Chapter Twenty-Four
Munro, June 25, 1815
It was withgreat excitement that the ladies of the Sinclair household awoke that morning. Daniel, having partaken of his breakfast with his newspaper in hand, as was his habit, had scarcely read the headline before throwing down the paper and taking the stairs two at a time to his wife’s chamber. A shriek had preceded Hope’s rapid departure from the room as she flew along the corridor and burst breathlessly into Verity’s bedroom.
“It’s done!” she cried. “The war is done! Napoleon, that soggy monster, has abdicated. Our men will be coming home!”
Verity, who had been reading with her back against her pillows and had quite jumped when her door flew open, received the news with equal joy.
“So soon? It’s really over? He is safe, then?”
“I am certain the doctor has remained unharmed,” said Hope, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “We are sure to hear from him soon. He will likely stay on to help with the recovery of those who were injured. But he will be in no danger.”
Verity nodded silently, unwilling to confess that her thoughts had not been for Dr. Westbridge. She now called him such in her letters to him, for he had never grown comfortable with calling her Verity, blaming the fact that he was an old-fashioned sort. Ashe had grown busier, his letters had grown fewer, and Verity had again followed his example.
More and more, she regretted their engagement. He was a good man, an excellent man, even. But life with him promised to be very dull. She had believed their shared interest in entomology would fuel enthusiastic conversations—and this might yet occur upon his return—but Verity no longer knew if this would be enough. While in Fernbridge, she had convinced herself that no one would ever support her unusual studies, and her potential husband’s acceptance of them had been of the highest concern to her. In recent months, however, she had learned that it was possible to have more than mere acceptance. She had discovered that, when you are loved,reallyloved, that the gentleman in question would embrace you as you were, odd interests and all, even when he did not share them with equal zeal. Moreover—and this made all the difference—he would also make you feel like the most important person in the world.
Dr. Westbridge was the sort of man who made everyone feel important, and, bless him, this was a noble approach. But Verity wanted to be queen of her husband’s heart. The way Mr. Cole made her feel.
Verity turned to her sister. “Do you think Charlotte Trenton has heard the news? Maybe she has even had a letter?”
“All of England will know the news by day’s end,” said Hope. “As for a letter, Mr. Cole is a conscientious writer. If the mail has come in, she will have heard from him.”
“Unless…” Verity shivered.
Hope patted her sister’s hand. “Then someone else would have notified the family.”
“Do you think, perhaps,” Verity asked, trying not to show her sense of urgency, “we might call on Mrs. Trenton and see if she has news?”
Hope cocked her head and gave her sister a thoughtful look. “No doubt she will appreciate you looking in on her. She has certainly been very welcoming of your weekly visits.”
“Yes,” Verity said, “I have enjoyed them too. She is a very kind soul. I have valued her willingness to share Mr. Cole’s correspondence with us.”
“Indeed.” Hope’s eyes locked with Verity’s. “One could almost say his letters are written with you in mind. I doubt Charlotte finds his clumsy sketches of various caterpillars as enthralling as you do.”
“He is a good friend,” Verity countered.
“It seems to me,” Hope pondered aloud, her voice tinged with reproach, “you wish it had been Mr. Cole who had proposed instead of Dr. Westbridge.”
Verity closed her book and put it down next to her on the bed. She could trust her sister, and there was something that needed to be said, for it ate away at her conscience.
“Hope,” she began, “there is something you should know. When Dr. Westbridge returns, I am going to break the engagement.”
Hope’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t mean that! What will people say?”
Verity tightened her lips. “I reckon people will be far too busy celebrating the end of the war or mourning lost loved ones to care whether some vicar’s daughter has changed her mind about marrying someone.”
“What about the doctor?” Hope was aghast. “It will be a terrible embarrassment for him. Everyone knows him.”
“And will therefore commiserate with him,” countered Verity. She gave a rueful laugh. “Oddly enough, I think Dr. Westbridge will be the most understanding of all. He is such an even-keeled fellow, so reasonable and fair. He knows our betrothal was rushed. No banns have been called. It is only ourrespective families who even know we are engaged. Still, if the whole of Munro wants to judge me, so be it. I would rather bear the shame of a failed engagement than a lifetime of discontent.”
Hope shook her head. “What has gotten into you? Is this because of Mr. Cole? Do you think he will declare himself if you are free once more? Even if he has survived the war, you cannot know how it has changed him. He may very well be ruined by the experience of battle. You are unwise to count on him.”
But Verity was not persuaded from her course. “I do not depend on his affection, though I would be lying if I said I did not want it. However, this is not about leaving my betrothed for Mr. Cole. This is about being true to myself. My potential life with Dr. Westbridge does not offer me all I need. I might as well be alone for the feeling of connection he provides. I do not deny it would be a marriage most comfortable, but I want to be with someone who wouldnotbe civilized when I break the engagement. Someone who would fight for me, fear the loss of me. Can you understand that?”
Hope sighed deeply. “I do understand. But I am not equally assured thatyougrasp the consequences. A broken engagement can hang over your head for a long time. Too long a time. Past the bloom of your youth. It may be a very heavy price to pay for what you perceive as freedom. You may look back at what you see now as a mundane marriage and realize it could have been enough.”
Verity shifted across the quilt to lean her head against her sister’s shoulder. “You are very good to worry about me. You and Mama have always done your very best in this regard. I know I have been a mystery and a burden to you both. But I have never been more certain of what I want. In Fernbridge, all my actions were driven by fear, and Mama was right to send me here where I might meet broader minds and learn where I fit in. Now I can see clearly what is needed for me to be content. And marriageto Dr. Westbridge is not it. I do not wish for the life of a lonely spinster, nor do I wish to be unhappily married. I must have faith that, if I am comfortable in my own skin, this will attract the right sort of man for me. If I am wrong in this, at least I will have learned to love myself. Will that, at least, not please Mama?”
