Chapter 12
Vera soaked in her bathtub, enjoying the way the hot water softened the tense muscles in her back. Steam drifted upwards; the fire next to her crackled and glowed. She sank deeper into the lavender-scented water and sighed.
She’d spent nearly all day working in the greenhouse with Benjamin.
Her eyes had often searched the far door of the glass structure, but to her surprise, Stephen never arrived to help them.
It was just as well—thanks to Candace’s recent obsession with gardening, Vera knew enough about planting to know how far apart to plant the herbs.
It was a pleasant task without Stephen looming over her and frowning if she did something wrong.
Vera lingered in the warm bath as long as she dared, then hurriedly dressed, pinned her damp hair, and went down to dinner.
The evening meal at Bertforth House was usually as casual as breakfast, so Vera was surprised to see the flicker of candlelight over a beautifully set table when she crossed the threshold into the dining room.
“Surprise!” a chorus of voices called.
Vera jerked to a stop and blinked. Candace and her new husband, James—better known to society as the Duke of Canterbury—grinned at her from the sideboard.
Jacqueline and Hamish stood at the head of the table; Percy, the Marquess of Salisbury, and his wife, Adelaide, stood nearby.
Canterbury’s son, Arthur, and Benjamin whooped their joy, too.
And Stephen stood at the back of the grouping, studying her carefully.
Vera stammered, “This…this is for me?”
“I certainly hope so,” Percy said. “Otherwise we’ve wasted a perfectly good bellow.”
Adelaide jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. Her soft-waisted gown barely hid the condition that had brought them back early from their honeymoon.
“Happy birthday, Vera.” Candace rushed forward to kiss her cheeks. “I can’t believe you never told me the date.”
“Ridiculous girl.” Jacqueline nodded her agreement. “Trying to keep such a thing from us.”
Vera didn’t have time to contest the statement—she was passed around and hugged and greeted. Even Stephen stepped forward to tell her happy birthday and give her an enigmatic look.
They were seated. Candace ended up on Vera’s right, and by some odd twist, Stephen sat on her left.
“How did you know my birthday was today?” Vera murmured to Candace.
There was a foolish fluttering of hope within her heart that perhaps her mother had written to inquire after Vera, that perhaps her family was softening toward her.
Candace nodded toward Stephen, who was distracted by the footman serving the first course. “The baron invited us. I’m not sure how he found out.”
“My brother told me,” Stephen said a moment later. Apparently, he hadn’t been as distracted as he appeared.
“Oh.” Vera smoothed the linen napkin that lay over her lap. “Well, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He dipped a nod and smiled.
Vera turned her head and blinked at her plate, discomfited. What was he on about, inviting people to celebrate her birthday? It was difficult to reconcile the action with Stephen—this was a decidedly kind gesture.
Unless it wasn’t. Unless he means to embarrass me in some way.
Vera frowned at the thought, but it was impossible.
None of her friends would agree to such a scheme.
Even if Stephen stood, rang a spoon against his glass, and told the entire sordid truth—that her family had disowned her—Candace would still be her friend.
So would Jacqueline. Percy would most likely toast her on principle—the marquess enjoyed anything that was a bit out of the norm, societally speaking.
“How did you find India?” the Duke of Canterbury was asking Stephen. “My friend Lord Cavendish spent a great deal of time there. I wonder if you ever met him?”
“Not that I recall, though that’s not so surprising. The Company has several physicians on staff in Calcutta. I mostly helped the natives of the country.”
“Ah. How was your return home?”
Stephen answered the question, but Vera didn’t catch it—Candace touched her arm to gain her attention and asked, “Have you heard that Dahlia is to come and stay with Adelaide for awhile?”
“Is she?” Vera smiled across the table at the new marchioness, who was listening. “You must be delighted to have your sister in the house.”
Adelaide shifted in her chair. “I feel a bit guilty, pulling her from the society of town like this, but I’m thrilled to have the company. She’s going to stay for at least a month.”
“I’m sure she’s happy to come. When does she arrive?”
“Within the week, if the weather holds. Percy’s sent the carriage.”
“What of Hannah and Rachel?” Candace asked.
“They’ve been invited to accompany the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire to their country estate. We truly thought they’d come and stay with us, but with the baby on the way…”
She trailed off awkwardly, and Vera understood.
It was a rule of society that expectant mothers were shuttered away, closed off from all but their closest friends and family until their child arrived.
It was a topic few felt comfortable speaking of, and even Adelaide’s presence at dinner tonight would have raised more than a few society maven’s eyebrows.
But Vera was very happy she’d come. “I’m sure they’re excited to meet your child.”
Adelaide nodded, the light returning to her eyes. “They are. Though I think at the moment, they’re far more excited to see the duke’s estate, Chatsworth. The duchess has promised they’ll get to help her bake for the village, and Hannah is ecstatic to learn. Rachel’s just excited about the library.”
“I’m glad to hear she still enjoys reading as much as ever.”
“I think our journey to London only intensified her love. Fed the flames, so to speak.”
Suddenly, Stephen’s knee bumped viciously into the bottom of the table, rattling the china.
He pointed. “Benjamin, remove him from the table at once.”
The boy’s chin jutted. “It’s Vera’s birthday; she’d want him at her party.”
Vera blinked. Trundling down the center of the table, amidst the low bowls of draping flowers, was Sheldon. The hedgehog paused to sniff a leaf of ivy, then turned up his little nose as if finding the selection lacking.
Vera rolled her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing. Her thoughts were on the scream she’d heard only that morning—and the deep satisfaction she’d had when she realized it was Stephen squealing. It was the best birthday present she’d received in years.
“Our guests—the ladies—certainly don’t want him on the table.” Stephen’s narrowed eyes were still focused on his little brother.
“Oh, Sheldon, you darling!” Candace gushed. “Have you come to celebrate Vera, too?”
Vera couldn’t help it—she laughed. She doubted Candace had meant to contradict Stephen so directly—it was far more likely she hadn’t heard him. When she glanced to her left, she was surprised to find Stephen staring at her, the expression on his face unreadable.
Though he didn’t look precisely angry, she frowned at him. She’d done nothing wrong; he could turn that mysterious gaze upon someone else.
Jacqueline stood from the head of the table and rescued Sheldon. The hedgehog had been heading in Adelaide’s direction, and Percy had a murderous glint in his eye. Percy had always been the protective sort, but it seemed having a little one on the way had stoked his instincts.
“Come along, Sheldon,” Jacqueline crooned. “Let’s get you back to your nest.”
Hamish stood. “Allow me to accompany you.”
Vera saw Percy’s eyebrows rise, saw his mouth open—to say something smart, no doubt—but Adelaide applied her elbow to his midsection sharply. He pursed his lips in her direction, his expression a strange mixture of peevishness and devotion.
“Lord Winthrop,” the Duke of Canterbury said. “How many creatures does your mother have now?”
“I’m not altogether certain, to be honest.” He gave a rueful smile. “Her collection has grown tremendously in my absence, and I’m somewhat frightened to ask.”
Chuckles around the table.
“The fox is his favorite,” Vera found herself saying. “He absolutely squeals for it.”
Vera felt, more than saw, Stephen turn his head toward her. She deprived him of her eyes and stared straight ahead.
“Is that so?” Adelaide said. “Is it quite tame?”
“So tame that it shares a bed with him,” Vera said quickly.
“And how would you know that?” Candace murmured, only loud enough for Vera to hear.
Vera turned to her friend, shocked, but Candace’s eyes twinkled in merriment. She waggled her eyebrows and Vera felt a reflexive blush heat her cheeks, though there was absolutely nothing of the sort going on between her and the baron.
“He more often sleeps with me,” Benjamin said, recovered in an instant from having Sheldon taken from the room.
“Does he?” Percy asked. “Does he hog the bedcovers like some people?”
Adelaide jabbed him once more, and everyone else pretended not to see it.
The man must have a constant bruise, Vera thought.
“No, he’s polite. Keeps to his own pillow.”
“That’s good, then,” Percy said, his eyes sliding toward his wife. Adelaide’s cheeks were ever-so-slightly flushed. “Some bedfellows snore and roll themselves into the covers so a gent can’t find the end of the blankets. Or so I’ve heard.”
Percy and Adelaide retired just after dinner.
The last course had been punctuated with her carefully hidden yawns and apologies.
Everyone else politely ignored her or assured her it didn’t matter—everyone except her husband.
After the third time, he began yawning loudly after her silent ones, and no amount of poking him about the midsection would stop him.
“Percy, really.” Candace shook her head. “The only reason she’s so tired is because she has a great lummox of a husband. The least you could do is be sympathetic.”
“On the contrary, dear sister. I’m only showing my utmost support and solidarity.”
Despite his shocking provocations, Vera had no doubt that the marquess was madly in love with his wife. She’d overheard Percy and Stephen deep in a murmured conversation in the hallway; the marquess had been questioning Stephen about his experience attending to expectant mothers during childbirth.
“If I need to, I can try to call Dr. Halveston away from London, but who knows if he’ll consent? I’d much rather have someone nearby.”
After dinner came drinks and cards. Vera somehow won every hand; she strongly suspected the other guests had conspired to make it so.
James and Candace were the last to depart, with Candace hugging Vera soundly. “Happy birthday, dearest. I hope this year is your favorite yet.”
Vera didn’t have the heart to tell her friend her life was in a bit of a shambles. She simply hitched her very best smile onto her face and thanked them both for coming.
The door closed behind them, leaving Vera in that strange ennui that follows a night with loved ones; the house had gone from boisterous conversation and laughter to dim shadow and silence. Vera battled the strange, nagging sensation that perhaps she’d had too much wine and said something foolish.
She sighed and turned for the stairway.
“Did you have a nice evening?” Stephen asked from the darkness at the bottom of the stairs.
Vera whirled, a hand clutched to her pounding heart. She hadn’t seen him there; she’d assumed he’d gone to bed when everyone else had left.
He waited for her to answer, his hands tucked into his pockets. His face was in shadow; she couldn’t see his expression.
“It was very nice.”
Despite the fact that Candace claimed it was he who’d invited them, Vera didn’t believe the party had been his idea. Most likely the baroness had forced him into it.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“How did you know it was my birthday?” As soon as she asked the question she frowned. “Nevermind—I suppose you learned much about me when you read my journals.”
He winced. “I wish…I wish we could begin anew. I wish I’d never done that. I hope that in time, you’ll see that isn’t who I am. Not really.”
“It may be that you wish that were the case, but our actions are far better proof of who we are than our words.”
Stephen’s shoulders rounded. He frowned and nodded. “You’re probably right.”
She sighed. “I don’t wish to fight with you. I’ll be your assistant, until such a time as I can find other gainful employment. Then I’ll be away from here, out of your home forever. But as you’ve so stabbingly said, at the moment, I have little else but charity to live on.”
Vera inhaled sharply through her nose—a poor attempt to stifle the tears that suddenly threatened to crest over her lower lashes. She had nothing except for her pride, and even that was bruised as of late.
“I am sorry,” he said, his words as dejected as his posture. “I should never have said such things. If I…if I could take back the pain I’ve caused you, I would.”
Vera peered up at him, trying to decide if his words were a trick. After a few moments, she was surprised to find she believed him.
“Very well,” she said. “I accept your apology.”
“You do?”
His relief was so palpable it nearly staggered her.
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s…that’s good.” He stood there for a moment as if he wished to say more, then gave a low smile. “Happy birthday, Vera.”