Chapter Twenty-One
Verity woke upin a cold sweat. Her sleep had been disturbed by the turbulence of numerous nightmares. Shipwreck. War. A wedding with two grooms. A bride stranded with a driverless carriage. A stranger walking away, surrounded by butterflies that fell, motionless, at his feet.
It took some time for the disarray of images and their accompanying distress to subside into some sort of calm. Yet some unease remained. Both a dear friend and her betrothed were to leave for foreign soil this day, their voyage risky, their destiny uncertain. But what made the jumbled emotions more confused was the difficulty in concluding whose absence she would miss most.
She allowed herself a little grace. Arthur’s proposal had been sudden and wholly unexpected. Until that moment, her hopes and expectations had been focused on Mr. Cole. It was challenging to reel them in without warning. If Arthur had given some indication beyond mere civility, she might have been better prepared. She would quite possibly have given Mr. Cole no consideration at all. But her betrothed had offered no preamble, nothing exceptional in his attitude toward her to suggest that he was interested in a life with her.
And that was where her thoughts took her on a treacherous detour. What if the same could be said of Mr. Cole? What if, behind his lighthearted veneer and his talk of friendship, he felta tenderness for her? Could his kiss have meant more? Had he realized it had been his last chance to show his true longing for her? And why had he come back, only to leave again without saying anything? Had it been Arthur’s proposal that had shifted his decision?
It had all happened so quickly, and Verity thought she had reasoned it all through adequately. This morning, however, she had more questions than answers.
There was no way to resolve any of it. She could hardly take herself over to the Trentons’ home and demand that Mr. Cole declare himself. That was, if he had anything to declare. Nor could she bring herself to call off the engagement on the basis of Mr. Cole’s unconfirmed affection. What she really needed was time to think.
She should not have saidyesso readily. But it had all made perfect sense the day before. To ask Arthur to delay the engagement until his return would be a terrible blow to a man going off to war, even if he only ever saw the aftereffects of battle.
And so it waswithoutthe uncontained excitement of a newly engaged woman that Verity dressed, had breakfast, and made her way to the docks situated upon the banks of the wide estuary that ran the length of Munro.
Daniel had insisted on accompanying Verity and Hope, saying it was no place for women to visit alone. It was a decision both pragmatic and thoughtful, but Verity did not crave the company. At least it gave Hope someone to talk to when, after a few worried glances at her sister, she gave up trying to draw Verity into the conversation.
The port was busy in a way that appeared haphazard and chaotic, yet boats were systematically being loaded and the number of red coats upon the decks was steadily increasing. Arthur Westbridge—who had no need of uniform and waslargely free to wander as he pleased—stood patiently waiting beside the gangplank of the transport to which he had been assigned. As soon as he spied Verity approaching from the carriage, he hastened toward her, his face wreathed in smiles.
“Miss Lockhart.” He stopped awkwardly once they were face-to-face, clearly unsure what the appropriate next move should be.
“Dr. Westbridge,” Verity replied softly, noting that they had slipped back into old formalities. To set a new tone, she reached across on her toes and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, balancing herself with her hand upon his arm.
The smile returned.
“I confess I am relieved to receive your affection, Miss Lockhart,” he said, running his fingers through his hair.
“Verity,” she corrected him.
“Ah, yes, of course. Your name is a privilege I have not yet grown used to.”
“We have all the time in the world to become so,” Verity replied. “But I am curious. Did you not think I would want to express my fondness for you?” she added, carefully avoiding the word “love.”
“My proposal was so sudden,” he explained, “I could not imagine you having fully taken it all in. Someone as young as yourself might need time to adjust to the idea. Even I, being close to thirty years of age, am not fully prepared for such a solemn shift in status.”
“It may be that our time apart is a hidden blessing,” said Verity, “giving us the opportunity to grasp the magnitude of it all.” If only Mr. Cole would stay out of her thoughts!
“Perhaps you would like to follow me aboard,” Arthur offered the trio. “I could show you where I will be spending the next few days—or the next week, as the weather will have it.”
Daniel was quick to intercede. “Have your lady take your arm, sir. There are a great many soldiers and sailors about, with no guarantee that they will show a woman the respect she deserves. We shall have to shield Verity and my wife from rough comments and other bawdy behavior.”
“Too right, Mr. Sinclair,” Arthur acknowledged. I had not thought of that. Your experience as a husband is an example to me. I have much to learn. But I am willing, for Miss Lockhart shall have all that is due her.”
“Verity,” she repeated.
Verity suppressed a sigh, reminding herself that she had chosen this: safety over sentiment, steadiness over passion. She had no right to complain when Arthur continued to behave as he had done throughout their acquaintance.
And yet, she found his commitment to her unsatisfying. All was done as if he checked off a list. He did not express any fervor, only constancy. Itshouldhave been enough. It could be, if she would let it. But she ached for more. The thought that Mr. Cole might have given her all she now missed gnawed at her.
Even in this moment, when she took the arm of the man who would be her husband, nothing tingled or sang within her heart, her limbs, her womanhood. It was a sturdy arm. It would be there for her whenever she needed it. But she wanted to feel an undercurrent. To know that the owner of that arm wished they were alone, that he might wrap it around her, lifting his other hand to trace her curves, make her shiver with anticipation.
These thoughts fell away as they reached the deck. There were too many watchful eyes. Too many men who might want these very things of her.
She cast her own eyes down, looking only where Arthur pointed, until they reached the opposite side of the boat, the river lapping roughly at the timber frame. The water wasdeep and dark and murky, reflecting the clouds that gathered ominously above.
An officer approached with a businesslike air. “All non-passengers are to go ashore at once.”
