Verity bobbed a curtsey and dipped her head, determined to please both Lady Penrose and Hope. Lady Penrose scarcely moved in her tight, long-sleeved dress but lowered her eyes in acknowledgement. Miss Frances Penrose, however, did not concern herself with the greeting. Despite the visit barely having started, she already looked bored. She fiddled with her reticule, allowed her eyes to examine every inch of the room, and frequently threw a longing look toward the exit. She had clearly not been involved in choosing Verity as a potential companion. Most likely, she had plans for her season, and a vicar’s daughter did not fit into them.
Oh, good, thought Verity wryly,I have not spoken a word and already, I am unpopular.
Next, Hope turned to what Verity could not help but consider the rival party. Like the Penrose duo, the unknown trio was led by a matriarch.
“Mrs. Sangford, Miss Sangford, Miss Amelia, this is my sister, Miss Verity Lockhart. Verity, this is Mrs. Albert Sangford, Miss Irene Sangford, and Miss Amelia Sangford.” Hope gestured at each with an open palm. Despite the absence of titles, the three ladies sat with a pride bordering on haughtiness, their backs as straight as posts, their eyes looking down their almost-too-long noses. They did not even deign to offer a slow blink as Lady Penrose had done.
My face is an open book. My face is an open book.Verity repeated the reminder to herself and shoved her feelings down and out of sight. Or so she hoped.
“Very pleased to meet you all,” she said. Although it was a terrible lie, Verity guessed they would all assume sheshoulddelight in their company and would not question her sincerity. She sat down next to Hope, who had indicated for her to do so. It seemed the safest place in the room.
Before her rose a tide of self-satisfaction from their guests. It poured forth in waves. Verity had never experienced anything like it. What—besides a title—did Lady Penrose have to recommend her? And what—if anything—did the Sangford ladies claim as their motive for superiority? And what if—Lord help her—they had eligible brothers who were just like them?
“Do you play the pianoforte, Miss Lockhart?” Mrs. Sangford wanted to know.
“I do, at my mother’s insistence. But I would not go so far as to say I play it well,” Verity answered.
“My girls have had the very best tutors.” A definite flash of side-eye at Lady Penrose, and Mrs. Sangford continued. “Our Amelia is sought after at gatherings. There is nothing she cannot play.”
Her Ameliawas an obvious golden child. She had shiny, red-blonde curls that cascaded from a loose pile upon her head. Her chin was perfect. Her eyes green, like a cat’s. Her mouth pouted naturally in the way that gentlemen were so fond of. In short, she was a younger version of her mother.
Miss Sangford, on the other hand, must have taken after her father. She was taller. Everything about her was elongated. A sharper chin. A longer neck. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, as were her eyes. There was an elegance to her, which made up for the fact that her youth had begun to fade. She was clearly not the favorite. Perhaps that was why her mouth had an unhappy turn to its corners.
And perhaps that was why, despite her mother’s accolades, Miss Sangford picked their opponent’s side. Her voice came outas a slow drawl, as if she were in no rush to have her say. “Amelia is rather like Miss Penrose, don’t you think, Mama? I would say they are equally talented. And Amelia has definitely missed the note on her Mozart more than once.”
“‘Rondo alla Turca’ is a notoriously difficult piece!” her sister cried. “I should like to seeyoutry to play it half as well!”
“It is notIwhom Mama has spoken so highly of.” Miss Sangford spoke with a barely disguised bitterness.
Miss Penrose began to smile and quickly hid her mouth behind her hand. She pretended to yawn. “My, but it is warm in here. Unusual for early spring.”
Ah, thought Verity,we are retreating to the safety of platitudes about the weather. “It certainly is warm,” she replied. “I find it even more so, being from Fernbridge, which is farther north. Our spring remains chilly through the middle of May.”
“Ah, yes.” Miss Sangford chimed in, though “chime” was possibly not the best description for her languid speech. “Your family is acquainted with the Fernbridge Coles, are they not? The married sister, Mrs. Trenton, lives here in Munro, not far from our uncle.”
Verity cast a nervous glance at Hope. How much of recent events was common knowledge? Hope shook her head almost imperceptibly, and Verity exhaled relief. “I have not seen Charlotte… I mean, Mrs. Trenton, since we were children. But I hold her in the highest regard. She has always been a good friend to Hope. More than that, I cannot tell you.”
Miss Sangford leaned forward—a little hungrily, if her gleaming eyes were any indication. “Perhaps you are more recently reunited with Mr. William Cole, her younger brother? He returned home rather abruptly last year. We wondered what took him from us so suddenly. We heard he had gone to claim a bride. And yet he has returned to Munro an unmarried officer. Can you cast any light upon the matter?”
“Oh!” Verity’s stomach clenched. “Er… I hardly saw him at all. He came to tea a few times but did not mention his plans for marriage as such.”
My face is an open book!Verity squealed silently, praying that her discomfort would not be conspicuous enough to create suspicion. She felt quite naked under Miss Sangford’s searching eyes.
“Isaw him at our Twelfth Night celebration,” said Miss Penrose proudly. “He kissed me under the mistletoe.” She brought her fingertips to her lips. “My first kiss. And I shall never have another like it.” She sighed dreamily.
Of course he had, thought Verity. So, he had returned to his rakish ways. How disappointing. Or was Miss Penrose now the focus of his attention? If so, it was equally disappointing. She had hoped for better judgment on his part. Miss Penrose lacked any of the qualities that would help make a real man of him.
“I’m surprised, Lady Penrose, that you thought it wise to include your daughter in such frivolous games,” tutted Mrs. Sangford. “Many a fine gentleman looking for a wife would prefer to be the one who claimed her first kiss. And I cannot imagine you consider Lieutenant Cole among those you would consider for Miss Penrose.”
“Oh, no, not him, certainly!” cried Miss Amelia Sangford. “I’m sure he kissed a great many young ladies that night.” She sniffed. “Men like him take every advantage of naive, young women, and mistletoe is a ready excuse.”
Miss Penrose scowled. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘men like him.’ He was the perfect gentleman. And he kissed none but me.” She preened a little, touching her hair at the base of her neck and lowering her lashes coyly.
Her mother cut in sternly. “I don’t think these ladies”—Lady Penrose paused, as if the term “ladies” could not be applied to all present—“wish to hear an account of a young woman’s firstTwelfth Night. After all, since it is not the first season for most here”—she was met by a glare from both Miss Sangfords—“they have no doubt had similar experiences without feeling a need to share the personal details. Really, Frances, have I taught you nothing?”
“Why, Mama!” The brazen Miss Penrose continued. “I don’t think Miss Lockhart would have been permitted such a worldly encounter, being the daughter of a country vicar.” She smiled with pity at Verity. “And the elder Miss Sangford has been saving her attentions for a man of rank. Is that not so?” She offered an innocent cock of the head to the opposing party.
“Well, it is only natural!” Mrs. Sangford protested. “Should we demand anything less than suitors of nobility, since we are distant cousins to the queen?”
