Chapter 22 #2
“Theory? What theory?” Vera looked around the table, trying to meet the other ladies’ eyes. Unfortunately, they’d found other places to look at the moment. Candace inspected her teacup, a little frown upon her lips. Adelaide was gazing at the chandelier, her cheeks pink.
“What theory?” Vera demanded.
Dahlia sighed and shook her head. “Honestly, you two.” She turned to Vera with a gentle smile. “About you and the baron, of course.”
“What of him?”
“These two pea-hens have a wager going on whether you’ll be married by Christmas.”
Vera felt heat crawling up her neck and suffusing her cheeks. “You can’t be serious.”
Candace plunked her teacup into the saucer, her eyes wide. “We’re not betting on it. There are no stakes.”
“But you’re talking about it?” Vera shook her head. “The entire thing…it’s preposterous.”
“Is it, though?” Adelaide inspected her over the rim of her teacup. “You two are very close.”
“We work together.”
Vera felt a yawning pit open within her stomach. She’d never thought that Candace and Adelaide would be so cruel. Of course such a rumor would mean nothing to them were it to get out—they were both happily settled. Richly settled.
But Vera had to make her own way. If people began to whisper about what was going on between her and Stephen—and there wasn’t anything going on, no matter how she wished the opposite—then she might be cast out of this job, cast out of the baron’s house before she could so much as earn a reference.
Then where would she be? Homeless, jobless, with no prospects.
“Vera, dear.” Candace was studying her, a little crease of concern lodged between her eyebrows. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m sure this has been an enjoyable pastime for you all, but there is nothing untoward occurring between me and the baron.”
“Of course not—” Candace said.
“And forgive me for saying so, but you should remember how damaging such a rumor could be.”
“We’d never tell anyone—” Candace began again.
“You told her.” Vera jerked her chin down in Dahlia’s direction.
Vera knew she was now the one being rude, but she couldn’t help herself—she felt tears burning behind her eyes.
So typical of married women to make light of the single state. So typical of them to sip their tea in their comfortable sitting rooms and titter about it, to go so far as to make a wager on it.
She’d thought that Candace would be different, that she wouldn’t so quickly forget the feelings of uncertainty, of trying to navigate society’s tightrope in the fine balance between snobbery and propriety.
Apparently she was like all the others—the moment someone slipped a ring onto their finger, she forgot.
“Oh, Vera. I’m so sorry—” Candace began.
Vera saw open compassion on the faces of Adelaide and Candace; Dahlia looked cautious. She was ashamed to feel wetness in her eyes. Vera stood abruptly, jostling the table so that the china rattled right along with her nerves.
“It’s I who must apologize,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me; I’m not feeling well.”
Vera walked briskly out of the room and straight out the front door, not bothering to request the carriage. She set off down the driveway, the crunch of the gravel beneath her boots sounding almost as quickly as the beating of her heart.
Vera knew she’d made a fool of herself in there; she knew she wouldn’t be invited back, but she couldn’t help it.
Candace had hurt her. Vera had felt mocked, belittled. The fact that Candace had been discussing her private business with Dahlia only added more disinfectant to the cut. Dahlia, who’d haunted her thoughts. Dahlia, whose beauty mocked Vera in her dreams.
Vera had sincerely believed that Dahlia Warrington was interested in Stephen. She’d ruminated over those smiles, those glances, for well over a week. She’d braced herself against the inevitable—that once Stephen realized he could have Dahlia Warrington, he’d never look at Vera again.
Vera had gone so far as to imagine their wedding! She’d practiced her smile in the dark of her bedroom; she’d greeted the newly married couple with joy and grace. She’d thrown rice with a smile upon her lips.
To find out it had all been some sort of test, some sort of cruel joke—it was difficult to bear. Vera felt small, humiliated. She told herself that none of the ladies in that house could possibly understand her situation.
Because you haven’t been honest about it, a small voice within her whispered. Perhaps if you’d told Candace from the beginning—
Vera shook the thought off and walked faster to outpace the reasonable sentiment. If Vera had told Candace that she’d been disowned, her friend would have felt sorry for her. She would have tried to fix things. Candace had already done too much for her, by Vera’s accounting.
It’s your own foolish pride that’s caused this whole mess. Vera stopped in the center of the lane, arrested by the realization.
Vera should have told her the truth of things.
If she had, if Candace knew the full ramifications, the true stakes involved in the matter, she never would have made light of it.
Vera could hardly blame her for misunderstanding the situation when Vera had worked so hard to keep the truth of it from her.
Her shoulders sagged. She was only a bit down the lane from Devon Manor; she could still see the roses covering the front of the house.
Perhaps she should turn back and apologize.
It would be humiliating, but far less so than the scene she’d just caused.
What use was there in holding on to pride when it was false?
As Vera dithered in the lane, a carriage emerged from the driveway and headed her direction. It pulled to a stop before her, and the door was opened.
“Vera.” Candace stuck her head out, even as a footman hurried to let down the stairs. “Will you please speak with me?”
She nodded.
Once inside, the door closed, the carriage rocking slightly as it headed onward toward Bertforth House, Vera bit her lip. She didn’t know how to begin.
“I’m so sorry—” Vera began, right as Candace blurted, “I apologize—”
They shared an uncomfortable kind of smile.
“Truly, Vera,” Candace said. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I certainly didn’t mean to, but I understand that it must have felt as if we were laughing at you. That isn’t the case in the least.”
Vera shook her head, mortified to feel tears pinching at the corners of her eyes once more. “It isn’t your fault. I…I fear I haven’t been honest with you.”
Vera proceeded to tell Candace the entire sordid tale, beginning with her climbing down the elm tree all those months ago in London.
Halfway through, the carriage had jostled to a stop and the door was opened.
“Absolutely not,” Candace said, her wide eyes never leaving Vera’s face. “Take us for a short drive until I tell you to stop.”
“Your Grace.” The footman bowed and relayed her instructions; moments later they were off, and weren’t disturbed again.
“No wonder you were upset with me,” Candace said when Vera finished speaking. She leaned back against the padded seat. “I assure you, Vera—I had no idea and I meant no harm. I didn’t know you’d taken the position from necessity; I thought you’d done it as a lark.”
“I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”
“But why did you not come to me?” Candace asked, perplexed.
Vera lifted her chin. “I don’t want charity. You’ve already been too generous.”
“Not for charity. For a reference. You were my companion for months. It matters not that the position was unpaid, that you did it out of friendship. You still travelled with me, lived with me, kept my spirits up. Surely you know that not every reference must be a professional one.”
Vera blinked. She hadn’t known that, actually. She’d certainly wondered how people started, since no one was born with references.
“If you don’t wish to work for Baron Winthrop any longer, I’m happy to provide you with a glowing reference. I’m certain James would do the same. With a reference from the Duke of Canterbury, you could be happily settled in a position anywhere.”
Vera swallowed back her shock. She hadn’t thought of asking Candace for a reference, but that now seemed very foolish, indeed.
Candace frowned. “Though I must admit I’d much rather you just make our home your own.
And if it’s too much of a bother to live with us—though that’s what I’d prefer—you must know that James has several houses.
You could make a tour of them, if you wanted, check that they’re all being run well in our absence. ”
It was thrilling and depressing, all at once. Vera suddenly had options, where only moments ago, she’d felt she had none. At the outset of her bargain with Stephen, she’d told herself she had no choice.
Somehow along the way, that sentiment had faded, replaced by a feeling of purpose. Vera liked helping him with patients. She found fulfillment in making people feel better. There was a sense of accomplishment and joy in it, even when she had to rinse her boots off at the hand pump.
“What a boorish knave.” Candace frowned at the passing foliage out the open window. “I have half a mind to set Seamus on him for how he treated you.”
“It was all a terrible misunderstanding at the outset. Though Stephen acted beastly, he’s apologized several times and his actions prove his sincerity. I assure you, things are much different now.”
“They must be.” Candace arched her eyebrow. “’Stephen,’ indeed.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“I truly think you believe that, which is going to make this all the more enjoyable to watch.”
“Candace, really. If there were something of the sort between us, do you think I would have felt so jealous toward Miss Warrington?”
“Of course you would. It’s the manner of things, before one is fully settled. Why, before James and I had an understanding, there were several times where I thought of drowning you in the well.”
“What?”
Vera didn’t know what shocked her more—the violence of the imagery, or that Candace could ever have been insecure where the duke was concerned. The man had followed her out to the countryside not two days after she left London—how could Candace not have seen how he felt?
“I suppose I should apologize for it now, but at the time, I thought it was you he was after. Very inconvenient, those feelings, as I adore you. I assure you, Vera,” she added solemnly, “I would have found a way to be happy for the two of you, even if it took my entire life.”
“This is a ridiculous conversation. You and James were made for one another.”
“It’s always more difficult to see such things from the inside, I think.”
“It hardly matters now. You’re happily settled.”
Vera found it very easy to smile at her friend now. The momentary anger, those feelings of betrayal—those were gone, washed away by honesty and understanding.
Candace met her eyes, her expression solemn. “Vera, no matter what happens with your current situation, I hope you know that you are always more than welcome with me and James.”
Vera nodded her thanks. She was grateful. She just still couldn’t help but wish that she didn’t have to be.