Page 22 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

The door opened and an older woman emerged, frowning. “Em, quit dawdling and get to work.” She looked up and saw Verity. “Here! Who are you? What are you doing peddling flowers here?”

Verity did her best to look abashed, ducking her head. “Truth is... I come to see...is Lord Stanhope still here?”

“Lord Stanhope!” Em exclaimed. “’Course not. He went back, soon as the doc—”

“Hush, Em,” the older woman interrupted sharply. “How many times have I told you not to talk about your betters?” She moved in front of Em to face Verity. “As for you, you impertinent girl, it’s no business of yours where his lordship is. Now be on your way.”

“I was ’oping, I mean, I’d like to get out of the city, I would,” Verity said. “I thought I could ’ire on to work in the country.”

“What for?” Em asked in a stunned voice, and the other woman looked equally astonished.

Verity shrugged. “I don’t know. I ’eard as it was an easy job.”

“Well, it’s not,” the older woman, whom Verity had privately labeled the housekeeper, said flatly. Her expression softened a little. “I promise you. You don’t want to work for his lordship.”

Behind her, Em nodded her head in emphatic agreement.

“Now, go on home, girl,” the housekeeper told Verity, crossing her arms in a manner that said the conversation was over. She turned and went back down the stairs with Em following.

Verity was happy to comply. She whipped around and walked away, barely able to keep the bounce out of her step. He was gone. It was safe for her to stay in London. The pair of servants had confirmed that Jonathan was like his father with the warning that she wouldn’t want to work for him. And while that was anything but good news, the fact that he had left the city most definitely was.

After she had returned home and washed the flower girl disguise from her face and hands, Verity went through her clothes. She pulled out a dress of shimmering bronze moire. It was a simple style, a slender column falling from the fitted bodice, without fussy ruffles and only a bit of blond lace at the neckline, but the color emphasized her eyes, and it was a gown she had chosen for herself, not for Mrs. Billingham.

Verity wanted to feel like herself tonight. She wanted one evening where she could enjoy dancing with Nathan and not think of playing a role. And she wanted Nathan to think twice about the validity of their courtship. Even if it meant running the risk of Verity forgetting the pretense herself.

The way Nathan’s eyes widened when he saw her was proof that her dress had succeeded. As he laid her gossamer wrap around her shoulders, his fingers grazed her skin. They were hot and a little unsteady.

They left the house and Verity took her usual look around at their surroundings, but her gaze did not linger. She wasn’t worried about anyone attacking her here, and she felt much more relaxed now that she knew Jonathan Stanhope had gone back to the countryside.

As soon as they walked in, Verity and Nathan greeted their host and his wife, but it would be awkward to start asking about the Douglases immediately.

Nathan offered Verity his hand, and they joined the dancers on the floor. Nathan was as adept at waltzing as Verity had thought he would be, but she had not envisioned how breathless she would feel this close to him, only inches from touching, or how lost the rest of the world would be to her.

She gazed up into his face, contemplating the color of his eyes. Were they green or hazel? Mostly green, she thought, but with a ring of gold around the pupil that changed their color. This close, she could see the little curved scar on his cheek and she wondered how it had happened. A childhood accident, she imagined; it was merely a thin white line now.

The music stopped, and they came to a halt, but for a moment, they still faced each other, her hand in his. Then Verity stepped back, and he released her hand. They walked from the dance floor and made a wide promenade around the room. Nathan paused to speak to a friend, and within moments, there were three men around Verity, vying for her attention. One offered to get her a refreshment, another asked for a dance, and the third assured her that she was even more lovely than usual tonight.

Nathan deftly moved into the group, scowling at the men and offering Verity his arm. “Mrs. Billingham, I believe you wished to speak to Lady Hornsby.”

Verity looked up at him, her eyes dancing, but she said only, “Yes, I did. Please excuse me, gentlemen.” She nodded at the other men and took Nathan’s arm. They walked away, and Verity said with a grin, “Are you trying to scare away all my beaux, Mr. Dunbridge?”

“Upstart puppies,” Nathan grumbled.

Verity laughed. “You sounded just like Lady Lockwood.”

“Egad.” Nathan glanced around the large room. “Ah, there are Alan and Charlotte. Let’s see what we can discover.”

He threaded his way through the guests to where the Grants stood talking to another couple. There were greetings all around and introductions to the other man and woman, followed by a good deal of chatting about nothing. Nathan took the lead; Verity was happy to simply listen and store away bits of information for any future forays into the ton.

Finally, when there was lull in the conversation, Nathan said casually, “I was hoping I might see Malcolm Douglas here. Do you know him?”

Alan shook his head. “Douglases are pretty thick on the ground in Scotland. Which family does he belong to?”

“I’ve no idea,” Nathan told him. “I’ve only met him once, and we talked briefly. He’s a little shorter than I and blond. Blue eyes. About my age.”

“That, too, fits a very large number of Scotsmen. Or Englishmen, for that matter.” Grant shrugged his shoulders and looked over at the other couple.

“I’m always in London,” Grant’s friend replied. “I don’t know any Malcolm. I know a Robert Douglas, but he is a good bit older than that. I saw him here just a moment ago, if you would like to meet him.”