Provocative in Pearls (30 page)

She eyed him curiously. “I . . . I had no idea that the marriage suited you so well.” She gazed out at Verity, who was upbraiding a man with a shovel. “I am happy for you, of course.”

But not entirely happy; that was clear. They had a long, old bond, and the last few years, their mutual singularity had been a part of it. Colleen’s had been born of grief, and his own of indifference, but it served as common ground. He practically heard her mind beside him, coming to terms with being alone in new ways henceforth.

She had probably assumed that Verity would be the dutiful if dull wife and he would be the husband who barely noticed he was married. Hell, he had thought so too. His admission that there was more was giving him as much pause as it gave his cousin.

Saying it evoked a lightness of spirit in him. Joy, he supposed it would be called. If Colleen were a man, a friend like Summerhays, he might submit to the urge to confide that this first passion was very intense, very magnificent. He might even admit that his wife occupied his thoughts a good deal of the day, and that he could not imagine embracing another woman now.

“Perhaps it is time, Colleen, for you to consider finding a new passion too. It has been some years since he died.”

Her head snapped around so she could look at him.

“It is not too late to marry. With the right settlement, it is never too late. I can take care of that part now. You need only find a man who is worthy of you.”

Her eyes sparkled with tears. Her mouth quivered. She looked out to the garden again. “Perhaps you are right. I am grateful, as always, Hawkeswell, for your generosity on my behalf.”

“It is what brothers are for, is it not?” he asked, teasing her with a reference to their playful fantasy of old.

He really thought that she would weep then. She stretched up and kissed his cheek, then entered the house.

 

 

 

 

“
I
only said that I do not care for her,” Audrianna said. I “She wants to be one of us, but she would never understand the Rule. She would never just accept, and not pry.”

Verity examined a small myrtle plant. Her own little greenhouse in London was almost finished, and she had come out to The Rarest Blooms to select her first plants to populate it. “Colleen does not want to be one of us, I am quite certain.”

“Of course not. She looks down on us,” Celia said. “But Audrianna is correct. She pries plenty, like most women.”

“Then she wants her friendship with you to replace ours,” Audrianna said.

“I do not think that is correct either,” Verity said. “She does not want to be my friend. She wants to be my sister, so that she continues to be
his
sister.”

“Sisters have more authority than friends,” Daphne said. “You would, of course, be the
younger
sister in her mind, I assume.”

Verity laughed. How true. Colleen wanted to direct as well as help. “She is kind, and good-hearted. Sometimes she intrudes more than I like, with advice that does not suit me. Since I believe she will be in my family forever, I have chosen to be agreeable. I do not want to create strife on matters that do not signify. I confess that more important things prey on my mind than Colleen’s designs for me.”

Daphne set a sprouting amaryllis on the table where they were sorting out the plants that would be sent to London. “I am sorry to hear that anything preys on your mind, Verity.”

Daphne did not betray any concern, but Audrianna did with her frown. Celia remained busy with shears, trimming brown leaves from a large rubber plant.

Outside in the garden, Katherine hoed the market garden.

Katherine had been accepted here. According to Daphne, she fit in nicely, and accepted the Rule by which they lived. But she had not been here when Verity lived here, so Verity was glad that Katherine was not with them right now.

“Do you remember that day when I showed you all those paper cuttings in my chamber? The oddities that I noticed about them?”

“Of course,” Celia said. “Did you learn what you needed to know while you were at your home?”

“I am afraid that I did, and I do not know what to do with it now. When we were in Oldbury I learned that Katy’s son has been missing since right before my wedding, and has not been heard from or seen. Nor was there any trial, or any knowledge by his friends of his arrest.”

Her friends puzzled over the mystery. “And yet your cousin claimed to have him,” Celia said.

“Yes. I believe that was true. I think . . . I fear that he was killed.”

Celia put down her shears. Daphne lost interest in the plants.

“By your cousin?” Celia asked.

“My cousin and others.” She told them about Lord Cleobury, and his allusions to pulling out bad vines.

“That was hardly an admission. It sounds as if Lord Cleobury is half mad. Cannon on the terrace, no less,” Celia said. “There is no body. Perhaps you are seeing plots where none existed. He may have only gone off to seek his fortune.”

“It is true that I have no proof. I could be wrong, and sometimes, for a while, I convince myself that I am. There is no evidence, as you say. No cause to voice my suspicions to anyone, except three dear friends who can do nothing but let me finally speak of it. I know that I can do nothing, but it still preys on my mind.”

“As well it might,” Audrianna said. “Can you not tell Hawkeswell? He could at least find out for certain if there was an arrest back then, and a trial. A peer can normally learn what he wants to know from the government and courts. Perhaps it happened in a different county, for example.”

“I dare not tell him. He is aware that I sought information about Michael—that is the young man’s name—and as a result he believes Michael was more to me than he was.”

“Ah,” Celia said.

“What do you mean,
ah
?” Daphne asked.

“I mean she is correct. A young man disappears two years ago, and Verity runs away from her wedding soon after. Hawkeswell suspects a connection, of course. Any man would, especially if his wife starts looking for that young man as soon as she can.”

“You, however, do not agree with Hawkeswell’s suspicions, I trust,” Daphne said.

“Of course not. I merely agree with her that she cannot now ask him to look for this Michael, or help her to learn his fate.”

“I think that she can,” Audrianna said. “I think he will do it if she asks.”

Celia rolled her eyes. “Audrianna, just because Lord Sebastian is your slave, it does not mean that every man puts on chains of love with a marriage. Quite the opposite.”

Daphne ignored their little argument. “Did he believe you when you denied that Michael was an old lover, Verity?”

Had he? She was not sure. “I think he mostly believed me, but he still wonders.”

“Is your marriage contentious or harmonious at this point?”

“I would say that it is mostly harmonious. In certain ways.” She felt her face warming. “We do not argue much, is what I mean. We have a right understanding about . . . certain things.”

Celia giggled. “I take back my
ah
, if those certain things have you blushing so badly.”

“Then you do not fear him?” Daphne asked.

“Not at all. I know that you saw his temper, but please believe me on this.”

Daphne removed her gloves and apron. She looked out the window, to where Katherine worked. “I thank you for allowing me that one bit of prying. Audrianna reassured me, but I have been worried.” She turned back. “Perhaps you should ask for his help in this, Verity. It would be good to know for certain if you can. If something was done outside the law, if men are killing other men, no matter what their reasons, it should not be allowed to continue if it can be stopped.”

Verity did not disagree. All the same, she did not think speaking of Michael to Hawkeswell would increase the harmony that Daphne mentioned.

“Let us call Katherine, and have some refreshment,” Daphne said. “Audrianna, did you bring that new song with you?”

“Have you written a new one?” Verity asked. “I did not know.”

“That is because Colleen has been there the last few times I called on you,” Audrianna said. “But Celia will sing it, and all my friends will hear it together for the first time now.”

“Perhaps you should sing it yourself, at Castleford’s dinner party next Tuesday,” Verity teased.

Celia’s eyes widened. “You will be dining with Castleford?”

“As will Verity,” Audrianna said. “Sebastian says the dinner is specifically for her benefit.”

Celia caught Daphne’s eye. Daphne’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Ah.”

 

 

 

 

The next Tuesday, Verity prepared to attend Castleford’s dinner.

“My nerves are a tangle,” she confessed while her abigail helped her step into the dinner dress. “Hawkeswell says that I will acquit myself well enough, but having met the Duke of Castleford, I worry that I am to be the dinner joke, not the dinner guest.”

The maid did not reply. Verity wished that Daphne were here, and Celia. Daphne would say soothing things to build up her confidence, and Celia would touch her hair and dress four times and make her look a hundred times better.

She peered in the looking glass. She forced a smile so the reflection would not appear so dolorous.

A movement behind her caught the light. Twenty little orbs dangled and glistened; then many more dropped into view as her maid presented the treasure. A necklace made up of strands of pearls hung in front of her, then rested on her bare skin while fingers clasped it at her nape.

The dinner dress had the same color as the pearls, and the necklace looked stunning above it. She ran her fingertips over the perfect surfaces of the little mounds.

After that night in Surrey she had not favored these pearls for a long while.
Blame it on the pearls,
he had said, so she did. She still could not see them without feeling a twinge of rebellion, and a bit of anger at how he had trapped her through her own weakness.

They stood for so much. This marriage and this home, and even this world. Now she would wear them to a duke’s dinner party, and accept her place as the countess of an ancient title while sitting among the very best of society. She was not so stupid as to resent that, or discount the many benefits of the life she had now. She just wished she could still be the girl from Oldbury too.

When you leave tomorrow, Oldbury will no longer be your home,
Katy had said. Katy had been right, but one’s heart is the last part to accept an unwelcomed truth. Her heart still wanted to play by the stream, and eat Katy’s bread, and laugh with Michael. She still wanted to have the power to keep Bertram from being too hard on those good people.

“You are so beautiful, Madam,” her maid said. “The rosettes on the bodice are perfect.”

She had worried about the small rosettes, like everything else about tonight. She sorted through the topics for conversation that she had collected in her head.

“I will go down now.”

 

 

 

 

Hawkeswell assumed, on seeing Verity in that dress the color of pearls, that she would be the most beautiful woman at the dinner party. Upon their arrival at Castleford’s house, he saw that he had been correct.

Her slightly stilted etiquette appeared proud instead of careful tonight. Since proud people surrounded her, her manner actually spoke well of her. Castleford had not lied when he said the very best in society would come. Verity had to hold her own through introductions to two other dukes, one of them royal, and none other than the Prince Regent himself.

Castleford appeared sober. The same could not be said for a few of the other guests. One, the Earl of Rawsley, decided that being in his cups allowed for a bit of fun during dinner.

“You are a most lovely woman, Lady Hawkeswell,” Rawsley said, angling over the table to see Verity, who sat two persons down. “Your husband has done well for himself on two counts, then.”

Conversation flowed around without stop, but Hawkeswell noticed that most of the guests nearby kept at least one ear on this new exchange.

“Thank you, Lord Rawsley. If my husband thinks he did well on even one count, I am flattered.”

“A good fortune flatters every woman who has one,” Rawsley said, chortling. He turned filmy eyes on those nearby and up the table, to make sure they appreciated his wit. “Mills, wasn’t it? Cotton and such?”

“Iron,” Verity said with nary a blush. “My father was an inventor and an industrialist, but he first and foremost was an ironworker.”

The other very best people smiled indulgently, even apologetically. Not because they thought it just fine that her father had worked iron, but because one of their own was being an ass.

“Iron, you say. Forges and furnaces and such?” Rawsley speared Hawkeswell with a critical gaze. “Sounds dirty and unpleasant.”

“Also dangerous,” Hawkeswell offered. “It takes a brave man to go into a blast furnace.”

“We could not have prevailed against Bony without those brave men,” the Prince Regent said.

“True, true.” Rawsley downed some claret that he did not need. “Still . . .” He glanced disdainfully at Hawkeswell again.

“I own iron mines,” Castleford said. He angled forward just enough to express deep interest. The lock of hair falling near one brow made him appear dangerous all by itself.

Hawkeswell pictured Tristan at his looking glass, ensuring he presented the perfect image of a proper duke, then flipping that one strand out of place to announce that, of course, it was all a feint. The women near him could not take their eyes off that damned rakish lock of brown hair.

“Are you trying to say something insulting about that, Rawsley, but the wine has you too befuddled to address it well?” Castleford quizzed.