Chapter 8 - Vera #2
This was the problem with married people, Vera thought.
As soon as they wed, they completely forgot the feeling of being unattached.
It was as if a giant eraser moved over the blackboard of their mind, swabbing out all the fear, the uncertainty, all the little inconveniences and loneliness with which they’d once been so well acquainted.
They told their single friends not to worry, not to take it so seriously. It was as if they believed that since it had worked out for them, it would certainly work out for everyone, eventually.
That wasn’t true. That wasn’t the reality of things.
But pointing that out to a happily attached person was pointless.
They forgot that things didn’t always work out so neatly for others as it had for them.
They also forgot that a good match took far more than two eligible people living in the same general vicinity as each other.
“Very well,” Candace conceded. “I just want to point out that the baron has dark hair and lives in the country.”
“He also stomps around frowning at everyone who crosses his path.” Vera nodded toward the hedgerow, where the boys’ giggling could be heard. “Even Benjamin—his own brother—wants nothing to do with him.”
Her eyebrows raised. “That sounds grim, indeed.”
“That is precisely the word for it—grim. Speaking to him is grim. Being in the same room with him is grim. Looking at him is grim.”
“He isn’t at all handsome?”
Vera held herself back from rolling her eyes and settled on sighing instead—as if him being handsome had anything to do with it.
“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? The man is a grump, a curmudgeon. I doubt he’s ever smiled, or laughed, or so much as had a pleasant thought.”
“I thought he was engaged.”
Vera blinked.
Candace hurried to add, “I only mean that he must have been happy, at one point. Perhaps it’s his failed engagement that’s set him so low.”
“I doubt the lady was any more cheerful than the gentleman. Most likely, she found someone even grumpier and decided to marry him.”
The path narrowed, and Vera scooted closer to the large stone fountain to allow Seamus to squeeze through.
It was terrible timing—just as she leaned, the huge dog bumped roughly into her hip.
Vera was sent sprawling into the basin of the fountain.
She was submerged for an instant in green-hued water.
Vera surfaced with a splutter, coming face to face with the massive face of Seamus. The mastiff tilted his head in gentle inquiry, as if to politely ask why Vera had chosen that moment to go for a swim.
“Are you all right?” Candace hurried over, her eyes wide. She attempted to shove the huge dog over; he didn’t seem to notice and began wagging.
“I’m…I’m fine.” Vera sat up, sending another wave rolling across the surface of the fountain. “He bumped me.”
“But you’re not hurt? Are you certain?” Candace offered her hand and Vera took it gratefully.
Between the two of them, they managed to get Vera upright once more. Her dress was sopping; her bonnet was a sodden mess. Her hair clung to her face and neck like errant strands of seaweed.
“Truly. I’m unhurt. A bit surprised, is all.”
“I’m so sorry.” Candace helped her step over the wide rim and back onto the gravel path. “He’s not a bad dog, I promise. He just has no concept of his own size.”
“I know. No harm done.”
Vera looked over at the dog. He’d somehow figured out that something was amiss, that perhaps he’d done something wrong, even if he wasn’t quite sure what.
He lay on his back, offering a meek wag and his stomach as a sign of goodwill.
She couldn’t help but grin and rub his belly, covering her wet fingers with errant fur.
“You’re far more forgiving than I’d be.” Candace shook her head. “That was a lovely muslin.”
“It will be again.” Vera rubbed the great abundance of luxurious fur at Seamus’s neck. “The baroness is forever arriving home with grass stains and mud caked to her trousers. I daresay there’s no house in all of England better prepared to deal with a bit of pond water.”
“I am sorry. What a terribly abrupt end to a visit. I’ll call for tea and towels—I should have done already.” Without another word, Candace hurried off around a corner in the garden.
Fifteen minutes later, Vera found herself comfortably bundled into the back of a carriage, headed toward Bertforth House once more.
Benjamin had remained behind with Arthur and Candace, and Vera had promised to return for their picnic just as soon as she changed her clothes.
If she hurried, they wouldn’t even have to postpone the boys’ luncheon.
Once she arrived at the house, she let herself in the front door and raced up the stairs, wincing at the water droplets in her wake. She’d have to alert the servants to the mess before she left—she didn’t want anyone slipping and falling on the way down.
Vera yanked open her bedroom door, nearly catapulted herself inside…and froze.
Stephen sat at her desk, all of her carefully folded letters undone and spread out before him on the surface. He held two—one in each hand. It appeared he’d been reading them side by side. His wide eyes met hers—she didn’t know which of them was more surprised in the moment.
“Get out,” she snarled in a voice she barely recognized, slamming the door behind her. She didn’t want anyone else to hear this outburst.
“Wait.” He stood smoothly, his eyes still wide—whether at being caught, or because of her bedraggled, wet appearance, she didn’t know. “Let me explain.”
She tossed her ruined bonnet onto the wooden floor with a wet slap and laughed mirthlessly. “Do you think me so idiotic that I require an explanation?”
“I just—”
“What?” She spread her hands on either side of her, bared her teeth.
It didn’t help her temper that the two letters he held were the most excruciating of the lot of them.
One was the letter her mother had written, weeks ago, informing Vera she was no longer welcome at home. The other, Mr. Audel’s highly improper job offer.
Maybe she’d gotten lucky, after all. Maybe Stephen still held those because he hadn’t yet read them…
But her hopes were dashed when he held Mr. Audel’s letter aloft. “You cannot possibly think of accepting this man.”
“Get. Out.”
She whirled, looking for something, anything to launch at his head. All she found were pillows and similarly soft items. Drat her comfortable bedroom!
“I’m sorry.” He pinched the letters between his pointer and thumb and held the other fingers up as if he were trying to calm a growling dog. “Forgive me, but I could tell you were hiding something; I needed to know what it was—”
“There is no excuse for you reading my personal letters! There is no forgivable reason for you entering my bedroom!”
“Of course not. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She jabbed a finger toward the door, horrified to feel her rage pricking at the corners of her eyes. She always cried if she got angry enough—a terrible habit. Soon, she wouldn’t even be able to snap at him; it would come out as a wet, pathetic warbling.
“Just, please. Let me explain.”
Why was he still here? Why did he still hold her letters?
“Get out!” she yelled. “Get out! Get out!”
She strode for the fireplace and grasped the poker. If he didn’t leave, she’d finish what she’d started the day he returned home. Vera half wished she’d killed him then and there. A tragic end, but everyone would have understood her confusion. This—this would be murder.
She found, in that moment, she didn’t rightly care.
“You have been awful to me since the moment you stepped foot in this house,” she seethed, rounding on him.
He nimbly stepped behind the velvet chaise, putting the sofa between them.
He held up his hands again. “Just wait. Listen.”
“I swear to you, if you don’t leave, I’ll do my best to brain you with this poker.”
Something in her expression must have convinced him. He darted out, her letters still clutched in his hands. The slam of the door behind him broke the dam she’d held on her tears. She tossed the poker down onto the carpet with a thunk, threw her own damp person across her bed, and wept.