Chapter 1 #3
“A note from a chap in Leeds—Leeds!—saying he had discovered such a lefty in his employer’s garden, and would I like to have a look at it.
Now, he included some sketches of the snail in question—nothing too detailed, mind.
He’s not a professional. He only knows of the Society of Mollusks and my own interest in the matter because his cousin served aboard the same ship as my half brother. Do you know my half brother?”
Verbena opened her mouth to say she had not yet had the pleasure, but Lord Merven carried on without her input, telling the meandering story of who served aboard the HMS Larkspur and when and in what capacity.
As hard as Verbena tried to follow the narrative, she could feel her eyes glazing over. The spirit could only suffer so much.
“Pardon me,” a voice with a soft Scottish brogue said from behind her, “but did either of you see that pack of snails over by the bushes? Terribly interesting.”
Verbena turned to find a lanky man with a kind face and a kinder smile.
He wore a curious pair of spectacles with one clear lens and the other blacked out.
She did not know him at all, which would have been worrisome—she’d thought she knew everyone worth knowing—if she were not so relieved by his sudden appearance.
“What!” cried Lord Merven. He bustled away to inspect the bushes without even a farewell.
Verbena watched him go with wide eyes. She’d never before seen the man dispatched with such alacrity. Or at all.
The stranger continued in the face of her surprised silence. “Apologies for the interruption. You looked like you might appreciate a reprieve.”
It was improper for him to speak to her without having been introduced by a mutual friend first, yet there were worse improprieties.
Verbena wondered what sort of man he could be.
He was wearing a coat expertly cut to his trim form, but in a shade of taupe that hadn’t been in fashion for several seasons.
His tawny hair, too, was arranged in a sweep that young bucks had been enamored with three years ago.
He was in no way shabby, but he did appear out of place.
Verbena chalked this up to the fact that he was Scottish, and was, obviously, not currently in Scotland.
“His Lordship is harmless,” Verbena said once she found her tongue. “But yes, his conversation is somewhat…challenging.” She glanced toward the bushes, where Merven had crouched to examine its contents. “Are there snails over there, or did you invent a reason for Lord Merven to investigate?”
“Oh, on my honor, there’s at least a dozen! I’d never lie about snails.” He shot her a boyish grin. “It’s fortunate I noticed them on my way over.”
“Exceedingly fortunate,” Verbena said. She looked over at the rest of the party, still engaged in blindman’s bluff.
If anyone noticed her speaking to a strange man, no one had protested, likely assuming that Lord Merven had done his duty and conducted a proper introduction.
Since that was not the case, and they were already exchanging words, she felt it necessary to get through the niceties herself.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Miss Verbena Montrose.
” She gave him a small nod of her chin, not wanting to draw any attention with a handshake or elaborate curtsy.
“Mr. Miles Montague McDonald,” said he, inclining his head in return.
“McDonald—of the Edinburgh McDonalds?” she inquired. Her heart rose on a crested wave of hope.
“Erm, no. The Peeblewick McDonalds.” He grimaced and tossed his hair from his eyes. Well, his single visible eye. Hazel, Verbena noted out of habit. “We’re not the most well-known branch.”
“Of course. Peeblewick,” Verbena said as if everyone knew the place.
“It is lovely to meet you. Any friend of Lady Croydon is a friend of mine.” This was laying it on a bit thick, but Verbena could be forgiven.
Compared to the other men she’d encountered today, Miles McDonald was a prize, even if he didn’t belong to the more famed, well-off family of McDonalds.
“That’s very kind of you,” said Mr. McDonald, “but I’m not so much a friend of Lady Croydon as a distant acquaintance.
My mother was a friend of a friend of hers, which is how I managed an invitation.
I’ve not met her before.” He frowned. “Well, I’ve not met anyone.
Not here, anyway. Of course I’ve met other people in other places.
” His nervous laugh was charming in its own way.
“I’ve just arrived in London, you see.” The Scots accent became more pronounced.
“If I’m honest, I only noticed those snails because I was dawdling.
I’m really not sure how to go about this.
I don’t suppose you could point out Lady Croydon to me? ”
Verbena was moved by his helplessness. He was clearly unused to the vicious games of London society; no gentleman who’d grown up in its ranks would ever admit to only barely rating an invitation to a picnic, or that their family tree was anything less than impressive.
Perhaps his na?veté could be an asset to her.
“By all means,” she said, “allow me to introduce you.”
“Wonderful!” He gave her his arm, and together they walked across the lawn.
The game of bluff was over now and the repast was served.
Lady Croydon was ushering her guests into the shade of the tents, newly filled wineglass in hand.
She laughed at something someone said as Verbena closed her parasol, stowing it among the others.
Good. The lady was in excellent humor, which would make the job easier.
Verbena cleared her throat. “Pardon me, Lady Croydon, but I owe you an apology,” she said.
The conversation died down as the lady examined Verbena.
“Oh? Whatever for, Miss Montrose?” Her eyes moved to the man at Verbena’s side, meandering up and down his long form, lingering on his eyeglasses.
Verbena hoped she did not find them too strange, nor too distasteful.
They were, after all, the mark of a clerk.
“I’m afraid I’ve delayed Mr. Miles Montague McDonald, who I gather is a son of your dear friend. Instead of greeting you promptly as he’d planned, he gallantly saved me from a beetle. The dreadful thing was crawling up my skirts like a devil, and he batted it away for me.”
Mr. McDonald gave Verbena a startled look, which Verbena ignored. “I did?” he said.
“You did,” she echoed, smiling at him encouragingly. She knew what she was doing, and he didn’t. It was rather the usual state of affairs for a woman of her talents.
He nodded at Lady Croydon, wide-eyed. “I did.”
It was a small, silly lie, but an important one. It would raise him up a bit in the hostess’s estimation, and, most pressingly, it established Verbena as the object of his notice, just in case Mr. McDonald proved of interest to any unattached ladies.
“Mr. McDonald! Yes, of course.” Lady Croydon greeted him like an old friend and not the distant acquaintance he actually was.
The lady was very malleable when in her cups, and she’d drunk at least four glasses by Verbena’s count.
She was likely erring on the side of friendliness, thinking she had simply misplaced the memory of this guest in the whirl of the party.
“Finally, a little excitement injected into our dreary lives. Behold the hero of the hour! Beetles are such awful pests.” She clasped his hands warmly in hers.
“Oh, they’re not so bad,” he said. “I can think of worse.”
The assembled guests laughed like this was the height of wit, leaving Mr. McDonald looking quite confused. The man really was too darling.
“Well, I’ll let you two chat,” Verbena said as she obligingly peeled away from Mr. McDonald’s side. If she stayed on him like a limpet, people would begin to talk. As with most things, a delicate balance was required.
She was about to investigate the egg sandwiches when the perfumed cloud returned to her side.
“Here, Miss Montrose, drink this,” said Miss Hollyhock as she pressed a cup of lemonade into her hand. “You look absolutely parched after your harrowing experience.” Her eyes roved knowingly over Miles McDonald’s form. Luckily, he was turned away.
Verbena drew Miss Hollyhock to a less occupied corner of the sumptuous tent so they could speak in close conference.
“I was only doing a kindness,” she said, “something you might consider trying every so often. How could you leave me to Lord Merven like that? I might have expired from boredom had I not been rescued.” Her tone was playful, though she had been rather inconvenienced.
“I am sorry to have abandoned you.” Miss Hollyhock had the grace to look ashamed as she sipped from her own cup. “Father invited Lord Merven to dinner last week. You have no idea how little I care to hear another word on snails.”
That eked some sympathy from Verbena. She tossed her head, another red curl escaping her bonnet. “Understandable.”
“That reminds me,” Miss Hollyhock said. “Have you recalled your conversation with Lord Newham at all? I do wonder why he had to leave so soon after his arrival.”
Verbena hesitated. She knew what Miss Hollyhock was implying—that if Verbena truly wished for them to help each other, she would give Miss Hollyhock fair warning about the baron’s proclivities and how he might be dispatched—but distrust held her tongue.
In the end, she could only muster the vaguest of words: “I suppose he must be worried for his dear wife. I would, if I were in his position. Perhaps something I said reminded him of her condition.”
“I see.” Miss Hollyhock sipped her lemonade with one eye on Verbena, then inclined her head in Miles McDonald’s direction. “Have you heard much about this gentleman?” He was laughing at something Lady Croydon was saying in her animated way. “I gather he’s new in town. Very interesting background.”
Verbena lifted one finely sculpted eyebrow. “Really?”