Angel's Touch (8 page)

‘
Are
you certain?’ Verity asked worriedly. ‘You may have damaged
something, and I could never forgive myself if you were to be
disabled all through my fault.’

‘
My dear girl,’ he said, in a tone somewhere
between amusement and exasperation, ‘my
disability
is entirely my own doing.
I am quite used to it, you know. Have no fear. I would feel it if
anything had gone seriously amiss. But if it will make you happy,
let me assure you that I will have my own physician examine the
limb thoroughly when I return home. Will that content
you?’

‘
I
suppose it must,’ Verity said reluctantly. She smiled at the
servant. ‘Thank you so much for your trouble. We will not detain
you any longer.’

‘
No
trouble, madam,’ said the man. ‘I only hopes as the gentleman takes
no lasting hurt.’

‘
Indeed, so do I,’ Verity said devoutly.

The man went off and
the librarian asked if there was anything more he could do.

‘
No,
I thank you,’ said the gentleman with a smile. ‘Don’t let me keep
you from your work.’

The
librarian bowed, and, bringing forward a straight-backed chair, he
set it for Verity. ‘Pray call me, ma’am, if I may be of any further
assistance.’

‘
Thank you, you are very good,’ she said warmly, sinking on to
the chair and placing the books on her lap.

‘
He
is indeed,’ echoed the gentleman, low-voiced. ‘If he had not
brought that chair, I should have felt impelled to offer you this
one.’

‘
Oh,
stuff. As though I should care for punctilio at such a
moment.’

A
faint smile curved his lips. ‘No, I fancy a too-rigid adherence to
the rules of etiquette is not your besetting sin.’

Verity’s own lips quivered, though the ready colour tinged
her cheeks. ‘I—I have been impolite, I know,’ she faltered. ‘I—I
have wanted to—to beg your pardon for—’

‘
Pray do nothing of the kind,’ the gentleman interrupted
instantly. ‘You have nothing for which to beg my pardon, I assure
you.’

‘
But I have,’ she protested. ‘I said
such
things
and—’

‘
No!’ he snapped, quite roughly. ‘I will hear no apologies
from you. Believe me when I say that I require none.’

Verity bit her lip on
a sharp retort, for a frown creased his brow on the words and he
closed his eyes briefly as if a spasm of pain had attacked him.
Instead she gazed anxiously into his face, and spoke with unwonted
diffidence.

‘
Are
you sure you do not need anything? You are dreadfully pale still. A
glass of water, perhaps?’

A
grin lightened his sudden severity. ‘From the chalybeate spring, I
suppose? No, I thank you. I am not yet in such straits.’

She
gave a choke of laughter. ‘Oh, dear, I hope not. Though I dare say
the waters would do you all the good in the world. I don’t blame
you for refusing them, however. My patroness—the lady I am with, I
mean— says they taste excessively nasty.’

‘
So
I am led to believe,’ he agreed.

There was a pause. Constraint returned. There was so much to
unsay, so much awkwardness in this encounter. Every word that rose
to Verity’s lips seemed inappropriate, and she felt unusually
tongue-tied. The more so because this was the first time she had
seen the man without his hat, and she was struck both by the
luxuriance of his long hair which was a trifle dishevelled—rather
endearingly so—from the late clash, and by the pale countenance now
exposed to her sight. In spite of the lines of suffering, his
features were pleasing, she realised with a sense of shock. And she
had thought him a monster!

She was glad suddenly
that she had chosen to wear the pink gingham gown and the
flower-trimmed hat of chipstraw, for she knew them to be becoming.
The thought made her blush as she glanced at him and found his
black eyes were upon her, roving, it seemed, over her features.

He
smiled. ‘Are you enjoying your visit here?’

‘
Very much,’ Verity said warmly, seizing thankfully on the
neutral topic. ‘There is so much to do, and the company is very
amusing.’

He
stared at her. ‘Amusing? Good God!’

‘
Oh,
I know they are mostly advanced in years, but to tell you the truth
I have been so much in the company of children of late that I am
enjoying the change.’

‘
It
seemed to me,’ said the gentleman, his black eyes showing that
suspiciously reprehensible gleam, ‘that you like
children.’

‘
Yes, I do,’ Verity replied slowly, eyeing him warily. Was he
mocking her? ‘But constant association with them can be very
wearing.’

‘
So
I should imagine.’

She
frowned. How oddly he spoke. Though perhaps these words bore out
her suspicion that he spent little or no time with young Lord
Braxted and his sister Peggy. Before she could formulate any of her
thoughts into a question, however, he spoke again, on quite a
different subject.

‘
What book have you there? The latest romance?’

‘
Certainly not. I hate romances.’

His
eyebrows lifted. ‘Indeed? I know you to be quite unlike the normal
run of young ladies, but you cannot be as different from them as
that.’

‘
Can
I not?’ Verity said indignantly, by no means pleased by this fresh
reference to the unconventional way she had behaved towards him.
She ignored the gambit, however, and pounced on another point.
‘Pray why should you suppose that just because one is a female one
should care only for such nonsense as that?’

‘
I beg your pardon,’ he said with a
suspiciously demure lowering of his black eyes. ‘I see I have
gauged the situation quite wrongly. Do tell me, then, what is
the
serious
matter of the book you have chosen. A history,
perhaps?’

‘
No such thing—’ Verity began, and stopped.
He was looking at her again and the glint was more pronounced than
ever. In spite of herself, she felt a rueful smile curve her lips,
and she held out one of the volumes for him to see. ‘As a matter of
fact, it is by Tobias Smollett. One of his humorous adventure
books. But before you say a word, let me tell you that I
almost
picked one of
those Gothic horror things, to which I will confess I am positively
addicted. Now tell me how like all my sex I am in enjoying such
arrant nonsense.’

The
gentleman grinned. ‘I should not dare. Particularly as I have a
predilection for such novels myself. In my defence, let me say that
most females of my acquaintance are more inclined to sigh over Sir
Charles Grandison and Lord Orville than young Master Peregrine
Pickle.’

‘
What, those dead bores?’ cried Verity, making him laugh out.
‘It is shocking of me to say so, of course, because my father is a
clergyman, you must know, but I have always found these romantic
heroes quite tediously virtuous.’

‘
And
the heroines quite tediously lachrymose. Yes, I agree with you. How
much more exciting to read of villainous monks and terrifying
castles with their evil inmates ready to trap the
unwary.’

Verity, remembering
all at once the way she had woven just such a plot in her head
about him, found herself stricken to silence. Fortunately, the
gentleman himself saved her from the necessity of continuing the
discussion.

‘
Tell me, do you think our several rather unfortunate
contretemps justify an exchange of names?’

‘
Oh,
of course,’ Verity gasped thankfully. ‘How very rude of me. I am
Verity Lambourn.’

He
inclined his head. ‘My name is Haverigg. My family name, that is,
Miss Lambourn.’

‘
Oh, I am not
Miss
Lambourn,’ Verity explained.
‘There are two sisters still unwed before me, you know. Although I
suppose as I am alone here, there is less need for such
accuracy.’

‘
There are three of you?’ he asked politely.

‘
Three? We are seven sisters, sir.’

‘
Good God!’

‘
You
may well exclaim. My mother is in despair. For how in the world is
she to establish us all suitably?’ Her friendly smile dawned and
she added merrily, ‘Now, if real life were anything like a novel,
you, Mr Haverigg, instead of being a sober married man with two
children, would turn out to be the prince in disguise.’

Mr
Haverigg gazed at her blankly. ‘But I am not—’

‘
Oh, gracious,’ Verity exclaimed suddenly.
‘I was forgetting. Of course, you are not those children’s father
at all.’ She smiled confidingly at him. ‘I quite thought you were
at first, you know. But then you spoke to poor Braxted in
such
a way, and paid
scarcely any attention to little Peggy, that I knew you
couldn’t
be their papa.
Naturally, it is not your business to be
fawning
over them, as I am assured
by Lady Crossens—oh, she is the lady who so very kindly invited me
to come here with her, by the way—is the case with
my
papa. Have you
children of your own?’

Mr Haverigg appeared
to be struck dumb. His face was paler than ever, and the black eyes
held a sombre expression that gave Verity pause.

‘
I—I
beg your p-pardon,’ she stammered. ‘I am speaking quite out of
turn.’

‘
Not
at all,’ he said quickly, still with that strange look. ‘I am—I am
afraid I cannot—I can’t—’

Verity suddenly thought she understood, and the colour
flooded her cheeks. The poor man was a cripple. He was probably not
even married, never mind having any children. She started to speak
again, hardly aware of what she said, concerned only to cover up
the dreadful
faux pas
she had made.

‘
Are
the children well? I do hope so. And none the worse for their
adventure, I trust.’

‘
I—I
hardly know,’ responded Mr Haverigg. He seemed dazed. ‘I have not
seen them.’

‘
Not
seen them?’ echoed Verity, astonished out of her confusion. ‘But
how is this? You are not Braxted’s tutor, I take it. But surely if
the marquis is away, it is your responsibility to—’ She broke off
in consternation. ‘Have I been mistaken? I quite thought you were
the great man’s steward, or secretary, or some such
thing.’

There was an inflexion
of a question in her voice, but Mr Haverigg still hesitated,
looking away. Good God, what could he say?

‘
I
am not his secretary, nor his steward,’ he said slowly. ‘The fact
is…you see, Miss Lambourn, I—’

He
glanced at her again and found her cheeks aflame. Another attack of
conscience?

‘
I’m
sorry,’ she said contritely. ‘I did not mean to be vulgarly
inquisitive.’

‘
Not
at all,’ he murmured politely, feeling the words to be hopelessly
inadequate.

He tried to think of
something appropriate, some way to rescue her from her obvious
embarrassment. But Miss Lambourn was rising from her seat and
putting out her hand.

‘
I
must leave you now, Mr Haverigg. I hope you will suffer no ill
effects.’

He took her hand and
began to push himself forward.

‘
No,
please don’t get up,’ she begged quickly. ‘Pray remember me to Lord
Braxted, if—if you should see him. I don’t suppose Peggy will
remember me. They are delightful children. So pretty. Their parents
must be so proud of them. Goodbye.’

She turned on the
words and walked quickly out of the library, leaving him gazing
after her, ashen-faced and dumb.

Thank God she had not waited! For he could think of nothing
to say. Not a word. How could he answer? What could he possibly
say? She had entirely misread the situation, but good God, how
could she not do so? And yet it was not her misconception that had
almost annihilated him. In a few simple sentences she had stripped
him bare, exposed his every failure, rent the protective skin he
had grown and left him prey to the promptings of
conscience.

Sighing deeply, he
reached for his cane and hat, placed the latter on his head, and
rose painfully to his feet. The librarian rushed to his assistance,
but he politely and firmly fended him off, and made his way out
into the street, down past the springs and across to the edge of
the common where his phaeton waited in the charge of Hoff, the
middle-aged groom.

This worthy took one
look at his face and began tutting and scolding with the freedom of
an old retainer.

‘
There now, if it ain’t just as I said it would be. You’ve
knocked yourself up, me lord, and no wonder!’

‘
Don’t fuss, Hoff,’ said the gentleman wearily. ‘I have taken
a fall, but it is nothing.’

‘
A
fall!’ exclaimed the groom, shocked. ‘And you’ve called no doctor
to you, I’ll be bound.’

‘
Of
course I have not. But I shall send for Claughton to look me
over.’

‘
Aye, that you will, me lord, if I’ve to fetch him to you
meself,’ promised his henchman grimly. ‘Now just you wait while I
find a boy to hold the horses and I’ll help you up, me
lord.’