Lord Rathbone's Flirt Page 3

  Verity threw up her hand. “Mr. Plimpton, pray say no more!” She realized that she had risen to her feet as she had spoken and that Mr. Plimpton’s eyes had settled of their own volition upon the deeply curved front of her gown. Verity firmly pulled her shawl close about her. “I am naturally flat­tered by the honor that you do me. However, I cannot in all conscience accept. Such a bargain would be a disappointment to us both.”

  “Not at all, my dear Miss Worth. Quite the contrary. I should feel myself a young man again,” said Mr. Plimpton, his gaze never wavering.

  Verity found that the gentleman stood directly between her­self and the door. She was practically boxed into her little cor­ner. It would be most noticeable if she were to step deliberately around him and go to the door. No amount of kind words would disguise that she wished to escape from his attention. She knew that such a course would wound Mr. Plimpton’s sensibilities, and however unwelcome his ardency, she did not wish to hurt the gentleman.

  Mr. Plimpton unsuccessfully tried to take her free hand. “Miss Worth, I cannot be silent any longer. I must speak what has been my dearest wish for many months.”

  Verity made a show of untangling a fringe of her shawl. “How vexing that these should knot up so easily.”

  Mr. Plimpton was not indifferent to her agitation. “Ah, you are shy. Yes, yes! I see it fully and honor you all the more, Miss Worth.”

  Verity tried to edge around the gentleman, giving a laugh to cover her stealthy movement. “Mr. Plimpton, you startle me, certainly.”

  Verity cast a glance over the gentleman’s head at the open door. She wondered where her mother was or the butler. Surely Mr. Plimpton had not been shown in without someone being made aware that she was alone in the sitting room. A young lady did not receive gentlemen by herself, not even somewhat elderly ones such as Mr. Plimpton. She glanced down into Mr. Plimpton’s face, and the thought speeded through her mind that the gentleman was regarding her in a distinctly unpaternal fashion.

  Almost on the heels of the astounding thought, Lady Worth came into the sitting room. “Verity, I—”

  She saw all at once that her daughter was not alone and read the desperate appeal in Verity’s eyes. The frown disappeared from her brow and she stepped forward with a welcoming ex­pression, determined to do her duty as a good parent. “Why, dear Mr. Plimpton, forgive me. I was not aware that you had called. We are in a state of some confusion, as no doubt you have noticed. Have you come to wish us good-bye?”

  “Yes. That is—” Mr. Plimpton squared his plump shoulders and opened his mouth to deliver himself of a dignified declara­tion.

  But the moment was snatched from him as Lady Worth hur­ried into speech. “How kind of you. You are a true friend, and I am so glad that you have appeared just now, for I have a favor to ask of you,” said Lady Worth, smiling. She had taken his arm and drawn him after her toward the settee that Verity had so lately abandoned.

  Mr. Plimpton bowed. “You may ask anything at all of me, my lady.”

  “You are so very good, Mr. Plimpton.” Lady Worth sat down and indicated with a gracious gesture that Mr. Plimpton should join her. After the smallest hesitation, the gentleman did so, but not without throwing an undecided glance in Ver­ity’s direction. Lady Worth said firmly, “Verity, I have just re­called that there is a list of items on my desk that need attending. Will you see to it, my dear, while I speak with Mr. Plimpton?”

  “Of course, Mama,” said Verity quietly. She knew that she was being handed her chance and murmuring her apologies, she made good her escape.

  Verity did not return downstairs, but waited for her mother in the upstairs parlor. When Lady Worth at length appeared, Verity smiled at her parent. “I have never been more thankful to be sent on an errand in my life, Mama! I did not know what to do. Mr. Plimpton offered for me, but he did not seem in the least put out when I refused him. Indeed, for a moment I quite thought that he was on the brink of taking liberties with me. That would certainly have been an embarrassment to us both.”

  “Well, you need not be anxious any longer. I explained the matter perfectly to poor Mr. Plimpton.” Lady Worth shook her head. “The dear man was quite crushed to learn that you have no thought of marriage at all, but he understood when I told him that you were still wearing the willow for that unfortunate young man.”

  “You didn’t! You know very well that I am not, it is just that—Why, Mr. Plimpton must think me to be a ninny,” said Verity, regarding her mother with a fascinated gaze. She had not known that there was such a streak of ruthlessness in her dear mother.

  “Not at all. He quite appreciated the loyalties that are bound up in a blighted love. You know, I had never before realized what a strong romantic streak is harbored by that little man. It was quite a surprise, I assure you,” said Lady Worth. “Now, have you marked off any of those items on my list?”

  Verity laughed, seeing that the affair was well and truly closed. Mr. Plimpton had at least been forced to accept that she was not for him. It was just as well that she was going away, for she did not think that she would care to meet the gentleman after he had been dealt such a blow. “Poor Mr. Plimpton. He is forgotten in the pursuit of sheets,” she re­marked, showing the list to her mother.

  “Yes, well, we do have an inventory to finish,” said Lady Worth practically. “Charles must not find the accounting want­ing when he returns.”

  The ladies bent their energies to finishing the task of closing the large house. At last the packing was begun. Lady Worth and Verity were taking away little more than their wardrobes and a few personal items. Soon all that was left to be done was to order out the horses and carriage. However, strange as it was, neither Lady Worth nor Verity were in any great hurry to do so.

  One morning over breakfast, Lady Worth said, “Verity, I have had a very nice letter from your Great-aunt Mary. She is impatiently awaiting my arrival.” Lady Worth hesitated, then said, “I shall write her that I am not certain of the date of my arrival. I do not wish to go to her until I know what your situa­tion is to be, my dear.”

  “Yes, I know.” Verity sighed. She set down her cup. “I have been curiously reluctant to take the irrevocable step, Mama.”

  “Then do not, my dearest! You will come with me to Brighton,” said Lady Worth quickly.

  “You know it will not do, for then we would have to take Elizabeth from the seminary and she, too, would need to stay with Great-aunt Mary. I cannot see how we might contrive that,” said Verity.

  “Nor I, I am afraid. Your great-aunt lives very quietly due to her straitened circumstances,” said Lady Worth, sighing. She shook herself and summoned up a wavering smile. “Very well, dearest; put in your advertisement.”

  “I have already done so, these two weeks past. I just have not gotten up the courage to open my mail,” confessed Verity.

  “You awful girl. And you did not tell me. Well, you shall open those letters this very moment. Now go and bring them down,” said Lady Worth.

  Verity rose obediently from the breakfast table, but as she went round the corner she dropped a kiss on her mother’s head. “Thank you, Mama. I would rather not be alone during this time.”

  Lady Worth gave a watery sniff. She reached up to catch hold of her daughter’s fingers for a quick squeeze. “You are my daughter. Of course I shall stand by you to face together whatever unpleasantness may come.”

  Verity returned to the breakfast room quickly. In her hands were half a dozen letters. “I shall rely upon you to help me sort them out, Mama.”

  “Of course. I hope that I take my duty too well to allow you to accept just any position. It must naturally be a respectable household,” said Lady Worth with forlorn determination.

  Verity divided the letters with her mother and they went about the task of opening them. The second letter that came to Verity’s hand was from Mr. Pettiforth.

  Verity was both surprised and curious to receive correspon­dence from a distant relation that she had met very se
ldom and she broke the seal on it at once. As she read, she gasped with astonishment.

  “What is it, dearest?” asked Lady Worth, looking up from one of the letters that she had opened.

  “Why, it is the most extraordinary thing,” said Verity. She proceeded to read the closely written sheets to her mother.

  In his letter, Mr. Pettiforth set forth a proposal to Verity. It was felt by himself and his wife that their daughter needed the refining influence of a well-bred young lady. Miss Pettiforth was soon to be presented to society, but there was concern ex­pressed by her present governess that the young lady was not well-enough prepared to make a success of her debut.

  In short, Miss Pettiforth wanted a bit of polish and experi­ence. Would Miss Worth, who was known to Mr. Pettiforth through the letters he had had from her father, be willing to take on the charge of his daughter? He hoped that Miss Worth’s example and society would benefit his daughter.

  Naturally, Mr. Pettiforth would not dream of encroaching upon Miss Worth’s good nature. There would, of course, be remuneration to her both for the sacrifice of her time and as a small token against depriving her mother of her company. Mr. Pettiforth discreetly named a figure in such a way as not to give offense.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  Verity looked up from the letter. “What do you think, Mama?”

  Lady Worth shrugged slightly. “My dear, I have disliked immensely the thought of your taking a post. But this situation with your cousins, the Pettiforths, is something different alto­gether. You would be a part of the family. Such a position would be far more respectable than hiring on as a governess or companion. I own, I shall not be so anxious on your behalf,” she said.

  Frowning, Lady Worth tapped the sheets of the letter that she had put down on the table as she had listened to Mr. Pettiforth’s appeal. “Certainly it is more desirable than any such as this. Why, I immediately saw that this lady desired not a com­panion, but an overworked drudge. She offers room and board and her castdown wardrobe, if you please! I do not wish to sound mercenary, but I do think you could do worse than to settle for the figure that Burton Pettiforth offers.”

  “The salary is generous indeed. I should think that I would be more than able to save enough to provide toward Eliza­beth’s keep, for I do not anticipate that my needs will be oner­ous,” said Verity.

  She reflected that her clothes were good, and since they had been made up during the mourning period for her father, the dull colors were just the thing for a paid chaperone. However Mr. Pettiforth might put it otherwise, that was essentially the place that she would fill while making one of his household. It was unlikely, then, that she would need any new ball gowns or fashionable day dresses. Chaperones and paid companions did not dance or mingle with guests. She said as much to her mother. “And in the unlikely event, I am persuaded that I can make do with one of my old gowns.”

  Lady Worth disagreed. “A chaperone is a very different thing from an unpaid companion. You might very well be re­quired to accompany Miss Pettiforth to various social func­tions. I would not wish you to appear a quiz in last year’s gowns. Perhaps it would be wise to see what old silks and such are stored in those old trunks in the attic. We might wish to have one or two simple gowns made up. The village seam­stress has your measurements so that you need not be present for fittings if you must leave very soon.”

  “Does this mean that you have no objection to my accepting the situation?” asked Verity, smiling at her mother.

  “Of course I object, dear! But you are determined on this course and try as I might, I have been unable to see a way to spare you. Mr. Pettiforth’s offer comes most providentially. It is a compromise of sorts,” said Lady Worth.

  She gathered up the other letters, opened and unopened, and with a satisfied look in her eyes, she said, “I shall burn these immediately. And you must write at once to the Gazette to have your advertisement taken out so that we will be spared any more of these!”

  By return mail, Miss Worth respectfully indicated her will­ingness to accept the position of chaperone and companion to Miss Pettiforth. Mr. Pettiforth’s reply was a combination of gratitude and instruction to her in how to get to her destina­tion. And so Verity had embarked on the mail coach with the tearful good-bye and good wishes of her mother still ringing in her ears.

  Verity set aside her melancholy recollections as the carriage finally swept up to the steps of a well-built manor house. It was full night and lanterns had been hung in expectation of Verity’s arrival, so that when she descended from the carriage, she was able to gather an impression of the solid stability of the manor itself before she was ushered inside.

  Her luggage was carried off by a footman to unknown re­gions while she was escorted by a solemn-faced butler into a large sitting room. The butler went away to announce her ar­rival.

  Verity sent a curious glance about the charming room. It was well-proportioned and comfortably furnished, speaking mutely of the owners’ affluence. But it was the fire in the grate that she thought to be most welcoming, and drew her immedi­ate attention. It had been a chilly ride once she had exchanged the redolent warmth of the crowded mail coach for the solitary comfort of the Pettiforth’s carriage.

  Verity spread her hands to the blaze. She was just thinking of removing her gloves when the door to the sitting room was opened. Verity straightened and turned as a small-statured, deep-bosomed lady entered.

  “My dear Miss Worth!” The lady bustled forward, her hands outstretched in welcome. “I am Alice Pettiforth. But I shall call you Verity, if I may, for I have been thinking you one of the family ever since Mr. Pettiforth suggested that you might come to us. May I do so?”

  Verity shook hands with her cousin-in-law, aware that the shorter woman was measuring her with narrowed eyes. “Why, with my goodwill, ma’am. I assure you that it would afford me genuine pleasure to be considered one of the family.”

  “Very prettily said,” approved Mrs. Pettiforth. “You must address me as ‘Cousin,’ for that is what we are, is it not?” She sat down on the tall wooden settle and gestured for Miss Worth to join her, remarking, “This settee is an old-fashioned piece and I have long wished to replace it, but Mr. Pettiforth will not hear of it. He quite likes to doze before the fire of an evening after coffee.” Her voice became a shade cooler. “You have come late, so I must assume there was some sort of ex­citement attached to the journey.”

  “Oh, no excitement, ma’am. It was but a tossed horseshoe,” said Verity quietly. She had no difficulty in detecting the shade of disapproval in Mrs. Pettiforth’s tone, but she would offer no apologies for a happening that had been beyond her control.

  “How annoying for you. We have already sat down for din­ner, of course. You will not wish to set us back, I know, so we must forgo the pleasure of your company this evening, at least,” said Mrs. Pettiforth. “Now, you must tell me quickly about your dear mama and then I will let you go up to your room.”

  “My mother conveys her compliments. I am charged with a missive to you which I have carried in my reticule. Here it is, ma’am,” said Verity, handing the folded letter to her em­ployer.

  Mrs. Pettiforth took the letter in her hand, but she scarcely glanced at it before setting it aside on an occasional table. “I shall read it at my leisure after dinner. You are tired from your journey, I daresay, and would like nothing better than tea and a bowl of soup in your room before retiring. I shall ring now for a footman to show you upstairs. We will talk more in the morning when I shall be free to explain to you what is re­quired. Mr. Pettiforth shall wish to interview you as well, of course.”

  Mrs. Pettiforth had gotten up to pull the bell while she was yet speaking. Miss Worth had scarcely time to murmur her thanks and acquiescence before the footman appeared. Mrs. Pettiforth walked out of the sitting room with Verity, but at once parted from her, saying, “I must return to the dining room. I know that you will excuse me, Verity.” The dismissal was clear.


  Verity followed the footman upstairs, her thoughts somber. She had been taken aback by Mrs. Pettiforth’s manner, which had seemed to her to be a strange mixture of familiarity and civil superiority. She hoped that her interview on the morrow with Mr. Pettiforth would be more informative and enlighten­ing. The tone of Mr. Pettiforth’s letter had persuaded her to ac­cept the proposal outlined in it. In light of what she had believed, Mrs. Pettiforth’s behavior toward her was confusing. Verity was now uncertain what her actual position might be in the household, whether that of a surrogate family member or that of a mere employee.

  Misgivings rose in her at thought of being relegated to the role of a menial. She had naturally resigned herself to having to bear indignities and slights when she had found a post either as a companion or a governess. That was to be expected.

  However, Mr. Pettiforth’s letter had set forth the position in his household with such discretion and obvious care for Ver­ity’s sensibilities that Verity had rather hoped that she need not be concerned for such things. Her spirits had risen even higher when she had been met by the Pettiforth’s own car­riage. However, Mrs. Pettiforth’s odd conduct upon their first meeting hinted that all might not be as cozy as Verity had come to anticipate.

  Verity was once more heartened when she was shown to the bedroom that was to be for her use. The bedroom was on the second floor where the family’s own apartments would natu­rally be located. After talking with Mrs. Pettiforth, she had half-expected to be given a cold garret under the attic rafters and it was a most pleasant surprise to discover that she was ac­corded the courtesy of a place on the same floor as her em­ployers.

  The room was of a good though irregular size and contained a large four-poster, an old-fashioned wardrobe, a washstand with pitcher and basin, and a dressing table. There was in addi­tion a small sitting area near the curtained windows.

  A maid was building up the fire on the grate. She cast a cu­rious glance and half-smile over her shoulder when the foot­man ushered in the stranger. “Good evening, miss.”