“Indeed?”
“In fact, no,” Denzell cut in, glancing across. “At home in Buckinghamshire, Unice.” He turned back to Verena, speaking in a more natural way. “It chances that my father’s estates are on the border, at Tuttingham. Just a village, but the barony extends widely around it. It is near Aylesbury.”
Rather to his surprise, Verena turned to look him in the eye. There was nothing in her voice to suggest anything but politeness, but the words she spoke struck him like a douche of cold water.
“You are plainly extremely eligible, Mr Hawkeridge. I imagine there must be any number of young ladies only too ready to receive your advances. I hope that it may not be long before your friends are wishing you happy.”
Denzell was so taken aback that he scarcely knew how to reply. By George, but what a masterly stroke! She was certainly not stupid. Before he could gather his wits to find a suitable response — not that he could have thought of one even had he done so — Miss Chaceley was drawing on her gloves. Then she was rising.
“I must go, Mrs Ruishton,” she was saying, crossing to take Unice’s hand. “No, do not get up. I am happy to find you looking so well.”
Both the gentlemen had stood up automatically, and Verena turned to hold out her hand to Osmond. “Goodbye, Mr Ruishton. Do you take care of her, pray.”
“Oh, I will,” said Osmond on a cheerful note. “But there is no need for concern. She manages these matters very well, does Unice. But let me see you to the door.”
A faint smile was all his answer, and Verena turned her head to Denzell, saying in a voice devoid of expression, “I am happy to have met you, Mr Hawkeridge.”
The next moment, she had left the saloon. Osmond flung a speaking glance at his friend before following her from the room, and Denzell grimaced at Unice who was looking at him rather anxiously. Neither of them spoke until the front door had closed and Osmond walked back into the room.
“What did I tell you?” he demanded, grinning. “Unice, did you see his face? I’ve never enjoyed anything so much in my life!”
“For shame, Osmond. Poor Denzell, she was quite brutal to you, I think.”
“No such thing,” argued Osmond, hugely entertained. “After being given due warning, he flung himself to the wolves, and he has only himself to blame.”
Denzell sank back into his chair, shaking his head. “You are quite right, Ossie. I am deservedly set down.”
“Oh, don’t say so, Denzell,” protested Unice. “I do think she might at least have acknowledged the compliments you paid her. Really, I am quite out of charity with her. I had no idea she could be so horrid.”
“No, no, Unice. She was politeness itself, just as you predicted would be the case.”
“I’m dashed if I’ve ever seen you so crestfallen, Hawk,” observed Osmond, raising his brows. “Giving up the notion already, are you?”
Denzell frowned. “No, not giving up. Just — oh, I don’t know. Yes, I do, though. I’m confused. When I saw her yesterday, she was so…”
He paused, at a loss for words to describe the difference between the girl he had seen in the snow and this cold statue. He looked from one to the other of his friends, and suddenly smote his knee. “I don’t believe it! I simply do not believe that this was the true Verena Chaceley.”
He might have been cheered could he but have seen Verena at that moment, left alone outside the Ruishtons’ front door. Breathless, she put a hand to her breast, as if to still the fluttering there within. Dear heaven, but what charm there was in his smile. Had she not trained herself all these long years to suppress even the slightest outward display of emotion, she feared she must have given him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had moved her. Her control had never been so severely tested.
She drew a steadying breath, and came away from the door, her half-boots crunching along the worn path that was once again showing beneath the dissipating snow and ice. Lost in her thoughts, she had forgotten the short cut and began along the longer trail that led back to the road.
Heavens, but she did not wish to have any man affect her this way. Least of all, such a man as that. Eligible, indeed. Heavensend Mama did not get wind of his interest. If there was any substance to it, which she frankly doubted. That winning smile, the limpid gaze from those misty eyes, had all the hallmarks of the accomplished flirt.
She had not been so out of the world that she could not recognise these signs. The society of Fittleworth might be limited, but she had not been the reigning belle for several years without schooling herself to nip these sorts of pretensions in the bud. It would surprise her very much if Mr Denzell Hawkeridge took the matter any further.
A sneaking regret caused her to quicken her pace, lashing herself mentally.None of that, Verena Chaceley.Did she so easily forget the horrors that lay in store for the unwary woman who allowed herself to be beguiled by such men as this? How could she forget?
She dismissed the idea. She was but human, and a comely countenance, accompanied by such an onslaught of determined charm, was bound to have its effect. She need not concern herself over that. Particularly when she guessed him to be singularly experienced at this game.
All at once she checked her pace. No harm in arming herself, just in case Mr Hawkeridge should not have been sufficiently deterred by this one meeting. Turning away from the route home, she passed back along the row of houses that bordered the lane and crossed beyond them towards the New Inn. Two houses down, she stopped and knocked at a certain door.
Mrs Felpham, her sturdy frame planted in a chair by her own fireside, expressed herself as being delighted to welcome Miss Chaceley. Of course she was. She had been trying these few months to penetrate the wall Verena had erected to keep out just such intrusions. Verena could almost feel sorry for her. This was her purpose in life.
A widow, settling here some few years since, she had nothing to do but busy herself in hunting out all the little details that made up the lives of those around her. What else had she, except a very obvious pride in her dress — up to the minute in a spotted lawn open robe whose high waistline could not be said to be becoming to a flat chest in a square frame?
There was no need for Verena to touch upon the subject of her visit, because the lady herself brought it up the instant the greetings were over. “A most charming young man, and quite eligible. His father is Lord Hawkeridge, and I believe the estates are in very good heart. No other sons to be provided for. There is a sister, I believe, and she is out already so that she must soon be off their hands.”
“Indeed?” Verena said, maintaining the cool company manners that stood her in such good stead.
