Chapter 13
“How was your meeting with the sponsors of the Children’s Foundling Hospital this afternoon?” King asked as they dined on yet another sumptuous feast prepared by Monsieur Barreau.
True to King’s word, not another fish course had been served in the entirety of the month they had been wed. She wasn’t certain how much longer the poor chef could refrain from preparing a salmon, but Verity appreciated the effort thus far.
“It was quite productive,” she said, frowning as she thought about the immense expenses awaiting them as they struggled to rebuild the orphanage. “However, I begin to despair that we shall ever raise the funds required for the new building any time soon.”
“You did tell them that we shall be pleased to provide whatever is required for the music room at the new building, I trust?” he asked.
“Yes, and they are quite thrilled at the notion. But there is no telling when they shall have enough to finish the process of rebuilding.” She shook her head. “Without a properly constructed edifice, there cannot be a music room at all.”
“We could certainly afford to offer more, angel.”
It wasn’t the first time he had said as much, and Verity was grateful for his generosity. But the cost was tremendous, and she had no wish for her cause to become a burden for him to shoulder. He had already been strikingly munificent.
“There are many in London who could offer more,” she pointed out tartly, thinking of the wealthy aristocrats and merchants who had turned away from the plight of the orphans, carrying on with their lives as if nothing of significance had happened.
“Sybil and I were thinking of suggesting a ball to raise funds. I’m not sure if she and Everett can bear to host one at the moment, however, given that Sybil is expecting and Everett despises balls.
Then there is Maman, who sinks her claws into such fêtes and refuses to let go.
She dearly loves to orchestrate every detail… ”
She allowed her words to trail away, sighing as she reached for her glass of wine.
“We could host a ball,” King suggested, surprising her.
She hadn’t presumed to suggest it, hadn’t even thought that he would be agreeable to such an undertaking. Their marriage was still new, and they hadn’t managed to go on their honeymoon just yet.
They had spent the passing days further settling into a routine. They breakfasted together in the morning, spent as much of their time together as their separate duties and obligations allowed, and then reconvened for dinner. Afterward, they spent the night in each other’s arms.
She was most thankful for the stool he’d had commissioned for her ease to enter and exit his ridiculously high bed.
And she was happy. Happier than she had ever hoped to be.
But Verity was also painfully aware their marriage had begun with some unexpected challenges. There had been her amnesia to overcome, then young Emma and King’s own painful revelation about his daughter.
Beyond that, she and King were still learning all there was to know about each other.
They were adjusting to having Emma in the household.
The child was an impish delight, but she had also faced a great deal of suffering in her young life.
She had lost her parents, was sent to an orphanage, and then had nearly perished in a fire and had been left without a home.
To say nothing of her misadventure when she had run away from Everett’s town house.
Emma was indeed a handful, even if Grace had seamlessly taken to the role of being the girl’s nursemaid.
“You wish to host a ball?” Verity asked hesitantly.
“Why not? I have no doubt that you would put any hostess in London to shame.” He raised his wineglass to her in salute.
“Besides, it is a worthy cause, and if we are able to raise funds for the Children’s Foundling Hospital whilst I get to crow to polite society that I have the most glorious wife in England, all the better. ”
She smiled at his teasing air. “You are incorrigible.”
He grinned back at her, unrepentant. “So I have been told on many occasions. I am inclined to believe it. Alas, I am yours, wretch that I may be.”
“I am glad you are mine,” she told him softly. “You are a wonderful man, King. Kind and generous and caring and everything that a gentleman should be.”
“You mustn’t offer me too much praise, angel. I am already dangerously conceited about my looks and the cut of my coat.”
She chuckled. “You are a notorious arbiter of fashion.”
Verity had a sudden, distinct memory of King nettling Everett over his choice of waistcoat.
But for some reason, the recollection felt…
wrong, somehow. She had been wearing mourning black.
When had that happened? She hadn’t been in mourning in years, not since her father’s death, when Everett had inherited the title.
“Is something amiss?”
Her husband’s soft query broke through the fragmented memory, chasing it and the lingering confusion. Perhaps it had been a dream.
“Of course not,” she said, forcing cheer into her voice.
It was nothing, Verity was sure of it.
“You looked suddenly bereft,” King pressed.
“I had a memory of myself in mourning,” she blurted. “But that makes no sense, does it? I haven’t worn mourning since my father died.”
Even as she said the words, they felt wrong.
There it was again, something trapped deep in her mind, the sensation that there was more to what she was saying and remembering but that she simply could not recall it all.
It was as if she had been given half a picture, with the other portion removed, and she was left to guess at what had been in the original, whole version.
But then, she’d had an inordinate number of black gowns in her wardrobe from when she’d mourned her father. She had not bothered to bring them with her when she had married King. Instead, Verity had donated them.
“Do you recall anything else?” King asked, his voice tense.
He was worried for her, she realized.
“That is all, I’m afraid. Perhaps it was a dream and not a memory.”
“Yes,” he said tightly, “perhaps that was all. You are certain you don’t remember anything else?”
She searched her mind, but, just as she had on so many other occasions, Verity failed to remember anything else. It was frustrating, receiving small pieces that only left her more confused than before.
“I don’t remember,” she said, shaking her head.
“Pity,” he said grimly, taking a sip of his wine. “Then let us change the subject, shall we? It’s settled. We will host a ball to raise funds for the orphanage. You have carte blanche to do as you wish, my love.”
She was grateful for both the distraction and for his offer. “I shan’t tell Maman that, or else she will go mad with the flowers and the menu, to say nothing of the guest list and the musicians.”
King chuckled, and she was glad to see the levity restored to him, some of the stiffness leaching from his face and posture.
“I trust you implicitly, angel. Only say what you need, and it is yours. I have no doubt you’ll manage to raise all the funds your Children’s Foundling Hospital requires.”
Her heart swelled with happiness and hope. “Thank you, my love.”
How she adored him.
King found himself hovering at the threshold to the nursery, watching Verity and Emma within, listening to his wife’s mellifluous voice.
Verity was telling the girl some manner of story that, judging from the details that reached him, she had invented herself.
They were seated on the rug together, Verity running a brush through the girl’s long, golden hair.
Looking upon them, one would have imagined them mother and daughter, and his heart gave a pang at the thought.
Verity would make a wonderful mother, unlike his own. For so many years, he had been haunted by the memory of Daphne and his own miserable childhood. But now, before him was a picture of what his life could be like if he allowed it. Indeed, a picture of what all their lives could be like.
He and Verity could raise Emma as their daughter.
Given time and her acceptance, they could become a mother and father to her.
Perhaps they could even have more children as well.
The notion didn’t fill him with horror or dread.
These were thoughts that had never occurred to him before. Thoughts he’d never once entertained.
He had been happy as a rake, living for pleasure, cleaving to no one, carrying on with his life alone.
Or so he’d believed.
Marrying Verity had shown him just how empty his life had been. Each day had a new meaning now. He had a reason to return home, to be a better man than he’d believed possible for himself. He had been waiting for her without realizing it.
As he watched her with Emma and thought of the fatherly pull he felt toward the child, King knew he had been waiting for both of them.
And for the rest of their family as it grew.
There was only one thing standing in the way of his happiness, and that was the shadowy, nebulous possibility that Verity would remember.
That she would understand what he had done, recall that it wasn’t him she loved but Lord Leopold, and leave him even more miserable than he had been before she entered his world.
He clenched his jaw at the thought and refused to consider it further.
He would love her fully, showing her such care and devotion that, even if she recalled the past, she would forgive him for what he’d done.
Yes, that was the only eventuality he would consider at this moment, he decided, turning his mind to the words Verity was speaking to the child.
“And then the girl leapt upon the back of a dragon who winged her away to safety,” Verity was saying.
“But wasn’t the girl frightened?” Emma asked, eyes wide as she took in the tale.