She caught herself on this thought. Reverie in public was too dangerous a pastime. She could not afford an instant’s relaxation of her extreme vigilance. Besides, she did not wish to think about Nathaniel. She did not wish to think about Mr Hawkeridge either. But his antics — accosting Mama in that manner and evidently embarking on the vaunted flirtatious campaign by ignoring her — were forcing him upon her notice. She tried to ignore him in return and put her wayward attention back on Mr Yorke.
“Pity you were never in India, Miss Chaceley. You would have liked it extremely, I am persuaded.”
“I am persuaded I should, Mr Yorke,” she agreed, although she scarcely took in the sense of his words.
“Why, we had splendours never dreamed of in England…”
The wheezy voice droned on, but Verena found that she could pay no more heed to it than was needed for the interjections she could make that would keep him content. For one thing, she was carefully assessing Mama’s condition, and for another — much to her chagrin — she was keeping track of Mr Hawkeridge’s progress about the room.
Ah, but that would serve him out. He had been accosted by Mrs Felpham. Grim satisfaction settled in her breast, and she eyed the old nabob with an air of interest, only to find that Sir John Frinton had appeared behind him.
Verena permitted the ancient roué one of her marginally warmer smiles. She liked Sir John. He had an acerbic tongue, and he did not pay her fulsome compliments, allowing an appreciative glint in the eye to speak his admiration.
“Are you boring on again about India, Yorke?” he demanded on a weary note. “How tedious of you. Poor Miss Chaceley is glassy-eyed.”
Verena put a dismissive hand out to the old nabob, nevertheless saying, “Your stories are most interesting, Mr Yorke.”
“My dear Miss Chaceley, don’t encourage him,” protested Sir John in an under-voice as the wheezing old man wandered away. He sat himself down in a chair beside her. “Now then, Miss Chaceley, to some serious business.”
She looked an enquiry. “Yes, Sir John?”
“You are sought after, my dear.”
“Indeed?”
He laughed. “You need not sound so disinterested. I am not speaking of the plethora of tedious old men — myself excepted — who constantly badger you for attention.”
Verena’s expression did not change. “You are speaking of Mr Hawkeridge.”
“Ah, so you have noticed.”
“I am neither blind nor inexperienced, Sir John. Besides, I have already been approached by the gentleman himself. I think he will not long waste his time on me.”
A knowing gaze watched her. “Ishe wasting his time?”
“Yes,” she said, “but that is his privilege.”
Sir John’s brows rose. “Why, this is truly hard-hearted, Miss Chaceley.”
“I truly hope so.”
“Do you indeed?” The aged exquisite laughed. “I wonder.”
He glanced about the room to locate Denzell, and Verena with difficulty refrained from looking towards the precise spot where she knew him to be standing. He was engaged with the Ruishtons in close conversation.
A little pulse beat a trifle unevenly in her veins all of a sudden. Had she seen aright? Did Mr Hawkeridge cast a quick glance across at her then? She had the distinct impression that he had, and an eerie sensation followed. She was under discussion!
“Denzell,” Unice was saying low-voiced, “did Mrs Felpham say anything to you?”
He shook his head. “Nothing beyond pointing out how lovely Miss Chaceley looks tonight — as if I had not already noticed. She must have searched the warehouses to match so perfectly her hair colour with that gown.”
“Never mind that,” said Unice, brushing aside the unimportant matter of dress. She was herself, as always, discreetly fine, cleverly drawing attention away from the bump below the waistof her simple gown of Canterbury seersucker, with a fancy cabriolet bonnet perched on her dark curls.
“Mrs Felpham has certainly said something to me,” she declared. “And I should think she has said it to everybody else also, judging from the veiled remarks that have been passing around.”
Denzell cast another glance across to where he could see Verena talking with Sir John Frinton. “That must be what Sir John meant. What is being said?”
“It seems that Miss Chaceley has pre-empted you,” she told him in a hushed voice.
