“Yes, my Lady.” The fox swished her tickerkin tail.
Glancing at the tall grandfather clock in the hall, Verity picked up her fur-lined shawl. “The aethercoach is ready?”
“Waiting outside, and running, so it should be warm for you.”
“Perfect. I have my reticule, my gloves, my shawl, and my speech. That is all I’ll need.”
“You look lovely, my Lady.” Sprocket nodded. “No matter what you wear you always look beautiful.”
Touched, Verity grinned. “You spoil me. Thank you. You know you don’t need to wait up...” She stopped herself from saying any more. “But I know you will.” And with that, she slipped inside the elegant carriage and closed the door.
“Yes, my Lady. I will. Have a good time...”
The aethercoach slid silently away as Sprocket waved her tail.
Have a good time?Verity had to chuckle as she settled herself for the ride to Pembroke Hill. She honestly couldn’t recall the last occasion that could be described as a good time.
She’d been successful, of course. Her charities were thriving, and that was an endless source of pride. But they did require work, and events like this evening’s were work. No question about it.
She would open the evening with a short speech—carefully crafted to loosen purse strings—after which a dozen girls, orphans themselves, would circulate with posies. It was a small touch, but often the difference between adequate and extraordinary generosity.
There would be dancing, a pause for supper, and then more dancing still, all designed to keep spirits high and competition keen. Somewhere along the way, pledges would be signed and tucked into the basket beside the lectern. By night’s end, thelargest donor would leave with Albermarle de Montclair’s latest painting.
And good luck to him, thought Verity. She was not a fan of the man’s art but, as is the way of things, the upper crust of Arcvale had declared him to be the newest sensation, squabbling amongst themselves as to which of his works was his best.
Her gaze drifted out of the window. The sun was almost set, and this was the time when Arcvale became something unique and magical. Soft rays of reds, oranges, and yellows splashed over magnificent buildings, doubled their impressive display by glittering from the thousands of windows, and left other places intriguingly shadowed.
It was, to Verity, the epitome of Arcvale. Stunning beauty, breathtaking architecture, and beneath? Growing darkness. How many citizens who lived below Level 3, or even Level 2, got to see a sunset in this way?
She was practical enough to accept it, but that didn’t mean she had to be in favour of it.
Sighing, she leaned back in the carriage and turned her mind to the upcoming event, rehearsing her short speech as the aethercoach silently sped over the sledways toward Pembroke Hill.
First the greeting, of course. “Hello everyone, and welcome to the Yardley Memorial Evening.” Somewhat ordinary, but there were few dignified ways to begin.
Then a brief word of thanks to their host, Alastair Pembroke, sweet man that he was. He’d laugh, blush, and wave any compliments away, but still... This evening—and more than a few others like it—would never have happened without his support.
After that, a few short paragraphs about the Yardley House roof, and how the generosity of the evening’s attendees would benefit the children now enjoying a safer, healthier life there.She would follow with thanks—some public, some carefully understated—to those whose quiet generosity had made the greatest difference.
Verity was proud of what she’d accomplished over the past few years. Widowhood did indeed come with more than a few benefits, and she valued not only her independence, but the freedom it gave her to make her own decisions.
It also freed her to spend many hours each day doing what she loved most...delving into the world of finance. This was no hobby, this was a passion, and it had allowed her to vastly increase the assets and portfolio of Yardley House. Contributions such as the ones she hoped to receive tonight, would go quietly into the account she had set up several years ago, and more than a little would be invested in various funds and ventures, all of which would result in a decent return.
As the aethercoach slowed, Verity straightened her skirts and prepared to begin the evening.
If she could only banish that niggling worry that was bothering her. Some of those financial numbers just weren’t right...
Chapter Three
The throng of excitedly chattering guests filled the foyer of Pembroke Hall. An elegant and older building, it possessed a charm all its own, boasting intricately carved finials on both ends of the massive split staircase that currently held a lot of people. The treads were obscured, mostly by the frills and fripperies of ladies’ gowns, but what could be seen was highly polished and covered with a richly patterned oriental carpet.
Lucas sighed as he watched the crowd ascend, fluttering butterflies of the genusfatuus homines. That passing notion brought a brief memory to his mind; Silas was always fond of coming up with something inappropriate in Latin.
At some point, he was going to have to pay a call on his brother, but tonight was for other business.
Joining the procession, he found himself next to a couple who were apparently already quarrelling. But incredibly politely, of course.
“I did tell you, Marmaduke,” hissed the obviously irate lady.
