Henrietta’s call from the house had them scrambling to their feet and adjusting their clothing.
Verity followed Anthony to the cottage while tidying her hair. She could do little to improve her disheveled appearance. The evidence of their lovemaking was no doubt there for all to see. She licked her swollen lips and tried to banish the dreamy look in her eyes.
“It’s Philippe, Papa. He’s calling for you.” If Henrietta sensed what she’d interrupted, she gave nothing away. She was, after all, a young woman with no experience of love.
Anthony ran into the house.
Was Henrietta searching for a sign that Verity had told Anthony the truth? Waiting in the parlor together, Verity avoided her gaze.
Anthony walked into the room, his expression mild. “Philippe seems a little better. He would like some food.”
“Give him soup,” François said, entering through the door from his library. “Verity, you must help me to organize comfortable bedding for everyone.”
“You are too kind, Uncle,” Verity said, going to hug him.
He smiled, and embarrassed pulled himself free. “Not at all. Not at all.”
