CHAPTER TEN #2
“That will do, Mama,” said Verena, rising to her feet. “There is no question of that. I know what you are thinking. That you must make it possible for me to be free to marry. Well, I tell you now, I will not hear of such a thing. You must not think of it. Where is Nathaniel now?”
“He has gone back to the New Inn with Adam,” her mother told her, getting up. “He is waiting for my decision.”
Verena turned a face of horror upon her. “You mean you have allowed him to hope? No, no, Mama. You should have sent him packing. Lord in heaven, he will come back and coerce you, I know he will!”
Mrs Peverill came to her and patted her arm. “Verena, don’t fret yourself to flinders. He has promised he will not create any scenes, but will wait for my decision, and respect it.”
“And you believed him? Heavens, Mama, what does it take to convince you? He has broken so many promises. I have lost count of the times he promised never to hurt you again, yet he did so — I know not how often.”
“Yes, that is true, dearest,” Mrs Peverill conceded. “But you and I, Verena, cannot continue in this way forever, of that I am certain. Don’t you see? I must seriously consider this opportunity.”
Verena thought she was going mad. Opportunity! Had Mama taken leave of her senses? Desperately, she clutched her mother’s arms.
“Mama, you are out of your mind! Believe me, I will kill Nathaniel before I allow you to return to him. Do you imagine I could enjoy an instant’s happiness with Denzell, knowing what you must be suffering?”
Mrs Peverill reached her hands up to her daughter’s shoulders, an odd look in her face. “Verena, do you realise what you have just said?”
Verena’s heart stilled. What had she said? She had talked of Denzell — and enjoying happiness with him. Oh, sweet heaven, she was going mad! This could not be. She wrenched herself away.
“You have confused me, Mama — all this talk of love and my father. Don’t you know you are more important to me than anything in the world?”
With that, she turned and rushed out of the parlour, almost running into Betsey as the maid came towards her.
“Now what’s amiss?” demanded Betsey, catching at her young mistress and holding her. “Steady now, Miss Verena. What’s to do?”
“Oh, Betsey, help me,” Verena cried. “We must leave here at once. Go far away — abroad. Yes, abroad! Anywhere — only so that we get away from here.”
She glanced back to the parlour door, but Mama was still within. Hustling Betsey, she pushed her into her own bedchamber and shut the door.
“Betsey, give me an answer!”
“I would, my dove, if you would but tell me the question,” said the maid, bewildered. “Now simmer down, do, and talk sense.”
Verena drew a steadying breath. “Betsey, how am I to persuade Mama that I have no interest in Denzell? You must help me to disabuse her mind. We must convince her I am not in love with him.”
“And what about you, Miss Verena?” demanded the maid shrewdly. “Are you convinced?”
“Oh, Betsey, don’t you begin. In any event, he has not asked me to marry him. He has promised, besides, that he will not speak of the matter again.”
“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 women. 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.”