Fragile Mask (5 page)

Disappointed, Felix nevertheless embarked on a description
of the snowman as it had been at the zenith of its short life,
while Denzell contemplated the remains. He was listening with only
half an ear, while his eye searched this way and that about the
square whenever his godson’s gaze was engaged with the melting
snowman. But no glimpse of a brown pelisse rewarded his covert
diligence, and no sign of Felix’s friends appeared to relieve him
of his self-imposed charge.

He was obliged to hear his godson out, to make what he
might of the additional information fed to him in baby prattle by
Miles in concert with his elder brother, to admire what was left of
the unfortunate man of snow, and to endure a barrage of hardened
icy balls thrown by both boys in the fit of exuberance induced in
them by his presence.

It was left to Dinah to call a halt to the proceedings,
decreeing that the boys had been out in the cold air long enough
and must return to the nursery forthwith.

Denzell, with one last forlorn look around the area,
desolate now with the lack of his fairy princess, allowed himself
to be dragged back to the house with one shrieking child clinging
to either hand.

His hosts, he learned from Mayberry, the manservant who
combined the duties of butler and footman with innumerable other
functions, had already left the breakfast parlour, and might be
found in the green saloon next door.

This large term described, as Denzell knew, the small
chamber where the family were wont to gather informally through the
day, being comfortable enough for sitting in, with a good fire in
the wide grate, and yet sufficiently well appointed, with its green
brocade wallpaper and toning upholstery to the Sheraton sofa and
chairs, for receiving any visitors who might chance to
arrive.

‘
Thank you, Mayberry,’ Denzell said, with a smile, as he
handed the man his greatcoat and brushed down the dark blue coat
beneath.

Osmond, who was warming his plum coat-tails before the fire
as Denzell entered, moved forward to greet him. ‘Ah, Hawk. You are
up betimes, old fellow. I wonder why?’

‘
You know very well why,’ Denzell retorted, provoked. ‘I
told you I meant to use Felix to effect an introduction to that
glorious creature. Didn’t you believe me?’

Osmond’s grin was wicked. ‘Oh, I believed you. Your mission
did not prosper, I take it?’

‘
No, and I’ll thank you to refrain from cheap
gibes.’

‘
Gibes? Me?’ said Osmond, all innocence. ‘I was only going
to say that the gods favour you after all, Hawk.’

He stepped aside on the words, and Denzell looked past him
and stopped dead, staring at a vision seated in the round armchair
to one side of the fireplace.

A vision in a furred brown pelisse, with a bronze velvet
bonnet set at a charming angle above the most beautiful face in the
world.

‘
Chaste stars!’ gasped Denzell, shocked out of his customary
sangfroid. ‘Verena Chaceley, as I live and breathe!’

‘
None other,’ murmured Osmond beside him. ‘I found her
visiting Unice.’

The vision’s features did not stir, although her eyes were
turned in Denzell’s direction. Without conscious thought, he found
the word that Unice had used playing in his mind: serene.
Beautiful, calm and serene. She might have been carved in
marble.

Then Mrs Ruishton spoke from the sofa opposite Verena,
pulling Denzell back to reality.

‘
Miss Chaceley, allow me to present to you our guest, Mr
Hawkeridge.’

She moved then. The slightest nod of the head, the faintest
of polite smiles.

‘
How do you do?’

A musical tone, but flat with disinterest.

Denzell could not respond. He was utterly disconcerted. He
must seem the completest fool. An odd laugh shook him. He shrugged
helplessly, his eyes riveted on her face.

‘
I am—confounded,’ he managed.

It was Osmond’s low laughter, redolent with glee that
snapped him back to himself again. He took a breath, smiled and
moved forward, holding out his hand.

‘
Miss Chaceley, I am
enchanted
to make your
acquaintance.’

She lifted her hand, and the ends of her bare fingers—for
her gloves were held in her other hand—clasped his for the briefest
instant. There was no change in her expression, however. But her
fingers, Denzell felt, had been warm. He took courage, moving back
a step.

‘
Miss Chaceley, I confess I am so discomfited that I know
not what to say.’

Her brows lifted very slightly. ‘Indeed? Why so,
Mr—?’

‘
Hawkeridge,’ he supplied, as she hesitated.

‘
Why so, Mr Hawkeridge?’ repeated the pleasant voice,
although Denzell could descry no real interest in any answer that
he might make. No matter. He would force her to notice him somehow.
He must. She had been fashioned in heaven, no doubt about
it.

But Unice, who had been fidgeting uneasily with the many
folds of her muslin gown that spread about her, broke in. ‘Denzell
has been looking at the snowman you were building with the children
the other day, Miss Chaceley. Felix insisted upon it, you
know.’

‘
Nothing of the sort,’ argued Denzell, seating himself in
the chair closest to Verena. ‘It was I who insisted upon Felix
taking me there.’ He smiled in a winning fashion. ‘You see, Miss
Chaceley, I was in hopes that I might find you.’

‘
Hopes!’ muttered Osmond, taking his seat beside his wife on
the sofa.

‘
And so you have met her after all,’ Unice interrupted.
‘Such a fortunate chance that you came to visit me this morning,
Miss Chaceley.’

Again Denzell smiled, leaning towards Verena’s chair.
‘Unice would have me dissemble, but I vow I will have none of it.
The truth is that I saw you from my bedroom window when you were
playing with the children—oh, an eon ago—and instantly conceived
the strongest desire to meet you.’

There was nothing in her face to encourage him to continue
in this vein. She made no attempt even to reply to him, but sat
calmly, the wide-set gaze clear on his face, apparently unmoved.
This close, her features, still as they were, showed to even more
perfection, and the frame of curling tresses that surrounded them,
peeking beneath the bonnet’s ornamented brim and trailing their way
onto her shoulders, were of the colour of warm honey.

It took an effort for Denzell to think about what he was
saying. Yet having taken the bull by the horns and told the precise
truth, there was nothing for him to do but to go on. He was hardly
aware that he was smiling, that his eyes glowed with warmth at the
sheer enjoyment of her beauty.

‘
Was it presumptuous of me, Miss Chaceley? Failing to
discover you at the assembly last night, I went out into the snow
expressly to try to scrape acquaintance with you. I cannot begin to
tell you how much disappointed I was not to find you there.’ He was
aware that he was rattling off his words, but he could not stop.
The very lack of response impelled him to continue. ‘And then—to
see you sitting in this very room. Now do you see why I said I was
confounded?’

A very slight smile curved her lips, but there was no
reflection of it in her eyes. ‘What can I say but that I am deeply
flattered, Mr Hawkeridge?’

‘
Oh no, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘I protest I am not flattering
you.’

‘
He isn’t,’ put in Osmond, adding his mite. ‘Miss Chaceley,
you have not heard the half of it, I promise you.’

‘
Osmond, pray hush,’ begged Unice. She turned to Verena.
‘Pay no heed to either of them, Miss Chaceley. They are rascals
when they get together. You have no notion what I am obliged to
contend with from the two of them.’

‘
Indeed?’ said Miss Chaceley.

Denzell could not tear his gaze away from that lovely face.
Not a flicker. Not the faintest trace of amusement. It was
fascinating. Unice had been right. Where the deuce had all that
warmth and laughter gone? He had not imagined it—had he? The memory
of her animated countenance hovered in his mind, battling with the
present placidity. No, he had not imagined it. There was a joyous
creature somewhere inside this apparent shell. He set himself to
draw it out, exerting every ounce of his considerable
charm.

‘
You have never visited London, Miss Chaceley?’ Verena’s
gaze turned back towards him and his eyes invited her smile. ‘I am
persuaded I could not have forgotten had I seen you
there.’

She did not smile. ‘I have not been there.’

‘
It is our loss,’ Denzell said, with a gleam that would have
thrown any other young lady into confusion. It was met, on this
occasion, with a bland note of indifference.

‘
You are too kind.’

‘
May we look forward to the expectation of seeing you at
some future time? During the coming Season, perhaps?’

‘
I think not.’

He was daunted, but he tried again. ‘But surely you cannot
mean to hide your charms away here in Tunbridge Wells forever? What
a shocking waste that would be, Miss Chaceley.’

‘
My plans are as yet uncertain.’

Deuce take it, she could not even raise a simper. Deflated,
Denzell sat back. Was she so vain that his compliments meant
nothing to her? Or was she merely stupid? His gaze, moving away,
met the unholy glee in Osmond’s features. He threw his eyes to
heaven, casting his friend a rueful smile. Osmond was obliged to
turn away, biting his lip on laughter. Unice intervened.

‘
Mr Hawkeridge, you must know, is a confirmed man of the
town. It is a rare privilege to have him here, for you will hardly
find him away from London. Unless he is at home in
Hampshire.’

‘
Indeed?’

‘
In fact, no,’ Denzell cut in, glancing across. ‘At home in
Buckinghamshire, Unice.’ He turned back to Verena, speaking in a
more natural way. ‘It chances that my father’s estates are on the
border, at Tuttingham. Just a village, but the barony extends
widely around it. It is near Aylesbury.’

Rather to his surprise, Verena turned to look him in the
eye. There was nothing in her voice to suggest anything but
politeness, but the words she spoke struck him like a douche of
cold water.

‘
You are plainly extremely eligible, Mr Hawkeridge. I
imagine there must be any number of young ladies only too ready to
receive your advances. I hope that it may not be long before your
friends are wishing you happy.’

Denzell was so taken aback that he scarcely knew how to
reply. By George, but what a masterly stroke! She was certainly not
stupid. Before he could gather his wits to find a suitable
response—not that he could have thought of one even had he done
so—Miss Chaceley was drawing on her gloves. Then she was
rising.

‘
I must go, Mrs Ruishton,’ she was saying, crossing to take
Unice’s hand. ‘No, do not get up. I am happy to find you looking so
well.’

Both the gentlemen had stood up automatically, and Verena
turned to hold out her hand to Osmond.

‘
Goodbye, Mr Ruishton. Do you take care of her,
pray.’

‘
Oh, I will,’ said Osmond on a cheerful note. ‘But there is
no need for concern. She manages these matters very well, does
Unice. But let me see you to the door.’

A faint smile was all his answer, and Verena turned her
head to Denzell, saying in a voice devoid of expression, ‘I am
happy to have met you, Mr Hawkeridge.’

The next moment, she had left the saloon. Osmond flung a
speaking glance at his friend before following her from the room,
and Denzell grimaced at Unice who was looking at him rather
anxiously. Neither of them spoke until the front door had closed
and Osmond walked back into the room.

‘
What did I tell you?’ he demanded, grinning. ‘Unice, did
you see his face? I’ve never enjoyed anything so much in my
life!’

‘
For shame, Osmond. Poor Denzell, she was
quite
brutal
to you, I think.’

‘
No such thing,’ argued Osmond, hugely entertained.’ ‘After
being given due warning, he flung himself to the wolves, and he has
only himself to blame.’

Denzell sank back into his chair, shaking his head. ‘You
are quite right, Ossie. I am deservedly set down.’

‘
Oh, don’t say so, Denzell,’ protested Unice. ‘I do think
she might at least have acknowledged the compliments you paid her.
Really, I am quite out of charity with her. I had no idea she could
be so horrid.’

‘
No, no, Unice. She was politeness itself, just as you
predicted would be the case.’

‘
I’m dashed if I’ve ever seen you so crestfallen, Hawk,’
observed Osmond, raising his brows. ‘Giving up the notion already,
are you?’

Denzell frowned. ‘No, not giving up. Just—oh, I
don’t know. Yes, I do, though. I’m
confused
.
When I saw her yesterday, she was
so...’

He paused, at a loss for words to describe the difference
between the girl he had seen in the snow and this cold statue. He
looked from one to the other of his friends, and suddenly smote his
knee. ‘I don’t believe it! I simply do not believe that this was
the true Verena Chaceley.’