Angel's Touch (20 page)

Dumbly she shook her
head, mesmerised by the force of those dynamic eyes.

He hissed in a breath,
and his other hand let go his cane and took hold of her. As he drew
her closer, the cane clattered to the floor, startling them
both.

‘
Oh,
take care,’ Verity uttered as he let her go abruptly, cursing under
his breath. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. ‘I must go
back.’

‘
Yes, yes, you will do so directly. Only help me to retrieve
that accursed cane of mine.’

Quickly Verity bent
and picked up the cane. She gave it to him and would have sped
away, but he grasped her arm.

‘
A
moment. You could come on another outing such as we had the other
day, could you not?’

‘
I—I
suppose that would be possible,’ Verity said doubtfully, too
anxious to think coherently.

‘
Very well. Tomorrow, then.’

‘
Tomorrow? No, I cannot. There is to be a cotillion ball in
the afternoon, and—’

‘
Would that I could still dance,’ the
marquis interrupted. ‘Or that you preferred
my
company to so energetic a
pastime.’

‘
It
is not that, indeed it isn’t. I would like nothing better than
to—but it would look so particular if I was absent, don’t you
see?’

He captured the hand
with which she emphasised her words and brought it to hold against
his cheek for a moment.

‘
The
only thing I see, Miss Verity Lambourn, is your clear, innocent
orbs looking straight into my soul.’

Verity stared into the
black depths of his eyes which glittered oddly in the gloom. Her
heart skittered madly, and it was only at a distance that she heard
his voice, matter-of-fact now.

‘
The
next day is hopeless, of course, for a clergyman’s daughter, so it
will have to be Monday. How I will find the patience I do not
know.’

‘
Monday?’ she said vaguely.

‘
Our
meeting.’

‘
Oh,
yes.’

‘
Good. Monday it is. You will say Quainton has arranged
it.’

‘
Quainton? Why did you not send him tonight?’

‘
He
has gone to Brighton. That is why you did not hear from me sooner.
I will send my coachman for you. At ten o’clock?’

‘
Ten
o’clock,’ she repeated.

He
brought the hand he still held to his lips. ‘Until
then.’

Verity nodded and
turned to go back into the box. She felt unreal still, as if she
were in a dream. At the door, she stopped and quickly glanced back,
afraid she had imagined the whole. But Henry Haverigg was there,
standing under the light, still watching her. He raised a hand in
farewell and she slipped back into the box in something of a
daze.

From
the chaos of her thoughts one thing grew clear. She would have to
tell Lady Crossens the truth. The marquis had said she should
mention it as his cousin’s scheme, but Verity knew she could no
longer prevaricate. The situation had grown far too serious for
that. She made up her mind to confess the full story to her
patroness before she slept that night.

***

‘
And
you are telling me this is the very same man with whom you
quarrelled that first day?’ demanded Lady Crossens, her intent gaze
under its lace nightcap fixed upon her protegée’s face.

‘
Yes, ma’am,’ Verity admitted, and looked away to examine with
apparent interest the quilted coverlet on Lady Crossens’
bed.

She
had crept into her patroness’s room after the maid had departed, to
make her confession. The old lady had listened to the tale with
admirable restraint, refraining alike from scolding or exclamatory
comment. Indeed, it seemed to Verity, shamefacedly recounting it
all that Lady Crossens was not even disapproving. At the end,
however, she expressed herself as having received a severe
shock.

‘
What your poor dear father would have to say I shudder to
think. As for your mama—’

Lady
Crossens broke off and, to Verity’s alarm, seemed at first to
cackle in a gleeful way and then fall into a fit of
choking.

‘
Dear ma’am, are you all right? May I do anything for you?’
Verity offered anxiously, jumping off the edge of the bed where she
had been sitting and starting towards her.

The
old lady waved her away. ‘I am perfectly well,’ she answered from
behind her hand. In a minute or two she seemed to recover and
patted the coverlet. ‘Sit down again, child. I have not finished
with you yet.’

Verity obeyed, sighing deeply. ‘I cannot blame you, ma’am, if
you mean to give me a scold. Truly, I had no wish to deceive
you.’

‘
Tush, how could you do so when you were yourself
deceived?

‘
He—the marquis—did not mean it, either. Indeed, it was all my
folly that caused him to prevaricate.’

‘
And
I suppose it was due to your folly that he chose to hover secretly
in the theatre corridor, instead of approaching you decently, like
an honest man,’ snapped Lady Crossens tartly.

‘
Yes, it was,’ Verity answered, unexpectedly
firing up. ‘At least, it was
not
folly, for I knew how everyone must gossip and I
begged him not to seek me out.’

‘
God grant me patience,’ exclaimed Lady
Crossens in exasperated tones. ‘Folly? I think you have taken leave
of your senses, child. After all, he is
only
a marquis.’

Impervious to the heavy sarcasm of her patroness’s tone,
Verity defended herself vigorously. ‘That is just the difficulty.
If he were only plain Mr Haverigg, as I at first thought him, I
could have borne it better.’

‘
Borne
it? Borne
what?’

‘
Oh,
everything. The disorder of my mind, the misunderstandings, the
tragic history behind him.’

Lady
Crossens’ eyes suddenly narrowed, her ill-temper arrested. Her
wayward protegée, it appeared, was touched by something far other
than a coronet. It was better, far better than she could have
hoped. But the girl was altogether too nice in her notions. If care
was not taken, the whole affair could yet come to nothing. She knew
she was prone to be crotchety, for in truth she was tired and would
be quite glad to get home to peace and quiet. But she must try not
to allow her tetchiness to overcome her and alienate the girl. She
stretched out a hand to grasp the one agitatedly fingering the
pattern on the coverlet.

‘
Come, my child. What is done, is done. No use crying over
spilt milk. Now tell me. What is the expedition he speaks of for
Monday?’

‘
Hardly an expedition, ma’am,’ Verity said more calmly,
grateful for her ladyship’s change of mood. ‘There was no time to
arrange the details, but I imagine it will be much the same as the
other day, when we were chaperoned not only by his children, but by
the nurses and Braxted’s tutor, as well.’

‘
Hm.
A trifle irregular, but I cannot think the sternest critic could
cavil at it,’ judged the old lady, who had no intention whatsoever
of putting a spoke in this wheel. ‘I think you may go with a clear
conscience.’

‘
Oh, yes, ma’am,’ Verity agreed at once. ‘I
am not afraid of anything—I know
he
would not behave other than gentlemanly. It was
only that I was obliged before to deceive you for I knew how it
would be, and I allowed you to think—’

‘
Pish and tush. All that is behind us. No, no, you go along on
Monday and enjoy yourself. Now you had best get to bed, for if you
do not need your rest, I do.’

Verity dutifully went off, able, now that her patroness knew
everything, to look forward with a singing heart to a whole day in
the company of Henry Haverigg. Although how she would get through
the next two days she did not know. Had she been able to see into
Lady Crossens’ mind, she might have been less tranquil.

It
was long before the old lady obtained the sleep she needed, for her
own heart was bursting with triumph. How Grace would stare. A
marquis, no less. Never, never had she thought to do so well by the
child. Not that she had had anything to do with it, except to bring
her here. But a marquis! Gracious heaven, but they were all,
all
of them, taken care
of now. For Verity, as Lady Salmesbury, would see to all her
sisters’ husbands; would arrange her little brother’s education.
Why, Salmesbury might stand patron even to dear Harry himself. She
could not have been more delighted if the child had been her own
flesh and blood. Such an odd little creature to have secured such a
fortune, too.

Here
her ladyship’s heady triumph suffered a check. An odd girl, indeed.
Pray heaven she did not allow some idiotic scruple to stand in the
way. What was more, if she had not gauged what that scruple might
be, her name was not Emilia Crossens.

***

Whether or not her ladyship had correctly identified what
might stand in the way of a potential union between Miss Verity
Lambourn and himself, the marquis had every intention of sweeping
that particular obstacle out of his path. He had offered another
such outing as the one to High Rocks, but in fact he had no idea of
burdening himself with a party. He therefore arranged to pack into
the carriage on Monday only the children and one of the nurses, and
drive the vehicle himself.

Kittle, informed of
the plan by Inskip, who told her one of them must be ready to
accompany his lordship on Monday, immediately pulled rank over the
new nurse and insisted on making the trip herself. Bradshaw, aware
of her jealousy of her threatened position, made no objection,
although she would have liked to meet Miss Lambourn again.

Salmesbury’s coachman had been instructed to collect Miss
Lambourn and bring her to the ruins of old Haverigg Hall, the
medieval manor that had stood on the other side of the forest on a
high hill overlooking the valley where the gypsies were at present
encamped. Braxted, the marquis knew, would love to scramble among
the fallen stones, and Peggy would follow him, so that Verity and
himself might enjoy a period of peaceful privacy. That this plan
would make nonsense of the business of chaperonage did not bother
Salmesbury in the least. What he had to say to Miss Lambourn would,
he hoped, obviate the need for a chaperon either now or at any
future time.

The
day began a little overcast, much to his lordship’s consternation,
and he determined that if it were to come on to rain he would
simply transfer the engagement to the comfort of Braxted Place. But
by the time the coach set Miss Lambourn down at the broken lodge
gates of the old hall, where the marquis was waiting to escort her,
the sun had broken through the cloud with the promise of another
hot day.

‘
Where are we?’ enquired Verity after the first greetings,
looking about her in some surprise after the coachman had handed
her down.

‘
It
is our old house, Miss Lambourn,’ answered the marquis, stepping
forward to take her hand. He pressed it, adding softly, ‘Thank you
for coming. You look charmingly—as usual.’

She blushed a little,
for she had, in a sentimental vein, chosen the pink gingham chemise
gown and the flower-trimmed chipstraw hat which she had been
wearing that far-off day when they had collided in the library
doorway.

Realising all of a sudden that they were alone, she looked
anxiously about. ‘Where are the others?’

‘
The
children have gone forward with Kittle. Wystan could not wait to
explore the Hall. It is quite a ruin, you know, and normally he is
not permitted to come here.’

He dismissed the
coachman and offered his arm to Miss Lambourn, who hesitated a
moment, watching the coach begin to rumble away.

‘
I
am not sure this is right,’ she said worriedly. ‘I have told my
patroness that at least the nurses would be here.’

‘
Kittle is here,’ he said reassuringly, again holding his arm
for her to place her fingers within it. ‘Come, Miss Lambourn. Do
you distrust me?’

‘
N-no,’ Verity said doubtfully, ‘only I—I have cleared my
conscience, and I do not want to burden it with a new
deceit.’

‘
Then the sooner we join the children, the better,’ Salmesbury
suggested bracingly.

This seemed sensible
and Verity at last consented to place her hand into the crook of
his elbow. They began to stroll very gently along the rutted
driveway.

‘
It
is very much pitted, Miss Lambourn, so take care,’ warned his
lordship, as if it were she who stood in more danger of tripping
than he with his halting step. But his cane stood him in good
stead, and, although their progress was slow, it was secure
enough.

‘
The
Hall, you know, belonged to our forebears of the Middle Ages, and
has been going to rack since the time of Elizabeth.’

As
the marquis talked on of the ancestors who had inhabited the ruined
structure they could see ahead, pointing out landmarks as they went
by, a sense of unreality began to pervade Verity’s mind. That
impassioned little exchange at the theatre the other night seemed
as remote as something she might have wrought with her own pen. The
man beside her, so far from exhibiting the lover-like ardour that
had apparently consumed him then, appeared as calmly controlled as
if the meeting were indeed a simple party of pleasure.