“Ah,” he replied, “a rare species. And a privilege to see one in the wild. Not, if you’ll forgive my bluntness, to be pinned to a board, but rather to observe in its natural habitat. But there are many who would consider it a valuable addition to their collection. No offense to your acquaintance, but they seemed to have missed the point of the lovely creatures.”
With those words, Verity was undone. How could she resist a man who so utterly understood her? Not once had he judged her unfit for her views, nor did he share the colonial approach of nature as possession. This was a man to whom she might safely lose her heart. She felt warm and safe and understood.
And then, all at once, it was their turn to dance. Arthur Westbridge reached his hands across the space between them and stepped forward on his toes. He was not especially nimble, but then neither was she. They joined hands and skipped lightly in a circle or, at least, as lightly as their mutual dance impediment would allow.Skip to the left. Skip to the right.Verity called out the steps to herself.
Dr. Westbridge was not encumbered by the same need to recite the pattern of movement, possibly because he had danced such figures many times before. Instead, he smiled encouragement, even calling out, “Well done, Miss Lockhart!” when she corrected herself on a misstep, recovering in time to pick up the rhythm once more.
Soon Verity had built up a similar confidence to his, the constant repetition imbedding the progression of the dance into her mind. The conversation, such as it was between the pointing of toes and much bouncing about, flowed comfortably, and time passed all too quickly. A half hour later, they finally took their leave of the dance floor—exhilarated and rather out of breath—and made their way back to Mrs. Trenton. Hope, perhaps seeing that Verity was tended by a chaperone in the form of their mutual friend, left on her husband’s arm to greet a family of their acquaintance on the other side of the room.
“That was very prettily done, Miss Lockhart,” Mrs. Trenton said.
“Dr. Westbridge is a most accommodating partner,” Verity replied. “I must thank him for an enjoyable initiation to the country dance.”
The good doctor shook his head emphatically. “I had nothing to do with it. Miss Lockhart is fearless. She threw herself into the movements with great gusto.”
“Ha!” Verity laughed. “Certainly more gusto than talent, but I thank you for the kind words nevertheless.”
He opened his lips to respond, when a pale gentleman with noticeably fiery curls approached, bearing two cups of punch. “Ah,Mr.Trenton,” said Dr. Westbridge. “I wondered where you were this evening. I assumed you must be unwell, for you have never been known to miss a good party.”
“Dr. Westbridge.” The red-haired man nodded, handing his wife her drink. “I must have just missed you earlier. Sadly, even at events such as these, I run into acquaintances who wish to discuss matters of business instead of sampling the music and excellent fare.”
“It is good to see Mrs. Trenton out and about,” commented Dr. Westbridge. “She has recovered well from your daughter’s birth.”
Mr. Trenton grimaced. “I would see her venturing out more often, but she is determined to stay home with the children. I don’t know why we bother employing a nurse.”
At that, a voice, deep and sensual, spoke up behind Verity. She froze at the hauntingly familiar sound of Mr. William Cole.
“My sister may be an angel among women,” said Mr. Cole, the usual teasing tones present in his speech, “but she is stubborn in matters of family. Best leave her to it, James. She will not thank you for depriving her of even an hour with those little cherubs of yours.”
Verity didn’t move. Mr. Cole hadn’t recognized her. She could hardly blame him. She was not ensconced in the cozy parlor of the little vicarage, embroidering a beetle, much to her mother’s annoyance. Nor was she ankle-deep in the pond, waving a net about, her hair coming undone about her face.Other than the color of her hair, there was nothing by which Mr. Cole could identify her from behind. She was grateful for the temporary anonymity. It gave her a chance to catch her breath and order her thoughts. She quietly raised her fan to cover her face, keeping her back to Mr. Cole.
James Trenton had meanwhile shifted his attention to a different guest. “Do you see Lord Howell is here? And clearly enjoying himself, to boot. My cousin Ellena has had a remarkable effect on him. He was seldom seen at such gatherings before. I have never found him to be much of a talker, but he has been in animated conversation with her all evening.”
“That is true love, James dearest,” his wife replied. “Lord Howell is a changed man. And she has become every inch the viscountess.” Mrs. Trenton tilted her head and smiled up at her husband. “Look how fine her garments are. She is always the best-dressed woman in Munro. Even now that she is with child, she is as elegant as ever.”
“‘With child’?” Mr. Cole shot back in reply.
“Yes,” answered his sister. “Four months, I think. She is just beginning to show.” Mrs. Trenton crossed her hands to her heart. “It brings such happiness for me to know our Clarence and Jane will have a little cousin before the year is out.”
From behind the safety of her fan, Verity looked across the room. She knew who the Howells must be. There had been enough whispered comments in their direction and people often did not take care to keep their whispers low enough not to be heard. The viscount and viscountess were a handsome couple. And not at all haughty. Even now, they did not stand apart with their noble peers, but remained the focal point of an ever-changing arc of people seeking their company. Verity recalled the rivalry and animosity between Lady Penrose and Mrs. Sangford at the tea that Hope had hosted. Lady Penrose was only a baroness, yet she and that supercilious Mrs. Sangford—and her equally unbearable daughters—had put on more airs then than the viscount and viscountess did now. Mercifully, the Sangfords and Penroses had thought it beneath them to attend tonight’s event.
William had not spoken for a while. From the corner of her eye, Verity could see him staring across at Lord and Lady Howell, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly, he asked, “Who is the blonde woman?”
For a frightful moment, Verity thought he meant her and prepared to reveal herself. But his gaze had not shifted, still resting upon the viscount and viscountess and the company around them.
“Do you mean the one standing beside my cousin?” asked Mr. Trenton. “That is Miss Jillian Kinsey. I would say she is exactly your type—lacking boundaries, and prone to bursts of laughter—but she is not for you, old boy. She is a guest of the Howell household and a particularly close friend of the viscountess, my cousin. That can only mean trouble. Ellena would encourage an unhealthy degree of independence in her companion, such as she has shown in her own character. No man wants to deal with that sort of nonsense.” Mrs. Trenton lifted her fan quite suddenly, but not before Verity spotted the beginnings of a knowing smile.
“Besides,” continued Mr. Trenton, evidently entirely unaware of his wife’s secret opinion, “it would appear Miss Kinsey has her eye on Mr. Lewis Bradford, a friend to the viscount. A rather overreaching act on her part, if you ask me, what with her being a groundskeeper’s daughter and him being a barrister and a baron’s son. But Ellena has no doubt emboldened Miss Kinsey in this regard. She never did understand the rules of society. No, William, what you need is a wife who will know her place, and many of these country folk do not. In that regard, my Charlotte is a rare find.”
“Er, James…” Charlotte Trenton touched his arm urgently. “Perhaps such remarks are best kept from present company?” She indicated with her head toward Verity.
James, never having met Verity, seemed to have no idea why his chatter should offend. “We have not been introduced,” he remarked. “Perhaps my wife could rectify that.”
She could, and did so at once. “Miss Lockhart, may I introduce my husband, Mr. James Trenton? James, this is Miss Verity Lockhart. You know,of Fernbridge?”
Mr. Cole sucked in his breath.
Verity reluctantly lowered her fan. “Mr. Trenton,” she said, acknowledging the introduction with reservation. The gentleman had not made a good first impression and she could hardly say she was pleased to meet him. But she was willing to tolerate him awhile to enjoy the company of his wife. He did not seem to notice or care that he had not found favor. Instead, he offered a quizzical raise of the brow to Mr. Cole. It gave Verity no small gratification, for his look seemed to say, “Thisis the woman of whom you spoke? The vicar’s awkward daughter? This fair maiden is her?” Of course, Mr. Trenton had never seen Verity traipsing mud into Cook’s kitchen with skirts dripping and tucking errant strands of hair behind her ears.
