Chapter Three
Walter’s name and identity had not been lost on Verity.
From her position on the pink chair, she took in this paragon of manly perfection with more than a touch of surprise.
As a child, she’d once or twice glimpsed her exalted, much older cousin when he’d called to visit Grandmama at the Dower House, and as far as she could remember he’d never looked like this.
Of course, back then he’d only been a schoolboy, although to her he’d seemed a man grown.
She had the vaguest recollection of once or twice peering at him between the banisters on the Dower House’s landing.
She’d been too small to look over the top of them.
Below her she’d glimpsed the brother Robert, who’d been considered too ill to go away to school, as had been so often mentioned, but only the top of his dark head.
All she’d been able to see had been a young man in a smart but staid suit standing in the hallway outside Grandmama’s parlor.
As for what he was like, all she’d had to go on had been Robert’s view of his exalted and much-admired older brother.
Robert, to the small Verity’s disgust, had wanted to emulate Walter in every way, from his choice of clothes to his cricketing success at Eton, that he was most annoyed he’d never be able to repeat.
To the extent that Verity had made the decision not to like Walter at all, if she were to ever meet him face to face.
Up until now, though, she’d never had the chance.
And to her surprise she found he looked like a dandy and a fop, and not a young man who’d been a rowing blue and his school’s top batsman.
She took a moment to wonder if Robert would have ended up the same if he’d been allowed to follow in his brother’s footsteps.
It would be fun to meet her childhood friend again.
However, as a young woman who had traversed the length and breadth of Europe with her papa, she was not unused to seeing young gentlemen who looked like this.
He, however, had clearly never seen a young lady such as herself, because he was staring quite rudely at her.
She sat up a bit straighter and allowed herself the slightest of admonishing frowns in the hopes he would remember his manners.
He didn’t. “Well, stap me,” he exclaimed, his brown eyes running up and down her in a most uncomfortable manner, especially when one considered he was her cousin.
“Is this her? You’ve done well out of that bargain, Jonnie my boy.
A little in need of smartening up, but what a beauty.
Did the old fellow send her round last night?
” He bestowed a lascivious wink on his friend, who had the grace to redden.
For an uncomfortable moment, Verity found herself at a loss for words, and, as she gathered her thoughts, Lord Dunster got in before her.
“Walter,” he began, a distinct air of discomfort in his tone. “Pray allow me to introduce you to Miss Verity Farrington.”
The newcomer seemed to freeze for a moment as this pronouncement sank in, his eyes losing their expression of lascivious delight and taking on one of deep, disbelieving shock followed by acute embarrassment. His mouth opened and closed as he presumably sought, as she was doing, for words.
“Your cousin,” Lord Dunster said, hammering the revelation home with a strong hint of irony this time.
Verity decided it might be wise to stay silent and see what happened.
Walter finally found his voice, which seemed a trifle high this time.
“My cousin?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Here? In your parlor?” He made it sound as though he’d surprised them in Lord Dunster’s bedroom.
“With you? The Black Earl?” A frown settled on his brows which might have been due more to confusion than anger.
“How? Why?” His voice rose again, as if in pleading.
“She ain’t the girl…from last night…is she? She can’t be.”
Silence on her part was definitely the best decision.
It was quite fascinating observing the discomfiture of these two taken aback swells.
Almost as much fun as fleecing them of their blunt might have been if she’d met them under different circumstances.
If ever two gentlemen deserved to be swindled, it was these two, who clearly had thought, up until now, that was, that winning a girl at a game of cards was a good thing.
Until they discovered one of them was related to her.
Lord Dunster’s frown matched Walter’s. “She is indeed the young lady from last night. And I would myself like to know the answers to those very questions.” He shot a glance at Verity, who returned his look with equanimity.
This was really turning out to be quite amusing, if only she didn’t still have that sensation of imminent doom hanging over her.
Walter’s eyes widened. “You think I know?” His voice now rose to a most unmasculine squeak, very much at odds with his powerful and exquisite appearance.
Lord Dunster nodded. “I most certainly do. How is it that last night I was able to sit down to play cards with a gentleman, in your presence I might add, whom you did not recognize as your own uncle?” He gave an exasperated shake of his head.
“Was there no hint of family resemblance to your own father—his brother?”
Walter’s mouth opened and closed a few times and his eyes slid back and forth between Verity and his friend, possibly in search of a rescue that was not coming.
“You mean the old fellow you fleeced was…is my Uncle Anthony? The one we’re none of us supposed to talk about?
” His eyes returned to Verity’s face, but now they held a hint of fear as he stared at her as though she’d just sprouted an extra head.
“Uncle Anthony who ran off to the Continent with a French hussy?”
As the import of how insulting his last words were sank in his cheeks blossomed with hot color.
More opening and closing of his mouth. He must be searching for a way to extricate himself from this large hole he was busy digging.
“I-I mean a French lady.” His brows knit as he came to the obvious conclusion that this was also not a terribly polite description of Verity’s mama, but, as he so obviously couldn’t recall her name, what else could he have done? Verity felt a pang of sympathy for him.
“That is indeed the gentleman to whom I am referring,” Lord Dunster said, enunciating each word with alarming clarity.
If Verity had been Walter, she would have been shaking in her shoes.
As it was, she was quite enjoying this. Her unusual upbringing had prepared her for most eventualities, although this was rather an unexpected one.
Walter, to her surprise, seemed to suddenly discover a second wind.
“You mean you have compromised my cousin?” he exclaimed, doing his best to sound affronted but only coming over, in her opinion and probably also in Lord Dunster’s, as something of an idiot.
How had she never discovered Robert’s older brother was so afflicted?
Robert, her childhood playmate until she was nine and he thirteen, had always been quite sensible, and from what he’d told her of his brother, she’d assumed Walter was too. How wrong could one be.
Lord Dunster uttered a low growl which was really quite attractive. “Miss Farrington has not been compromised,” he managed between what must have been gritted teeth.
How delightful to have so disconcerted both these gentlemen. She began to feel her morning had purpose. More purpose than she’d thought it would, at any rate.
Walter was gaining righteous impetus. “Well, she’s here, ain’t she?
In your house. In your parlor. Alone with you until I arrived.
After you won her in a game of cards, which ain’t at all respectable for a girl.
If that ain’t compromising her, I don’t know what is.
Has she been here all night?” He hesitated.
“Did you…?” His voice trailed off, no doubt in response to his friend’s furious glower.
Lord Dunster shook his head with vehemence. “I can assure you she has not been here all night. She has not been compromised, and I have not taken advantage of her in any way. She arrived a short time ago to surrender herself in payment for her father’s debt.”
Time to interrupt. “Actually,” Verity said with aplomb, “I’ve been here now for just over three hours. I walked around here first thing this morning, but His Lordship wasn’t up. I had to wait for him to rise.”
Walter huffed but was not about to be quelled.
“Three hours? Unchaperoned? In the house of the worst rake in London? She’s as good as compromised, you know, because everyone present last night witnessed you accept her from her father in lieu of money.
In payment for her father’s debt.” He shook his head in what looked like despair.
“Gad, what sort of man surrenders his daughter to a rake like you without a second thought?” Another shake of his head.
“And what’s more, everyone saw her father write out that promissory note gifting her to you. ”
Verity’s ears pricked. There’d been a promissory note? Papa had not informed her of that indelicate occurrence. Somehow it made everything much more formal. She glanced at Lord Dunster who was standing very still now beside the fireplace, as though turned to stone, in fact.
“There was a promissory note?” For once his voice held a hint of anxiety in with the iciness. He clearly knew nothing of this, or had lost it.