Fragile Mask (31 page)

‘
Has he now?’ said Betsey.

‘
Betsey! Don’t tease me, pray. Whatever I felt, you cannot
possibly conceive that I would allow Mama to sacrifice herself for
me.’

‘
No,’ agreed Betsey, adding, ‘but I’m certain sure she’ll
try if she thinks there’s a fair chance of you being
settled.’

‘
Exactly.’

If Betsey agreed with her, then the fear was very real.
Verena was calmer now. She knew what she must do. Mama might
believe what she liked of her daughter’s emotions, but she did not
know Denzell. Therein lay salvation. She drew a determined
breath.

‘
There is nothing for it, then. She must be made to believe
otherwise.’

***

The High Rocks revellers were in fine fettle, attending the
Friday night dance at the Rooms with renewed energy. Even Sir John
Frinton claimed to have enjoyed it.

Despite his abstraction, Denzell laughed. ‘Are you trying
to convince me, Sir John, that you spent the day clambering among
those huge boulders?’

Sir John twinkled. ‘In this heat? Come, come, my dear boy.
Though I have done so in my day.’

‘
Your
day
, sir, seems to
have consisted of enough mayhem to tire out the hardiest spirit,’
Denzell said tartly.

The old man laughed. ‘But you see, my dear young friend,
with your attention elsewhere, I am able to flirt outrageously with
all the other pretty females. That is why I enjoyed myself that
day.’

‘
I can readily believe it.’

But his attention was not on the conversation, and Sir
John, apparently recognising the fact, wandered away in search of
other amusement. Denzell’s attention was indeed otherwhere. He had
only one end in view in repairing to this local haunt.

Would she come? He had not felt he had earned the right to
intrude upon the family gathering—albeit a gathering from which its
members expected to derive little pleasure—by returning to the
lodging to discover the outcome that was of such vital concern to
Verena. But to hear nothing for two days! To see nothing of any
member of the family, let alone Verena herself.

He could only possess his soul in what patience he might,
passing the time at the Ruishtons’ in relating to Unice all the new
evidences that had come to light, and hope that his love would put
in a public appearance this Friday night.

He was obliged to parry a number of claims to his
attention, but at length his patience was rewarded. Verena entered
with her mother. They were alone. All must be well, Verena’s worst
fears unrealised. Relief flooded him, and the now familiar
sensation of warmth at sight of her burgeoned in his breast. She
was once again the fairy princess, in cobweb lawn that seemed to
float about her as she moved, her honey-warm tresses unbound and
free.

He wanted to fly across the room and drag her into his
embrace. A procedure that was, unfortunately, ineligible. Neither
here in public, nor—to his intense frustration—in private. Not yet,
in any event. For after those intimate confidences, in spite of all
evidence to the contrary, he could not suppress a growing feeling
of hope. He was himself in the apricot and cream wedding garb
tonight, the russet coat on his back—an unacknowledged omen
perhaps.

Verena might have reassumed that serene look of hers that
gave nothing away, but Mrs Peverill’s demeanour was encouraging.
She was in spirits, pretty in lavender silk—now he could see where
Verena had her looks—dispensing smiles and laughter to the crowd of
gentlemen gathered about the little group. She could not possibly
have decided to return to her husband.

By and by, Denzell found an opportunity to move towards the
usual court surrounding Verena, without appearing to particularise
his interest. Rather to his surprise, Mrs Peverill herself singled
him out.

‘
Mr Hawkeridge, how do you do?’

Her hand was held out to him, and he clasped it. Did he
imagine it, or was she pressing his fingers rather more strongly
than tradition dictated? He eyed her with some little puzzlement as
he politely responded.

‘
I hope I find you well, Mrs Peverill?’

‘
You find me excellent well, Mr Hawkeridge,’ she said in a
tone that seemed to wish to encourage him in some way. ‘I believe I
may safely say I am on the road to full recovery. I cannot think
but that Verena will soon be able to cease worrying over
me.’

Denzell blinked. He could not mistake the significance of
this. It was lightly done, but he had heard that note in the
tongues of too many matchmaking mamas in the past not to recognise
it. She knew of his interest, and she was trying to tell him she
approved of it.

Instinctively, he glanced at Verena—and suffered
a severe shock. She was fully armed, and
icy
.
His heart dropped. What had been
said? What in the world had occurred since he had seen her two days
since, to cause her mother to make a play for him while the object
of this intention showed herself to be against
it?

No, no, this was not to be tolerated. He must
express to Verena that he was at the mercy of her desires, not
those of her mama. She could not believe he would enlist Mrs
Peverill’s support when Verena had so clearly forbidden him to
speak of his love. Yes, he wanted to win her. But
win
her, not entrap her!

‘
I am relieved to hear you say so,’ he replied to Mrs
Peverill, in a certain tone—one that he had long ago mastered—which
was a nice blend of deference and politeness, but which in no way
admitted that he had taken the hint.

He saw a question come into her face, and smiled. ‘I am
sure all your friends must be delighted and encouraged by this
improvement in your health and spirits.’

‘
Thank you,’ she responded, and he was glad of the faint
disappointment in her face. Capital! Now she could no longer be
certain of his supposed interest in Verena.

Denzell stepped aside to make way for another gentleman,
and discovered Verena had managed to free herself, shifting away
from the crowd.

He moved towards her, a quick word of reassurance forming
on his tongue. But Verena was too strung up to be capable of
noticing his carefully structured response to her
mother.

She had seen Denzell when she entered the room, and was
thankful that she had herself so well in hand. Deliberately—and
desperately—she had tried to keep her attention off him. And then
Mama must needs attempt to force the issue by that embarrassing
display. Verena neither knew nor heard how Denzell answered. Her
whole concentration was on maintaining control, so that she might
carry out her intended design of keeping away from her unwanted
suitor—and of driving him from her side when he chose to claim her
attention.

As he came up, she showed him her blandest face, complete
with that faint smile of total disinterest. She nodded
dismissively, and murmured, ‘Mr Hawkeridge.’

Denzell stopped dead, a frown forming between his
brows. His voice was hard. ‘Good evening,
Miss Chaceley
.’

Verena took in the tone. Dear heaven, but he had
taken it amiss! He must not speak to her. Not in that mood. Not
in
any
mood. From panic at what he might say, she jerked
out under her breath, ‘Go away from me, for the love of
heaven!’

Instant hurt registered in his eyes. Verena’s heart gave an
involuntary twist. Oh, heavens. But she could not afford the
tiniest degree of sympathy. Turning away, she moved towards a knot
of people by one of the graceful pillars and engaged herself in
their conversation.

Denzell gazed after her. There was an actual physical pain
inside him. He’d had no notion one could be subject to such a
sensation. It dulled after a moment, leaving him with a sense of
bleak disillusionment. He had not deserved that. Had his conduct
been so alien to her that she could not give him credit for any
degree of thoughtfulness? Did she not know that as far as she was
concerned, he must ever be endlessly considerate? Oh,
Verena.

Turning away from the distressing sight of her icy mask, he
recollected all at once that he was in company, and must behave
accordingly. Only he could not. Making as swift a passage through
the throng as he might, without drawing attention to himself, he
left the Assembly Rooms and made his way out onto the Pantiles.
There were a few couples taking the air—or engaging in light
dalliance—but Denzell was too preoccupied to notice
them.

Darkness had not yet fallen, although the shadows were
gathering, hollowing out caverns within the spaces between the slim
pillars of the colonnade. Unknowing where his feet led him, Denzell
wandered up the paved walkway, and down again, dallying foolishly
between a desire to make away with himself or to shake Verena until
the teeth rattled in her head. The realisation that he was even
contemplating such a violent act towards the woman who held his
heart captive so much disgusted him that he turned again, and paced
restlessly back up the Pantiles once more.

‘
Denzell!’

The whisper came at him out of one of those dusky holes in
the colonnade. He halted, turning to peer into the blackness there.
A shadow moved in a gap between two of the houses that made up the
sequence of little shops running the length of the
Pantiles.

His heart thrilled, for although he could see only the
ghostlike wisp of a gauzy outline, he knew it was she. He moved
swiftly in that direction.

‘
Verena!’

‘
Hush!’ she begged, and he saw the whiteness of her hands
reach out.

He took them in his, and they pulled to draw him into the
shadows with her so that they stood together in the narrow gap,
barely silhouetted in the fading light.

‘
What are you doing here?’ he asked, low-toned.

Heaven only knew, she thought. Except that she did know.
She had seen him—with that peripheral vision that betrayed her into
watching him when everything dictated she must not—moving steadily
out of the big room towards the entrance. Without even thinking,
she had sought some excuse and sneaked forth to waylay him thus
clandestinely.

‘
I slipped out unseen,’ she answered. ‘I could not bear you
to think me so ungrateful.’

‘
If that is what you believed me to think,’ he uttered in a
rough tone, ‘then you are vastly mistaken. Besides, I have no use
for your gratitude!’

Her fingers tightened on his, for both tone and words were
poison to her. ‘Don’t be angry, Denzell, pray. There is—there is a
reason for the way I acted.’

‘
So I should imagine,’ he retorted. ‘Only I was not aware
that you thought so little of me.’

‘
Think little of you? But that is not
true.’

‘
Is it not?’ He released her hands. ‘I do not know why your
mama should take it into her head to encourage me. But could you
not trust me to obey your wishes rather than hers? Could you not,
Verena?’

His eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, and he
thought he discerned a tear glistening on her pale cheek. It had
the effect of turning his anger against himself, but it did not
assuage the hurt. Such hurt as even her rejection of his initial
declaration had not dealt him.

‘
You need not weep,’ he said in a dead voice. ‘I have
brought all this upon myself. You owe me no vestige of trust, nor
loyalty. It is my own misfortune that I should have crossed your
path. I am not the first man to be disappointed in his hopes of
marrying the woman he loves.’

Verena blenched, her distress deepening. But so attuned was
she to him at this moment that she recognised the underlying pain
beneath his words.

Quietly she asked, ‘Is that designed to repay the hurt I
have inflicted upon you?’

Denzell’s tone hardened. ‘I am not trying to make you feel
guilt, if that is what you mean. I have no secret desire to hurt
you, Verena.’

‘
No more had I, Denzell, when I spoke to you so harshly in
the Rooms. I was in no case to be thinking of what you might or
might not do, not with any rational consideration. You see, Mama
has conceived the notion that I—’

She faltered on the words hovering on her tongue. That was
not an admission she wished to make, not even to herself. But
Denzell had caught it.

‘
That you?’ he prompted, an eager note in his
voice.

She was
silent.

The sudden spurt of hope died again in Denzell’s breast.
Yet her words had lifted him. She had not intended to repulse him.
She had been victim of her own emotions—would they might be what he
so ardently desired.

‘
Forgive me,’ he offered, ‘if I have misjudged
you.’

No, that was more than she could bear. ‘You have
not misjudged me. I am so little mistress of my own heart, Denzell,
that I cannot answer for myself. Yet I
must
distance
you. If Mama thinks there is any slight possibility of my finding a
future with you, she will return to Nathaniel. He is even at this
moment waiting for her answer. Now do you
understand?’