Chapter 1 - Vera #2
“I don’t know why he loves that spot so much.” Jacqueline shook her head fondly at the hedgehog. “Heaven knows he’s most in the way when he rests behind the door—he’d be much more comfortable in his nest.”
“Perhaps he has a contrarian way of thinking and does it on purpose.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe. Or maybe he knows that’s where visitors come in and he’s waiting for his noontime feeding.”
Vera chuckled, a low rasping sound that she kept under control in the city but had learned to let loose in the countryside.
“Have you come to check on Marcella?” The baroness nodded toward one of the crates of shavings against the wall and it shivered as if in response. “She’s quite well, only napping. Come, join me for some tea and we’ll see if she deigns to grace us with her presence.”
Vera smiled, scanned the leather sofa for other animals, then sat. “I’m glad to hear she’s well, but it’s you I’ve come to see, not the squirrel.”
“I’m a better conversationalist, to be sure.” The baroness poured a cup, doctored it just the way Vera took it, and pressed it into her hands.
Such a simple thing, but tears rose in Vera’s eyes.
She’d taken tea with her mother since she was a girl, and until the day she’d left London, her mother had to ask whether she took sugar or cream.
Vera wasn’t a dolt—she knew it was no accident that she cared so deeply for the baroness, a woman old enough to be her mother, when her relationship with her own was so fraught with disappointment.
“Are you well?” Jacqueline asked with a slight tilt to her head and a little smile.
“Yes, er…no. I mean, yes.”
The baroness sipped her tea and arched a bold eyebrow.
“That is, I’m not quite sure at the moment?”
She laughed. “I appreciate your honesty. It’s a rare trait in young ladies.”
Vera wanted to wrinkle her nose. She wasn’t young—she was quite firmly on the shelf. In fact, if one were to ask anyone in noble society, Vera Ashbury was so far on the shelf, she was toward the back of the bookcase.
“I’ve been thinking,” Vera started, before faltering into a pause then continuing once more, “about going back to London.”
She couldn’t bring herself to call it home. Not after that dreadful letter.
“Oh?”
Vera nodded. “Do you know anything about how to obtain…employment?”
If they’d inhabited one of the silk-wallpapered drawing rooms of nobility that Vera had previously spent hundreds of silent, miserable hours in, she never would have mustered the audacity to utter such a scandalous question.
But here, in the baroness’s animal parlor, where there were no rugs because the formerly wild pets thought the world their privy, she felt it safe to ask.
“Why do you ask?”
It was an honest question, not an unkind one.
“I don’t wish to return to my parents’ house.”
Vera winced at the lie. Half-truths were lies, no matter how often people employed them, but she’d used the majority of her courage in broaching the subject in the first place.
“Ah.”
The baroness sipped her tea and seemed to consider Vera’s question.
It was one of the things Vera loved about her friend—there was no rush with her.
If Jacqueline wanted a moment to consider something, she took it freely.
She was firmly unconcerned with what others thought about her, and it showed—in conversations and in her appearance, all the way down to her well-oiled boots.
She finally met Vera’s eyes. “A young lady like yourself would have several options for work, if you wanted. You might become a governess or a companion for the elderly.”
Vera nearly snorted into her tea. That was what her mother had planned all along—that Vera would never marry, never have a family of her own, and never leave home. Lady Ashbury had deigned that Vera was to be her companion and caretaker as she grew old.
Never mind what Vera wanted.
Jacqueline continued, “Or you might support yourself by writing under a nom de plume. Do you have any special talent with the written word or the arts? Painting, perhaps?”
Vera wrinkled her nose, shook her head.
“That’s probably out, then. I’m curious—when did you decide to take up a profession?”
About an hour ago, when I received notice I’d been disowned. Vera tamped down the hysterical laughter that bubbled in her throat.
“Fairly recently, but it’s something I’ve considered in the past.”
“Have you given up the thought of marriage altogether, then?”
Vera couldn’t help it—she gave a little exhale of derision. As if marriage were an option, a selection upon the menu that Vera simply required the courage to order.
Whatever expression was on Vera’s face, Jacqueline read it. “Despite what the cotton-headed ton think, a lady’s value doesn’t steeply decline once she passes the threshold of twenty-two. There are many men who’d be honored to have a lovely, intelligent, kind wife like yourself.”
“I’ve heard that, many times, but I’ve yet to meet one.” Vera had aimed for breezy lightness in her tone, but had fallen far short and landed in a grumble instead.
“A pity that Canterbury’s guests had to go so soon.”
The Duke of Canterbury had recently hosted a hunting party with the thinly veiled object of inviting his single gentlemen friends to the countryside to meet Vera.
Of course, he would never be so inelegant as to say it directly, but there was nothing a single lady could sniff out more quickly than a well-meaning friend trying to arrange a match.
“I’m not sure who wished for their departure more— Canterbury or the guests themselves,” Vera said.
“Impossible to say.”
“After all, no one wishes to share a roof with newlyweds,” Vera said, thinking of her own predicament.
She blinked and did her best to reroute the conversation, on the sudden fear that she’d perhaps sounded ungrateful.
“Besides, I don’t think that Canterbury’s guests enjoyed their stay in the countryside. ”
Jacqueline arched an eyebrow. “I did hear that the Marquess Beaufort divested himself of his betrothed immediately after he returned to London. Perhaps he’s in the market for a new bride.”
“Doubtful. Daisy’s such a shrew she probably put him off the institution forever. And if not, I’d only remind him of his inadvisable betrothal—he’s better off looking somewhere else for marital bliss.”
“What of Lord Cavendish? He was quite handsome and charming. I’ve heard whispers that he’s scandalously wealthy, even if the source of said wealth is a topic of debate.”
“How do you hear so much, all the way out here? Especially when you refuse to read the scandal sheets?”
Jacqueline smiled. “My Aunt Katherine is a terrible gossip and a much better source than those awful papers. She’s sixty-four and sharp as a tack.
She says that getting old is a double-sided coin—no one speaks much to you, as they assume you have nothing interesting to say.
But everyone speaks in front of you. She says it’s wonderful for gossip that everyone treats her like a geriatric statue. ”
Vera frowned. “Is she quite lonely?”
Perhaps this Aunt Katherine was in the market for a lady companion.
Jacqueline waved a hand. “Not at all. She lives in a house with four of her closest friends. They’re all grand dames of society—invited everywhere for the prestige of their titles. Every evening they convene over gin and cards and tell each other the best bits of news.”
“That sounds lovely, actually.”
“It does. Though I wouldn’t want to reside in London even for the sake of four close friends. Are you quite sure that you wish to return? I thought you were happy in the countryside.”
“I am,” Vera said honestly. “Exceedingly so.”
Just then, a small brown face peeped over the edge of the leather sofa.
“Marcella,” Vera crooned, setting her teacup and saucer down. “Would you like to come up?”
“Mind your biscuits. She’s developed quite the taste for sweets.”
Vera chuckled as the squirrel scampered up over the seat, then perched atop the sofa back on hind legs to survey the room.
The baroness shook her head ruefully. “I suppose I ought to hang some branches along the walls, as Benjamin suggested.”
“For Marcella to climb? Your son’s very clever to suggest it; I’m sure she’d love that.”
“Why are you determined to return to London if you’re happy here?”
Vera busied herself with taking up her teacup once more. “I wouldn’t say I’m determined, but I am considering it.”
“Do you think you’d enjoy having a position?”
“Possibly.” She stared at a painting on the far wall. “But how does one find employment?”
“Typically, people advertise for such things in the papers.”
“They do?”
Jacqueline nodded. “There’s a section, usually toward the back, where people post advertisements of all kinds. Have you never seen them?”
Vera shook her head. “I suppose I haven’t paid any attention.”
She’d never had to before. Now it felt shortsighted—though no contortion of her imagination would have led her to expect this.
A knock sounded at the door, and Jacqueline stood to check that Sheldon hadn’t wandered in the way before she called, “Enter.”
Elda, one of the downstairs maids, entered the room. She surveyed their tea tray and, finding it adequate, picked up a broom and dustpan affixed to a stick in the corner and began scouring the floor for any sign of the pebbles that Jacqueline’s animals regularly deposited upon the stone.
Vera watched her. Could she do the job of a maid if it were required of her? She didn’t know the first thing about housekeeping, other than that it was hard work and plenty of it. But she supposed if she had to, she’d learn.
Vera lifted her chin. She would earn her own way. She may no longer be a daughter in her parents’ eyes, but she still had her pride.
“Then there’s the matter of references,” Jacqueline said, once the maid had completed a circuit of the room and left to check the patio outside.
“References,” Vera repeated, chewing her bottom lip. She had heard of the concept, certainly, but she’d given it as little thought as seafaring techniques or how shoes were cobbled.
Jacqueline nodded. “If I were hiring someone to perform a job, I’d want to see that they had excellent references. Especially if I were entrusting children or the elderly to their care.”
Vera frowned. If one needed a position to have references, but needed references to get a position, how did one obtain that initial reference?
“Are you quite sure all is well?” Jacqueline peered over the rim of her teacup. “I certainly hope you feel you can confide in me.”
“Of course. I’m debating many options, and I want to consider all of them before I make my decision.”
Jacqueline nodded as if deciding something. “I suppose such a discussion of the future leads me naturally to a question I’ve wanted to ask you for quite some time.”
Vera rested her teacup upon the saucer and gave the baroness her full attention.
“It has been a joy to me to have you so near, but I fear I’m selfish, as down the lane is not near enough for my liking.”
Vera’s forehead wrinkled and she tilted her head, trying to ascertain her friend’s meaning.
“It gets lonely here with just Benjamin and the servants. While you’re deciding what to do, would you consider staying here?”
“Here? At Bertforth House?”
Jacqueline nodded. “You were so helpful while we cared for the injured stoat. And you know that Benjamin adores you. Would it be too much of a bother for you to move your things into one of the guest rooms upstairs?”
Vera blinked, her eyes wide. It had never occurred to her that the baroness would extend such an invitation, but now that she had, it was the most marvelous gift.
Would Vera rather live here with her friend in true comfort, or share a house with a pair of newlyweds?
Newlyweds who hadn’t even asked Vera to stay with them to begin with?
“Of course,” she said. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Very good, though Benjamin and I will be sure to give you your privacy as much as possible. We don’t want to frighten you off too soon.”
Vera shook her head. There was little chance of that.
She had nowhere else to go.