*~~*~~*
While Lucas and Edgar were reacquainting themselves, a couple of leagues away and one level down, a woman stood with her hands on her hips and a threatening frown on her face as she stared at her fox-shaped tickerkin.
“Sprocket, I thought I told you to dispose of this gown?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to do it, my Lady. D’you haveanyidea how much that silk embroidery is selling for on Level Five? We could put a new roof on the house, and probably add some more flowers to the garden on what it would bring.”
“Last time I checked, we did not need a new roof. And the garden is doing very nicely, as Mrs McMichael commented the other day.”
“Mrs McMichael couldn’t grow a dandelion if her life depended on it,” replied the tickerkin. “And you know this gown becomes you more than almost everything else in your wardrobe.”
“And you know that there is very little chance of my needing anything ‘becoming’ in the foreseeable future.” Lady Verity Turner-Yardley gave her tickerkin what might be referred to as a ‘speaking’ look.
Sprocket ignored it. “You might, if you decided to find some gumption and go to a formal ball or two.”
“I have plenty of gumption.”
“Where? In the wardrobe? Or the attic?”
Verity rolled her eyes. “Stop, Sprocket. Just stop. I will not, under any circumstances, rejoin that brainless, tittering mob that passes for high society here in Arcvale.”
“You’d rather stay home and work on those funding numbers, wouldn’t you?”
“And what if I would? It’s fascinating, complicated, and if I invest at just the right moment, the Yardley Home will benefit greatly. And you knowtheyneed a new roof.” She stared at the brilliant crimson corset, and the gold thread sparkling throughout the richly detailed embroidery. “And now you’ve mentioned it...”
“Absolutely not.” Sprocket inserted herself between her mistress and the garment. “If you won’t wear it tomorrow night, I’m putting it back in the wardrobe.”
“Tomorrow night? Seriously? A modest dinner with some dancing, for the purpose of raising funds, is not really the sort of event that calls for such finery, as well you know. I’d look quite silly giving my speech in something better suited to an elegant and formal soiree.” She shook her head. “I was thinking of the grey silk?”
The tickerkin made a sound as close to a snort as a tickerkin could manage. “Oh that would belovely.” The sarcasm was hard to miss. “If, of course, you want to look like an old maid well past her fourth decade.”
Verity rolled her eyes. “As long as the money flows in, dear Sprocket, who the hell cares what I look like?”
“Well, I do, for one, but being a humble tickerkin, my opinion is, undoubtedly, irrelevant.”
“You haven’t been humble since the day we met.” Verity shook her head, amused. “I was...what...eight?”
“Yes. Halfway to your ninth birthday.” She sighed. “So young.”
“Both of us,” chuckled Verity. “Now my back aches at odd times, and you need a lot more oil and grease than you used to.” She shook her head. “But all that aside, I won’t be wearing this tomorrow night. Especially since that dratted Overton will be there.”
“Sir Reginald Overton has a very large fortune, you know.”
“Of course I know. That’s why I invited him.” She frowned. “I shall put up with his ogling ways until I have convinced myself that I cannot, in any way, dig some of his coinage out of him for our orphans. After that? His presence becomes unnecessary.”
Sprocket remained silent for a moment or two. “That is a rather cold assessment, my Lady.”
“I know.” Verity nodded. “I’ve discovered that keeping all my assessments cold and practical is the best way to proceed successfully.” She absently stroked the corset. “Once emotions get involved? Common sense goes out the window and trouble rushes in before you can close it again.”
The room fell silent, the twittering of the birds outside the only sound.
“You’re thinking of him again, aren’t you?” Sprocket asked quietly.
“No. Absolutely not.” Verity’s chin went up. “I have pushed the entire matter from my mind, and I wish you’d do the same. Clear up your old memory circuits, Sprocket. Eliminate everything that is more than ten years old. I have, and I’m better for it.” She spun on her heel and strode firmly from the room.
Her tickerkin sighed, and extended the clamp that lurked beneath her paw, touching the exquisitely elegant gold decorations. “Poor Miss Verity,” she said to herself. “She’s not forgotten him. And she never will.” The cleverly created foxy face turned somber. “God help us if that man ever returns.”
Chapter Two
