“Shouldn’t think Mama will go. Wants to see him.”
“What? Your motherwishesto see your father?”
Adam nodded. “See if he’s changed. Thinks she might go back then. Doesn’t want to ruin V’rena’s life. But ish no good, ’cos V’rena won’t let her go back. Nothing to be done about it.”
Oh, was there not? They would see about that, Denzell promised mentally. He did not know what might be done aboutit, not yet. But something had to be done. For there was another now who was not prepared to tolerate the ruin of Verena’s life.
CHAPTER NINE
Verena had slept a little better than she had these last few nights. More from exhaustion than anything else. She had felt dreadful on waking, her head thick and heavy, her bones weary. But remembrance of what she was waiting for had soon driven all that away — just as it had every morning since Adam had come with his hideous news.
She had calculated the probabilities, counting days. Nathaniel would come by coach, and he would not have travelled on Sunday. He must have started out a day or two after Adam, and the coach would necessarily make slower progress, for Adam, dependent on speed, had left the gig at home and ridden post. She had waited at home none the less, although she thought she could reckon on two to three days, four at the most.
But time was up. He must arrive today.
She was riding on nervous energy, but she was aware only of the necessity to remain alert, to be ready for the moment that must tax every ounce of her strength.
Mama had gone out with Adam, although neither he nor Verena had been able to persuade her to join the expedition to High Rocks. Verena know not whether to be glad of the new determination that showed how Mama had altered, or sorry for it, since she now wished to face Nathaniel herself.
“When all is said and done, Verena, he is still my husband, to whom I am vowed before God,” she had stated with a dignity that became her. “If you wonder that I am not afraid of him, then I reply that I am afraid. But this respite has given me courage, Verena, and that I owe to you. I am persuaded he will not attempt to do me harm in this place, and therefore I will see him.”
Nothing Verena could do or say served to move her from this standpoint, and it had filled Verena with a dread that swept from her mind everything but this. She had succeeded in extracting a promise from Adam to keep Mama away from the lodging for as long as possible, to give her opportunity to make her own warnings to Nathaniel before he could get to Mama.
Pacing the little parlour, attired against the expected visit in a round gown of pale yellow muslin demurely buttoned high over the bosom, with a standing ruff edged with lace and sleeves to the wrist, her hair partly covered by a small mob-cap, she waited, rehearsing in her head all the things she meant to say to Nathaniel.
Yet when the door knocker sounded downstairs, her mind froze as still as her body. She stood like a statue, facing the door, in a listening attitude, hearing the clump of Betsey’s footsteps going down the stairs.
Her heartbeat began to thud in her own ears as the sound of a male voice smote them, along with Betsey’s murmurs. Double thumps now, two sets of feet ascending the stairs.
A plea sang in her head:Heaven give me strength!Her pulse quickened even more painfully, and she braced herself as the door swung open.
“A visitor, Miss Verena,” said Betsey, and Denzell Hawkeridge walked into the room, easy in buckskins and top-boots, and a frock-coat of olive green, a toning waistcoat beneath in a lighter hue.
For an instant, Verena stared at him, bewilderment in her brain. Then a wash of relief hit her, dizzyingly, and she took several steps backwards towards the bureau, grasping swiftly at the back of the chair before it.
“Miss Chaceley, are you ill?” came Denzell’s concerned tones, as he moved quickly forward.
But Betsey was before him, one hand about her charge’s waist in an instant, supporting her drooping form, and clucking her concern. “There, my dove, now don’t you go swooning on me. Here, quick, sit in the chair.”
But Verena was already recovering. She pushed the maid away. “No, no, Betsey, I am all right. It was only — I thought it was he.”
“So did I,” agreed the maid, adding in an under-voice, “I thought you might as well see the gentleman, Miss Verena. It’ll take your mind off it for a little.”
Verena looked across at Denzell, standing in the middle of the room and regarding her with a good deal of concern. Without thinking, she smiled at him.
“I beg your pardon, Mr Hawkeridge. I was expecting…”
She petered out as the memory of their last meeting came back to her, the things she had said to him, and subsequently restated to Unice — and given herself away into the bargain. Had he discovered it all from his hostess?
There was no telling any of this from his face. He was returning the smile, a twinkle coming into his eye. “I am glad to discover it is not I who had such an effect upon you. I should be afraid to walk into any room in which you might be present, had that been the case.”
That drew a spurt of laughter from her, and some of her consciousness eased. Betsey, a somewhat grim smile curling her lips, released the hold she still had on Verena’s arm, and moved to the door.
“I’ll warn you, Miss Verena, when it’s the master.”
Verena nodded, watching as Betsey left the room, very properly leaving the door partially ajar behind her.
Denzell took a step or two towards her. “Don’t you think you should sit down for a moment?”
