Chapter 8 #4
“I, erm—” William glanced back at Mr. Chesterfield, who was busy stringing his bow. “Is that not Horace Chesterfield with whom you arrived? I suppose I assumed that if you were friends with him, you must at least have some passing interest in his art.”
Verbena’s shoulders unwound. It was annoying, but she supposed her cover story of being an aspiring poetess would need to be kept up for William’s benefit in addition to Flora’s.
“I confess I have not yet the courage to show my work to anyone. It needs so much more time before it’s ready,” she said.
“Perhaps when it’s nearing completion, you might like someone to run an eye over it,” William suggested. “I would volunteer, if you think it useful.”
Verbena played at embarrassment. “I couldn’t ask that of you. Why, you would be forced to rip it to pieces, I’m sure! My heart would be quite crushed.”
Careful, she told herself.
“I would do all I could to avoid that,” he said with a gravity the light conversation did not warrant. “Believe me when I say I desire only to keep your heart safe from harm.”
Verbena pinched the inside of her cheek between her back teeth.
What on earth was she doing, engaging in this bizarre flirtation with a veritable stranger?
This was not at all what she had planned.
She was supposed to be enraptured with étienne, not the youngest son of a large family, and a novelist at that.
It was the height of absurdity, to be lusting after anyone—especially when she had never done so before!
Rage engulfed her, at herself, yes, but also at William Forsyth, who had the temerity to appear at this late date, when she could not allow him in her orbit. She glanced about for some escape.
Her eyes landed on étienne—who was currently speaking with Miles McDonald under the shade of an oak. Their heads were bowed close in conference while they gesticulated to each other like excitable peacocks.
“Where are my manners?” she said, injecting crackling coldness into her voice. “You simply must meet my very dear friend, Monsieur Charbonneau.”
After all, the whole point of her attendance was to solidify her supposed connection to étienne. That fact did nothing to lessen the hurt Verbena could see flashing across William’s unguarded face.
“Must I?” he said faintly.
“Oh, yes.” Verbena viciously forged ahead. “He and I have been friends for a long time, but recently—you may have heard—he’s come into something of a fortune.”
“I had heard that, but—”
She felt it necessary to speak over him, lest he make some inquiry into the details.
“Not that he wasn’t already a very successful man of business, but now that he is positioned somewhat higher in society, well.
Let us say I have been fortunate to enjoy étienne’s attentions of late.
” She glanced back at William to see how he was taking it.
Right in the chest, if his pallor was anything to go by.
Time to twist the knife. “But you must not care for standing at all. You seem perfectly content with your lack of it.”
That caused William to gasp, soft and pained. His hand lifted to his chest as if the wound was a physical one.
Verbena actually felt sorry for him. He was handsome, and kind, and seemed not to share his brothers’ unfortunately common opinion of the fairer sex. And he laughed at her jokes.
Verbena hardened her heart. She did not need laughter; she needed stability. This was a necessary cruelty.
“I see.” William mustered a smile, though it looked terribly sad. Verbena thought he seemed even more handsome in his torment, which probably made her an evil person. “Well. How wonderful for you both.”
“Yes, it is.” Verbena attempted to look the part of an eager bride-to-be.
She turned back to where étienne had been speaking to Mr. McDonald, and found that Mr. McDonald was now surrounded, worryingly, by the brothers Forsyth.
No doubt discussing politics if their droning, overlapping voices were anything to go by.
Poor Mr. McDonald looked dreadfully uncomfortable.
But more importantly, étienne was striding toward Verbena with a spring in his step.
“Mr. McDonald has kindly shown me the way around this bit of wood.” He held his borrowed longbow aloft.
“My hope is that I land my arrows on the target and not in the dirt. Anything better than that will be cause for celebration.” His eyes bounced between Verbena and her conversation partner.
“I am sorry, have we been introduced?” he asked William with perfect politeness.
Verbena did the necessaries, watching the men shake hands.
étienne did not seem to note the distress in William, instead engaging in easy conversation about their shared desire to make their archery outing a good one.
William dredged up the same jest regarding a shooting distance of seventy-five feet, which made étienne laugh in delight.
“Do you think our hostess would begrudge us a few practice shots?” étienne asked furtively. “It seems unfair to let us loose without at least that.”
But William demurred, saying, “I think, sadly, this heat has gotten to me. I’m not feeling well at all.
” He passed a hand through his curls, casting Verbena a rueful glance.
“Perhaps it’s best if I make my excuses now.
Lady Croydon would be aghast if I ended up fainting in the middle of her exhibition. ”
“My word, Mr. Forsyth, why have you suffered in silence?” étienne grasped his lithe arm. Verbena’s husband-to-be really was a kind, considerate man. “Shall I fetch you something cool to drink? Miss Montrose, do you know where I might find such a thing?”
Before Verbena could direct him to one of the many footmen, Miles McDonald joined their small knot. His face was bright red and his lips pursed.
“These Forsyths are some of the most vulgar specimens I have ever met,” he seethed. His brogue became more pronounced as he spoke, though he kept his voice to a low murmur. “If I were a different sort of man, I would be employing my glove for a hearty slapping.”
“Mr. McDonald, have you yet had the pleasure of meeting Mr. William Forsyth?” Verbena asked, mortified at the lack of decorum among the gentlemen.
“Ah. Good to know you.” He gave William a perfunctory handshake that somehow incorporated a small bow, like the man couldn’t decide which was more proper and so split the difference. “Sorry that I’ve just insulted your kin,” he said, “but as they insulted me first, I think I’m within my rights.”
“I count none of my brothers as friends, sir,” William said, barely lifting his gaze from the ground. “And despite our shared surname, I feel no obligation to defend them.”
Mr. McDonald eyed him closely. “Do you harbor any ridiculous notions of Scotland as well, Mr. Forsyth?”
“I don’t think I do,” said William. He raised his head at last.
“You’re not laboring under the misapprehension that we all live in holes in the ground?”
“No.”
“You’re aware that inventions such as the wheel have indeed reached that far north?”
“I should hope so.”
“Then we two are friends.” Mr. McDonald slapped a hand to his narrow shoulder. Verbena feared William would be knocked to the ground, slight as he was, but he managed to sway back upright.
“At least one good thing has come of this outing,” William said, half to himself.
At Mr. McDonald’s questioning look, Verbena supplied, “Mr. Forsyth is feeling poorly.”
Mr. McDonald looked genuinely concerned at that. “Oh, no. It’s this damn heat, isn’t it?”
“Did you want something to drink?” étienne asked once more.
William waved them all off. “Thank you, but I should take my leave. Would you explain my absence to Lady Croydon, Miss Montrose? I fear I haven’t the stomach to do it myself.”
Not waiting for further protests, William disappeared into the clutch of waiting carriages some distance away.
Verbena watched him go, thoroughly and inexplicably morose at the sight of his retreat.
She should have felt accomplished after dispatching him so quickly, yet she found she hated herself for doing so.
How had he inspired such feeling in her in the span of less than an hour?
There is something odd about that man, she thought, but lord only knew what it was.