Lord Rathbone's Flirt Read online

  “Yes, hindsight is certainly more sure,” agreed Verity. She laughed, shaking her head at her sister-in-law. “You goose, Sally. I did not accept Mr. Crawford’s offer because it would not have been fair to the gentleman. I knew that we would not suit.”

  “Nevertheless you would have been credibly settled. I can­not disguise from you that I have often bewailed the fact that you could not find it in your heart to accept one of the several offers that have been made for you,” said Lady Worth with an unexpected note of reproach.

  “I know, Mama. But I am such a peculiar female. I don’t wish to simply be ‘settled,’” Verity said.

  “Perhaps you have been too nice in your notions, Verity,” commented August, still frowning as he thought about his sister’s suddenly bleak future. He did not like what he saw. Ver­ity was too precious to waste herself on either a marriage of necessity or in service. Perhaps better than did his sister, he re­alized that once she had stepped over the line marking the dif­ference between a young lady of family and a young female who found it necessary to accept employment, it would be very difficult thereafter to set aside the inevitable stigma and resume her former life.

  Verity would be tainted by the brush of snobbery. Those who had once found nothing to find fault with in Miss Verity Worth of Crofthouse would look askance at her and smile in their worldly superiority. It was not to be thought of, but for the life of him, he could not discover another alternative. How much he wished that Verity had already married!

  “I never thought my requirements were too high. I still do not, though now that it has come down to it, it seems very hard that those opportunities offered to me should have come to naught,” said Verity with characteristic frankness.

  She herself had not been unduly concerned about her unwed state, for she had had a vague notion that somewhere, some­how, she would cross the path of just the sort of gentleman who would once more stir that slumbering part of her heart to life again. She had only to wait for him to appear; and so she had been content to remain in her favored place as her father’s daughter.

  But now her father was dead and there was suddenly no time left to Verity. If she was to succeed in her determination to help her family, her present options appeared limited. She could cold-bloodedly enter into a loveless marriage with Mr. Plimpton, the only suitor at that moment on her horizon, or she could take a genteel post.

  Though Verity liked and respected Mr. Plimpton, it was an­other thing altogether to actually contemplate being wed to a gentleman who had been a contemporary of her father. Mr. Plimpton would no doubt do all in his power to help any members of her family who were in need, but Verity shud­dered to think of an obligation such as that used as the basis for marriage. No, it was far better to go into service as a gov­erness or a companion and keep intact her dream of finding love again just a little longer.

  She did not air that very private hope to her family, but said, “I have as little desire to sacrifice my person or my conse­quence as any of you wish to see me do so. However, if Eliza­beth is not to be made to suffer, I feel that I have small choice in the matter.”

  “I do not hesitate to tell you, sister, that you have an un­canny ability to cut to the bone of a matter,” said August heav­ily.

  “Does that mean that you do not prefer Mr. Plimpton, after all?” asked Verity, with a little laugh.

  Her brother reluctantly grinned at her. “Charles shall un­doubtedly break a cane about my shoulders, but I do not see that I have any other choice except to allow you to go your own way.”

  Verity rose from her chair and went over to embrace him. “Dear August. You could not prevent me in any case, for I am very much my own mistress.”

  Lady Worth was bravely wiping away her tears. “It is not what I wish for you, my dear. But I quite see how you might prefer not to wed poor Mr. Plimpton. He is undoubtedly a most worthy man, but I have never approved of young women marrying gentlemen so much older. Especially when the young lady in question can quite look over the top of the gen­tleman’s head.”

  Verity allowed herself a small smile. “I know that it is very bad of me, but I have the most lowering suspicion that Mr. Plimpton has always found his view of me most satisfactory.”

  Since the gentleman’s glance fell little higher than the vicin­ity of Verity’s bosom there was some justice for her sister-in-law’s choke of outraged laughter. “Verity! You will say such things!”

  “Most unbecoming indeed, my dear,” said Lady Worth, her lips trembling for the first time in several weeks from some­thing other than grief or worry.

  Verity’s brother lowered his brows in a surprisingly fierce frown. “Do you mean to say that the gentleman has offered you insult, Verity? For if he has made any lecherous advances, I shall—”

  “No, no, nothing of that sort. The poor man can scarcely be blamed for allowing his glance to fall where it naturally must. I must own, however, I shall not miss the gentleman’s frequent visits. I do not care to be ogled, even by such a dear as Mr. Plimpton,” said Verity.

  “No, I should say not!” exclaimed August, revolted. “If I had had any notion that—Or Charles, either!”

  “Well, you did not so there is not the least cause for this show of outrage now, August. Besides, I am very well able to take care of myself. Mr. Plimpton has been harmless enough, believe me,” said Verity.

  Since at that moment the butler entered to announce the ar­rival of the gentleman in question, August had to swallow whatever hasty words he was on the point of saying. But his stern countenance and his chilly manners upon being greeted by Mr. Plimpton were such that the gentleman anxiously won­dered whether he had at some time inadvertently insulted the young reverend.

  “Dear ladies, I need not ask how you go on. You are all ra­diant as ever,” said Mr. Plimpton, greeting Lady Worth and Mrs. Sally Worth, but reserving his largest smile for the daughter of the house. He looked at Miss Worth with patent admiration. In truth, she was a veritable Venus. He hoped that she would rise from her seat to greet him. It always did his heart good to view her in her full magnificence.

  Disappointingly, Verity did not rise from her chair to give her hands to him. She had learned that Mr. Plimpton was too much the gentleman to allow his eyes to stray from her face if he was on a level with her. It was quite another thing, how­ever, if she was standing before him. She smiled. “Good morning, sir. I hope that we see you well.”

  “Oh, indeed, indeed! I am never ill, you know. I am as feisty as a colt on a chill autumn morning,” said Mr. Plimpton heartily and laughed at his own witticism. He seated himself beside Lady Worth and he addressed his hostess as was proper, but even as he phrased the question, his glance flick­ered in Miss Worth’s direction.

  “We do very well, thank you, Mr. Plimpton. Indeed, it has been hard upon us all. But we shall manage,” said Lady Worth.

  “I know that to be true, my lady. You, and Miss Worth, are true heroines to have borne up under the recent sorrows. My only wish is that you would allow me to stand with you in whatever capacity that is within my power,” said Mr. Plimpton, bowing from the waist. He was a solidly built gentleman and had recently taken to corsetting. The resulting creak which distinguished his movement was disconcerting to Lady Worth, who had not previously been privileged to hear it. Her expres­sion was such that Verity had difficulty choking back a gurgle of laughter. Verity shot a brimming glance at her brother, urg­ing him to share in her amusement.

  But the humor quite escaped August Worth. He cleared his throat and the gaze with which he favored Mr. Plimpton was uncharacteristically hard. “My father would have been grateful for your kind offices toward his ladies, Mr. Plimpton, as I am myself. I shall indeed call upon you on my mother’s behalf if there is the least necessity to do so. We need not stand on cere­mony with you, I know, since you are such an old, old friend.”

  “No, indeed,” faltered Mr. Plimpton, sensing something not quite friendly in August’s words. Really, the boy need not
make him out to be a graybeard, he thought, pardonably peeved when he caught the faint hint of amusement in the glance that Miss Worth threw at her brother.

  Shaking off his annoyance, he turned his attention to mak­ing genteel conversation, but for some reason he could not un­derstand, he was not coming off at his best. His companions seemed somewhat preoccupied and all his efforts to entertain seemed to fall short of expectation. At last, concerned that he was boring on, Mr. Plimpton allowed himself only a short visit with the ladies before taking himself off.

  As soon as Mr. Plimpton had left, the others reverted to the topic still uppermost in all their minds. The alternative of wel­coming Mr. Plimpton into the family had been universally re­jected without a word spoken between them and Verity’s other avenue had become in a fair way to being accepted, though not without a good deal of residual resistance.

  “How shall you go about it, Verity?” asked Sally.

  “I shall place an advertisement in the London Gazette and hope for the best. There must be any number of positions available, so that I feel assured of finding one suitable to my qualifications,” said Verity quietly.

  She spoke with more confidence than she felt. Her inner being actually quailed at the thought of being interviewed for a post. She did not know whether she would be able to carry it off with the proper humility, for she was, after all, the daugh­ter of a proud baronet. However, that would be but the first hurdle. The true test of her pride would be to submit on a daily basis to the role that she would be taking upon herself.

  “I cannot like it,” said August, his countenance again weighted with a heavy frown.

  Verity smiled across at him. “I know, none of you do. I own, I do not much care for it myself.” She recognized the swift altering of her brother’s expression and she shook her head. “But I shall not change my mind, so it is of no use to hammer away at it.”

  “You will not go away until I am settled, I hope?” asked Lady Worth, almost pathetically. “I do not know how I shall go on otherwise.”

  Verity shook her head. “No, Mama. I shall be here to help you with all the details.”

  Over the next few days, August and Sally, individually and together tried to sway Verity from her purpose but she stood firm. They were at last forced to acknowledge failure, August remarking, “At least Charles cannot say that I did not try. He knows what an obstinate streak you can exercise when you take something into your head, however, so I hope that he will forgive me.”

  “Charles will say nothing to you, dear August. It is I who shall bear the brunt of his displeasure, for I have done nothing to turn my own dear child from this determined course of mad­ness,” said Lady Worth sadly.

  “You are both being quite nonsensical. If Charles has any­thing to say, he shall say it to me. Indeed, I hope that he may do just that, and with the greatest anger imaginable, for then I shall be handed a valid excuse for giving up my post,” said Verity with a laugh.

  “I know that Charles will come home soon,” said Sally, re­peating the hopeful words that she had taken to saying ever since notice had first been sent out of Sir Montague Worth’s death.

  Lady Worth’s chin trembled. “I do hope so.”

  “Of course he shall,” said August staunchly, as much to re­assure himself as to calm his mother’s fears.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  A few days later August and Sally took reluctant leave of Lady Worth and Verity. It was time to collect the boys from school and thence return home to Highcroft. Lady Worth exchanged kisses with her twin grandsons, making many promises to visit them in a few weeks.

  Lady Worth and Verity stood on the steps of the manor, their shawls wrapped tightly about them against the chill, and waved until the carriage had bowled round the bend in the drive and was lost to sight. They turned, shivering, and went back into the house.

  Lady Worth squared her shoulders. She wore a wavering smile as she tipped her head to look up into her daughter’s face. “Well, my dear? Shall we begin this dreadful business this evening?”

  “Why do we not spend our usual quiet evening tonight, ma’am? I own that August and Sally’s leavetaking has left me feeling low and I do not think that I have the heart just yet for the other,” said Verity. She was rewarded by the swift relief in her mother’s expression.

  Lady Worth caught Verity’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Thank you, my dear. Yes, that would be very pleas­ant.”

  The ladies dined and took coffee in the drawing room. Each busied herself with an embroidery hoop while they conversed quietly. At ten o’clock, they went upstairs and when they sepa­rated to go to their rooms, Lady Worth bade Verity her usual fond goodnight. Then she said, “I shall rise early, never fear. I do not mean to leave everything to you to handle, dearest.”

  Verity felt tears sting her eyes. “We shall manage together, Mama.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  The following morning Lady Worth, whose habit was gen­erally to take a leisurely breakfast in bed, was as good as her word and presented herself downstairs at an unusually early hour. Verity was already at the table. “Good morning, Verity dear,” Lady Worth said brightly.

  “I am happy to see you feeling so lively, Mama,” said Ver­ity, surprised.

  “Oh, I am full of high spirits. Now, how shall we begin?” Lady Worth sat down opposite with a cup of tea and some strips of toast.

  Verity hesitantly began to enumerate, but as her mother seemed encouraging, she warmed to the subject. It was not until several minutes had passed that Verity suddenly took note that Lady Worth’s countenance, once so bright and sparkling, had steadily turned more woebegone. She broke off what she was saying to exclaim, “Oh, Mama! Forgive me, I am a verita­ble beast not to have realized!”

  “No, it is completely my own fault.” Lady Worth made use of a handkerchief to dab at her brimming eyes. “I am sorry, dear. I do try to keep up my spirits but it is all so very sad.”

  “Yes.” Verity reached out and touched her mother’s hand. “Never mind, Mama, you may safely leave it to me.”

  So it was that the responsibility for making most of the deci­sions fell upon Verity’s shoulders. The business of closing down the huge house that had been the family home for gener­ations was more onerous than she had ever dreamed. Lady Worth was by turns helpful and lachrymose. Often she apolo­gized to her daughter that she was not of more use. “But it is just so affecting, you see.”

  “Yes, Mama, I do see.” Verity sighed, pushing back a ten­dril of hair. It was indeed a sad time, made even more so when Verity let go the servants who would no longer be needed. All she could do was to assure herself and others that the drastic measure would not exist for long.

  It was odd to know that the house would stand forlorn and empty, except for the retainers, whose job it would be to keep it in repair. However, Verity’s optimistic hope was that her brother, now Sir Charles, would set things to rights again once he returned.

  There was still no word of Sir Charles, and when Verity re­alized how desperately she was holding to the hope that he would suddenly materialize before the door of Crofthouse was finally closed, she scolded herself. It was vexing to discover that she was not as resolute as she had supposed.

  All this combined to oppress her spirits, but perhaps the most trying circumstance was the visit made to her by Mr. Plimpton.

  Mr. Plimpton had heard through the gossip in the village that the servants had been let go at Crofthouse and of the intended move by the Worth ladies. He at once set out in his gig to discover the truth for himself.

  When he showed himself into the sitting room, he found Verity seated on the settee and engaged in packing away some of the odd knickknacks that were her mother’s personal trea­sures. “Miss Worth!”

  She looked up in surprise. “Mr. Plimpton!”

  Mr. Plimpton approached and at once caught up her hands, exclaiming, “My dear Miss Worth! I have but just heard or I would have been here sooner. I had hop
ed the rumors were in error, but I apprehend that it is all too horribly true. You are actually closing Crofthouse! I have never been more overset, I assure you. Only tell me what I must do to help you and dear Lady Worth, for I cannot bear to watch you driven from your home.”

  Verity gently reclaimed her hands from his agitated clasp. She smiled reassuringly. “I do appreciate your sentiments, Mr. Plimpton. You have always been a kind friend, both to my fa­ther and to us. But there is not the least necessity to put your­self in such a taking. My mother and I, yes, and August, too, discussed the matter in detail and it was decided that it would be for the best if Crofthouse was closed, at least until Charles should return.”

  “But what will you do? Where will you go?” he asked, very upset.

  “My mother has accepted an invitation to stay with my great-aunt in Brighton,” said Verity, completely sidestepping any mention of her own plans. It was best to let the gentleman assume that Brighton was also her own destination.

  “With Mrs. Moffett? But that dear lady’s accommodations are scarcely of a nature to allow for so many additions to her household. There will be yourselves and your personal ser­vants. No, no, the squeeze is not to be thought of. It is not at all what you are used to, my dear Miss Worth,” said Mr. Plimpton.

  Too late, Verity realized that the gentleman was perhaps more familiar with the members of her family and their cir­cumstances than she had appreciated. “We shall manage very well, however.”

  Mr. Plimpton took an agitated turn about the room. He stopped before her. “Miss Worth! This is not the most felici­tous moment for what I would say to you, but I must speak. Miss Worth, I am offering for your hand. I am not a young man nor a particularly wealthy one, but I fancy that what I can give to a wife is respectable, nevertheless. I—”