Verity on her own. Since the night of the storm, the weather had been pleasantly warm for the time of year. Therefore, Verity had decided to take advantage of the warmth provided by the morning sunshine, so she sat in the window seat of the drawing room and continued to read her book. A rare moment of solitude that she knew would soon be over when she finally returned to the hustle and bustle of life at school.
As she sat quietly reading, a messenger on horseback, approached the house. Verity was not surprised by the interruption, she had been expecting a communication from her father's solicitor's, regarding an issue with his estate. But, to her surprise, the messenger had not been from the family solicitor, but from Lord Melrose. It was a request for Miss Verity Stanford, to present herself at Highlands, at two that afternoon. Verity was somewhat shocked by the curt and abrupt language Lord Melrose had used in his communication.
Verity had good reasons not to trust Lord Melrose. During the week, after her father's funeral, she had had an unnerving and frightening encounter with him. It had happened after the Sunday morning service when he had escorted her to a deserted part of the churchyard. As she walked down the gravel path, towards the gate on her way home, he had roughly taken her arm and had dragged her behind an overgrown yew tree, that was in the furthest corner of the deserted churchyard. Verity struggled and tried to break free from his vice-like grip, but she could not release herself.
'Well, my dear,' he had said smoothly, 'you look radiant today.'
'My Lord,' she said nervously, 'I do not think that you should have brought me here.' Verity struggled again, in a vain attempt to get him to release her arm. However, all he did was reinforce his already firm grip.
‘Do not worry, my dear,' he said, in a harsh whisper, 'no one will see us.'
As he moved closer, she could feel her heart starting to pound. She tried to step back, but the dense branches of the yew blocked her escape. 'Please take me back, my lord,' she said, as her voice quivered.
'All in good time,' he said, whispering in her ear, 'I must first discuss a little business proposition with you.'
Verity was frightened of him. He was close to her, far too close for comfort, and his fingers dug painfully into her arm. When she relaxed, his grip loosened and she knew that this could be the only opportunity she would have to free herself from him. She then put her hands on his chest, and, with all the strength she could muster, she pushed him away. He was taken by surprise, lost his balance and nearly fell to the ground. After he took a big step back, he managed to regain his balance. 'Now my dear,' he said, through gritted teeth, 'that was not necessary. I just want to get to know you a little better; that is all.’
Her eyes grew wide, as she looked at him. She may have been innocent, but she knew all about his reputation. Millie, the vicar's daughter and Cassie’s best friend, had spent much of her time relating titbits of gossip that had come from Lord Melrose's house, regarding the infamous house-parties he hosted. 'I really do not think you should be talking to me...' Verity had said before Melrose interrupted her.
‘Now, my dear, do not get on your moral high horse,’ he said as he came closer to her. Verity tried to take a step back, but her escape route was hampered by the sharp needles and the dense branches of the tree.
'Do not come any closer,' she said, holding up her hands, 'otherwise, I will...'
He interrupted her, 'otherwise, you will do what. Scream? But I’m afraid, my dear, no one will hear you from here.'
He took her in his arms and drew her close. Using the palms of her hands against his chest, she tried to push him away. However, instead of letting her go, his grip tightened. He then bent his head towards hers and began to kiss her lips. His kiss was not a gentle, tender kiss, but rough and possessive. She wanted to scream, but she could not. All she could do was fight against him with her hands, in a vain attempt to free herself. As his kiss deepened, she could feel his hands moving down the small of her back towards her hips, all the time pulling her a little closer to him. It felt so wrong, but there was nothing she could do to stop him.
When she began to feel his hands lift up her skirts, and caress the soft, bare skin of her thighs, Verity started to panic. If she did not stop him now, she thought to herself, he would ruin her there and then. Without much thought, she bit, with all her might, his lower lip. She instantly knew that she had hurt him, due to the salty taste of his blood in her mouth. Melrose, in response to the pain, immediately released her.
'Bitch,' she heard him mutter, under his breath, as he took a handkerchief from his pocket to dab his bottom lip. Suddenly, his demeanour changed, and he began to laugh. ‘I like a woman with a bit of fight in her.’ He continued to dab at his cut with the handkerchief, 'do not be disappointed, my dear if we stop now,’ he said coldly, ‘I will have you.’ He then picked up his hat, that had fallen on the floor and said to her, 'I have plans for you, and the next time we meet, to discuss your future, you better be receptive to my advances.' Verity flinched, as he touched her cheek, 'I will send for you when I am good and ready, and then we will discuss your future.’
It had been three weeks since she had met Lord Melrose in the graveyard, but, barely a day passed when Verity did not think about his last words to her, 'I will send for you when I am good and ready, and then we will discuss your future.'
As she re-read the note, he had sent, Verity felt his grip around her tighten. That afternoon, she would have to go and face him once more and discover what her fate would be.
Verity decided to wear her plainest dark blue wool dress to her meeting with Melrose. And, before she left, she wrapped herself up in her cloak. The two-mile walk to Highfields, took her nearly an hour. As she walked across the fields, that were dotted with sheep, she once more thought about his note.
When she arrived at Highfields, and as she was ascending the steps towards the door, she made the mistake of looking up at the massive, imposing columns of the portico. On more than one occasion, she had to quickly look down, as the formidable structure made her head spin and her stomach nauseous. She kept her eyes down, and focused on her feet, trying to stop the whirling sensation in her head. But, occasionally, she could not resist glancing up at the ornate plaster ceiling, emblazoned with the family’s coat of arms. Verity could not help but feel intimidated by the opulence and grandeur of Highfields.
Once she had arrived at the large oak door, it was immediately opened for her by a smartly dressed liveried footman. As soon as she had entered the large imposing entrance hall, he motioned for her to take a seat, on a black and white mottled marble bench, located to the left of the door. The entrance hall, if it were possible, was even more imposing than the sandstone portico. It had a black and white tiled floor, that was dotted with various white marble statues, depicting the heroes and heroines from a previous era. The floor met a grand sweeping staircase that circled both sides of the hallway. On the walls hung large exquisite paintings of various family members. The largest, and most prominent, was the current master.
Verity was still staring at his painting when the footman returned. He stood in front of her expressionless and said, 'his lordship will see you now. Please, follow me.'
Verity followed the servant, through a labyrinth of corridors, to the back of the house. He then opened a door and announced Miss Stanford's arrival. She stood by the door, for what seemed like an eternity, just looking at him sitting behind a large stately desk. After several minutes, he looked up at her. 'Miss Stanford,' he said, as he rested his quill on its stand, 'good afternoon.' He then mo
tioned to the chair on the other side of the desk, 'please, come in, and sit down.' Verity walked gingerly over to the desk and sat down, glad of the wide expanse that separated them. Then, after another long silence, he began to tidy his papers into a neat pile. After several minutes, he folded his arms and leant back in his chair. 'Miss Stanford,’ he said, with authority, ‘would you like a drink?
Chapter 5
Verity shook her head and said, in almost a whisper, 'no, thank you.'
‘I am going to pour you one anyway,' he said as he walked across the room towards a sideboard that held, on its surface, a smart line of crystal decanters, 'just in case you change your mind.' He carefully poured two large glasses of brandy and placed one in front of Verity. 'Miss Stanford, I must apologise. No one has taken your cloak.'
‘It is not necessary...' Verity began to say. She wanted to keep it on, even though the room was warm. It gave her a little comfort as she sat in his study, feeling very alone.
He put up his hand to stop her, 'of course it is,' he said smoothly, 'it is warm in here, and you surely will not need it.'
Verity nodded and then stood up and started to undo the button at her neck. Her hands were still cold, and they were shaking, and she could not grip the button. 'Let me help,' he said as he moved to stand behind her.
'That will not be...' Verity was interrupted by his hands, that came from behind her and began to undo her cloak. He then took it carefully off her shoulders and placed it on the back of her chair.
‘That’s better,' he said, patting her shoulder gently. He then sauntered back to his chair and sat down.
'I have asked you to come here so that we can discuss your future,’ he then said, leaning back in his chair.
She took a deep breath and tilted her chin, trying to muster up a look of confidence. 'I do not see how my future is any concern of yours.'
He leant forward to rest his arms on the surface of the desk. 'But it is, my dear, it is.' As he spoke, Verity looked nervous as she clasped her hands in her lap. 'Your future is very much my concern.'
'I do not understand,' she said quietly, in almost a whisper.
'My dear,' he said curiously, 'how long have you been at that school of yours?'
'Fourteen years,' she answered.
'Fourteen years,' he repeated, 'is a long time to be in one place. Do you not wish for something a little more adventurous to come your way?'
'I am very happy where I am,' she said, trying to answer him confidently, 'very happy.'
'I did not ask you if you were happy,' he replied coolly, 'I asked you if you wanted a little more excitement in your life.'
Verity remained very still, with her hands still clasped together, 'no, my Lord,' she eventually said, 'I am very happy where I am, and I would...'
He put up his hand to stop her, she obeyed and looked down anxiously at her hands. There was silence in the room. All that could be heard was the ticking of a clock on the mantlepiece and the crackle of wood from the fire. She listened to his chair creak as he stood up, and then she listened to his footsteps as he walked towards her. Once he stood behind her chair, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders.
'My dear Verity,' a shiver went down her spine as he used her given name. There was a familiarity about it that did not sit well with her. 'You are indeed wasted shut away in that place.' He bent down and whispered in her ear, 'you have so many talents, my dear, that you keep hidden away from the world.'
Another shiver went down her spine. This time it was fear, 'I really do not think you should...'
He interrupted her again. 'Your hair,' he said, as she could feel him remove the combs and pins that held her chignon in place, 'is beautiful.' Once it had been loosened, and the silky strands had fallen past her shoulders, she felt his fingers combing through its length. Her heart began to race, and her breathing quickened as he continued to fondle her hair. 'Beautiful,' he whispered, 'such a magnificent colour and so much longer than I ever imagined.' She looked around for the door, but she could feel his hands on her shoulders preventing her from leaving. ‘Do not go, my dear Verity,' he whispered in her ear, 'I have not yet finished admiring you.'
He gently brushed her hair over her left shoulder and removed the lace fichu that was tucked into the neck of her dress. Once it was gone, exposing her neck and shoulders, his lips gently grazed her collarbone. Verity felt his breath on her neck. Her hands grasped the side of the chair until her knuckles turned white, and her mind frantically tried to think of a way she could escape. 'Exquisite,' he whispered in her ear, tracing his thumb down the line of her jaw, while his other hand fondled her neck and shoulder, 'absolutely exquisite.'
He stood up and walked back over to his desk and sat back down. 'As I said, my dear Verity, you are truly wasted shut up away from the world.'
'I still do not understand,' she said, trying to lift her eyes to meet his gaze, 'do you wish to marry me?'
Her question was greeted by laughter, 'marriage,' he repeated still chuckling to himself, 'I think not.' He paused and took a drink from his glass, 'when I marry, my dear, it will be to further my position in society. It will not be someone like you.'
'Then you want me to be your mistress, 'she asked, her voice faltering on her words.
'Alas, no,' he said, leaning back to get a little more comfortable, 'not my mistress.'
Verity shook her head, 'I really do not understand.'
'Ah! My innocent little Verity,' he said with a sigh.
She looked at him, her eyes wide open.
'You see, my dear, I have other plans for you.'
Verity sat quietly. She glanced nervously at the shut door and then at Lord Melrose. Verity felt trapped.
'You may not be a beauty, my dear. And, unlike your sister, you may not have youth on your side, but, you have a certain allure that is most pleasing to the opposite sex.' Melrose stopped and looked up at the ceiling, threading his fingers together. 'That is what I want to harness. You see, my dear, there are many gentlemen, of my acquaintance, who would pay a fortune to be alone with you.' He looked at her again, 'of course, I would act as an intermediary and offer you my protection. Just imagine what you could do with the money you could earn.'
Verity sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap. Then, summoning up all the courage she could muster, she looked at him in the eye. 'Your plans for me are disgusting,' she retorted,' Lord Melrose,' she then added, lifting her chin defiantly, 'I do not need financial assistance from you or anyone else for that matter, and I most certainly do not need your so-called "protection." I may be a mere schoolteacher, but I have my pride.' She stood up and looked for her cloak and fichu. As she grabbed her possessions and marched towards the door, she said, 'I will now bid you good day, my Lord.'
Holding her cloak, that was now trailing on the floor, she lifted her hand to the handle and tried to open it. The handle turned, but the door remained firmly shut. 'My dear,' she heard him say, in amusement, 'come, sit and have some brandy. I am afraid our negotiations are not yet over.'
She turned around to see him still sitting at the desk, leaning back in his chair, his legs crossed and stretched out in front of him. 'Please,' he said, motioning to the chair she had just vacated, 'there is something I want to show you. I think it will help you make up your mind.'
Verity walked slowly back to the chair and sat down. ‘What is it?' she asked quietly.
Lord Melrose leant forward and took out a key from the inner pocket of his tailcoat. He used it to open a drawer of his desk. As he turned the key, Verity heard the lock click softly. Her breathing was shallow, and she could feel her heart, once more, pound against her chest. The drawer scraped, as it was opened, and when he let go of the brass handle, it clattered back to its original position. Verity then heard a rustle, as Lord Melrose selected the papers he required.
'These, my dear, concern your father,' he said, laying the crumpled sheets on the desk. 'They are a selection of his markers. And believe me when I say a selection. T
here are, in fact, much more.'
Verity recognised her father's scrawling handwriting, and immediately knew they were genuine.
Lord Melrose put the papers to one side and went back to the open draw. 'Ah!' he said, after rummaging around some more, 'found it.' He pulled out a larger document and handed it to Verity. 'You will find that one particularly interesting.'
Verity took the document. She did not need to examine it because it was apparent from the outside that it was the missing deed for Hadlands.
'As you well know,' he said triumphantly, 'your father was a gambler. After he married your mother, he lost most of his newly acquired fortune at the gaming tables in London. However, he did have the sense to return home before he completely ruined himself. Once back home, with his old cronies, it did not take him long to return to his dissolute ways. Most of the time, when he gambled with my father, he lost very little. Neither of the old fools was any good, they just kept winning and losing the same pot of money, over and over again. However, when my father died, Sir Reginald continued to come here and gamble. I am a better player than your father, and it was not long until I had the upper hand.’
'You see, my dear, your father always thought that he was one game away from winning. His wagers were always small, but, over time, they added up. He just kept gambling, until he lost everything.' Melrose shook his head, 'not only do I have the deed for Hadlands, but I also have vowels to the tune of several thousands of pounds.'
