CHAPTER ELEVEN #4
As if she read his mind, Mrs Peverill answered the question at that precise moment.
“Never mind all that now, my dearest,” she was saying, a flush of excitement entering her cheeks. “We have not yet told you the best. Your grandfather has offered us a refuge.”
Verena stared at her. “What?” she uttered faintly.
“Yes, my dear child,” said Bevis Chaceley, leaning towards her.
“You must not believe your grandfather to be all stone, you know. As soon as I told him what I had heard, he resolved to bring you home to Pittlesthorp — and your mama, too — should circumstances turn out in such a way that this might be desirable.”
“Is it not wonderful, dearest?” uttered her mother, radiance in her face.
Verena blinked. It was the answer to a prayer. And yet — how was it that the prospect did not fill her with the bubbling enthusiasm that Mama evidently felt?
“You may rest easy, for I will be safe, and we need not hide away,” she was saying, such a note of hope and joy in her voice as warmed Verena’s heart.
“Adam may visit us at any time he wishes, for Mr Chaceley has said so, and also that he will not permit Nathaniel to bring me away. We will have a new family, dearest, for as your uncle Bevis has pointed out, these were once my relatives-in-law. But best of all, Verena, you will be free. You may seek the future you deserve, and that will make me the happiest creature in the world.”
Verena knew that it was incumbent upon her to reciprocate Mama’s delight. But she could not. All at once the concept of “freedom” seemed altogether unreal and — empty. Yet she must say something.
“Mama, you must be — why, that is —” She faltered to a stop, unable to think of anything beyond the dreadful notion that all she would be left with was the most appalling sense of loss.
Her glance flicked from her uncle’s face to that of her grandfather. Then, as she turned to bring her gaze back to her mother, she caught sight of Denzell’s countenance and her eyes became riveted there, as of their own volition.
There was a slight question in his face, as if he sought to know what was passing in her mind. Quite suddenly, it was as if they were alone in the room, and it seemed the most urgent thing in the world that he should be consulted.
“Denzell, what do you think?”
He regarded her gravely. “I think your mama should accept.”
“Mama! But —”
Denzell smiled at her, and the world suddenly seemed brighter. “I have no desire to see you living with your grandfather. I want you to live with me.”
A slow pulse began to beat in her veins. It was as if she was hearing the idea for the very first time. She was, in one sense. For the first time, it had become a possibility.
She hardly noticed the stunned silence of the others in the room, for she was scarcely aware of their presence, until old man Chaceley erupted, pushing himself to his feet.
“What in thunder do you mean, sir? I’ll thank you to keep your disrespectful suggestions to yourself, you impertinent puppy! Do you dare to offer my granddaughter a carte blanche?”
Denzell rose, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he answered. “You misunderstand me, sir. It is — and has been for some days — my most ardent desire to marry your granddaughter.”
“You young dog, Denzell,” came from a laughing Bevis, who had also got up. “Do you wish to give my father an apoplexy?”
“I had no intention of expressing myself so maladroitly,” Denzell said apologetically. “I was speaking to Verena, and she is already very well aware of my suit.”
The old gentleman glared at him. “I ought to give you the thrashing of your life, boy!”
“Pray don’t, sir,” begged Denzell. He added seriously, “I think Verena has had her fill of violent proceedings.”
He looked round as he spoke, and discovered that Verena was looking at him oddly.
There was both bewilderment and distress in her face, and — surprise, was it?
She looked as if she did not even know that Mrs Peverill, beside her, was clutching her arm in obvious delight.
He crossed to the day-bed. Reaching down, he took her hands and drew her to her feet.
“Don’t look so troubled, my princess.”
But Verena was not ready for this. She withdrew her hands, her head in a whirl, and her heart now beating like a drum.
“This is all too fast! You speak as if everything were in a way to be settled already.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “I am all too aware that I have a long way to go. But it would be most improper for me to continue wooing you now, without the consent of your guardians.”
“You mean my grandfather?” Verena asked in a flurried sort of way. “But what has it to do with him? He has offered us a home, yes, but he does not control my life. Besides, I am of age.”
“Mr Hawkeridge,” interrupted Mrs Peverill, rising herself and reaching out her hands to Denzell, “be sure you have my consent at least.”
“Mama! No, no, this is not possible!”
“But it is perfectly possible, Verena.”
“I thank you, Mrs Peverill,” Denzell said, taking her hands and kissing them one by one. “I hope you will forgive the deceit I practised upon you. Verena would not have me show my real intentions, for fear of what you might do.”
She nodded, pressing his hands before releasing them. “I quite understand.” Then she turned to Verena. “But now, my dearest girl, you need no longer fear for me, and you may follow your own inclinations.”
“Inclinations?” burst from old man Chaceley. “Do you tell me, girl, that you hesitate over this match? Good God, child, the boy is going to be a baron!”
“Oh, the deuce,” muttered Denzell under his breath.
This was no help at all. As if Verena gave a fig for his status. Any more than he had given for hers when he knew nothing of her background. He must get Verena out of here — and quickly.
To his intense surprise, it was Mrs Peverill who intervened. She left Verena’s side, and moved to confront her erstwhile father-in-law. Quite in the manner of a tigress protecting her young from the hunter.
“Mr Chaceley,” she said, bravely bold, “I will not have my daughter influenced by any such consideration, for I know its cost. I do not forget my darling Lambert’s unhappiness in being estranged from his family. By God’s grace, it did not last long, for I lost him all too soon.”
“What in thunder —?” began the old man.
She ignored him, continuing as if he had not spoken, “I shall be ever grateful to you for what you are doing for me — and it is for me, for my Verena would willingly have sacrificed herself on my behalf and it is from that alone you have saved her. But believe me, sir, I had rather lose this chance of a refuge with you than see my daughter marry for anything other than love!”
“Bravo, Mrs Peverill,” Denzell said. “I am in complete agreement with you. And —” turning to seize Verena’s hand and drag her towards the door — “since that is the question I wish to thrash out with Verena, I must beg you all to excuse us for the moment.”
Verena, uttering a half-hearted protest, found herself on the other side of the parlour door, with the latter shut. She opened her mouth to speak as Denzell turned to her.
“Don’t say a word,” he warned, and his lips came down on hers so hard that she groaned a faint protest.
But the warmth of his mouth sent a wash of intense heat flooding through her body, and her knees weakened so that she sagged against him. She was barely permitted to recover from this sudden assault, when he pulled away.
“Come!” he cried, and dragged her after him towards the stair head.
Verena, all her concentration on remaining on her feet as she was rushed down the stairs, did not notice that this little episode had been overlooked.
Betsey, coming down from above with a tray containing a decanter and glasses, had paused as the door opened.
She smiled with grim satisfaction as she watched her young charge disappearing in the wake of her determined suitor.
Once outside, however, Verena dug in her heels and pulled hard to stop the onrush of these too speedy events.
“Denzell, wait! Oh, pray, wait for a moment.”
He paused and turned to look at her, so much tenderness in his face that her heart somersaulted painfully. “What is it, dearest snow maiden?”
“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly. “Where are you taking me?”
He uttered a short laugh. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I had to get you alone.” Taking hold of her arms, he drew her towards him. “Am I rushing you?”
“Yes!”
Denzell sighed. “Forgive me! I am so elated, I cannot help myself.”
Verena looked up at him with trouble in her eyes. “But I am afraid, Denzell.”
He stilled, his hands running up to her shoulders. His gaze roved over her features, caressing the curves that made up that perfect oval, the sculptured bow of a mouth, the eyes set wide apart. Lightly, like a warm breeze, he spoke. “There’s no need.”
Verena’s breath caught in a half-sob. “You make it sound so easy.”
A smile entered his eyes. “It is, to me.”
He released her then, and slipping one hand about her fingers, he said in the most normal of tones, “I want to show you something.”
He led her across the driveway, and into the patch of ground that separated her lodging from the Ruishtons’ house. They walked in silence, Verena a touch mystified, until they were more or less in the centre of the ground. There, Denzell released her and stepped back to look at her.
“We talked here once, but that is not what makes it dear to me.” He drew a breath of deepest satisfaction.
“This, Verena, is where I first saw you. You were building that snowman, and your guard was down. I caught sight of your beauty, and I was dumbfounded. Then you laughed — I have the image of it imprinted on my memory. And you know what I think? The real Verena floated there and then, right into my heart. You see, I never truly believed in the existence of that other beauty — serene, and exquisitely polite.”