Chapter Four
Lucas tried very hard to pay attention to whatever it was that Julian was burbling on about.
He failed, since at least ninety-eight percent of his thoughts revolved around the slender woman in the elegant grey gown.
He wasn’t sure why, since his memories of her had been nothing more than pity mixed with disinterest. The poor child—for that’s what she had been at that time—had been trussed up into garments completely unsuitable for her age, thrust into a ballroom filled with partygoers from all walks of life, and apparently instructed to attract his attention, with the aim of luring him into a proposal of marriage.
She couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen, if that.
But that was Arcvale society. At its most unpleasant.
He’d remembered her eyes. An unusual grey, they’d reminded him of soft fog on a moonlit night, and had—to his surprise—haunted him more than he’d expected.
Fanciful thoughts that had made him feel a bit foolish at the time.
So he’d put it aside, only to find it part and parcel of the decisions he was on the edge of making.
And any thought of marriage was so far from the top of his list as to be barely even visible.
“Hey, are you listening?” Julian frowned.
“No, of course not. Have I ever?” Lucas grinned. “But I must say that it’s good to see you. I wish you’d come to Sectorvale more often.”
“My life is seldom my own at the moment,” sighed Julian, flicking a finger at the medals on his uniform. “As you well know.”
“Indeed.” With a tilt of his head, he headed for a quieter corner, set off from the dancing and somewhat noisy merriment that always accompanied a successful evening, taking dreadful advantage of the servant who happened to pass the two of them with a decanter and glasses on a tray.
“Sir...” sputtered the lad.
Coins changed hands, producing smiles and bows, and promises to return if necessary.
“That poor lad is going to hear about this, you know,” grinned Julian, pouring brandy into the glasses and pushing one across the small table they’d claimed.
“He’ll be able to take his sweetheart out for a meal tomorrow night,” chuckled Lucas. “His prestige amongst his peers will soar to new heights.”
Julian sighed, sipped, and then looked Lucas straight in the eyes. “Why are you here, Lucas?”
He thought for a moment. “I need to talk to your father.” That was only the beginning, but it was enough for now.
“Should I be concerned?”
“I don’t think so. I need advice, Julian, so please rid your mind of the notion that I’m here to coerce Alastair into some risky financial scheme.” He sipped his brandy. “Besides, he’d see right through such a thing before I’d finished the first sentence.”
Julian nodded. “He would, at that.”
“I cannot think of anyone else, anywhere, whose advice I trust more, than your father. You’re blessed in that regard, you know.”
“A fine compliment indeed, and he’d squirm like an eel if you said those words aloud in his hearing.”
Both men shared a companionable laugh at that all-too-accurate statement, and then turned their gazes to the dance floor.
“It looks as if the donations this evening will be...healthy?” Lucas nodded at the exquisite baskets beginning to fill with promissory notes.
“I hope so, for Verity’s sake.” Julian’s eyes roamed the room. “That woman is a whirlwind, I have to say. If I had ten men with her determination and energy as my unit? Well, let’s just say I’d have an impressive reputation.”
“Hmm.”
“Wait a minute...” Julian shot him a curious glance. “Didn’t you know her, or something, before you left? I have vague recollections...”
Lucas sighed and took another sip of brandy, wondering what he should say, how he should say it, and if saying anything at all was prudent. “I believe we met. Once.”
“Ahh. That’s it then. If I remember correctly, she asked about you once or twice.”
“Really?” Lucas kept his tone casual. “It was all so long ago. And so much has happened since that time.”
“Indeed.” Julian’s hand brushed over a slim brass device fastened just beneath his cuff.
“Jewellery? Seems rather unlike you...”
His friend snorted. “If this thing so much as twitches, I’m gone.” He glanced up. “This is meant to be a quiet interlude for me, which usually means it won’t be.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”
“This little thing is a prototype.” He shrugged. “There was a lottery for a guinea pig to test it. I lost.” He lifted his forearm, revealing the etched brass circle which, on the surface, appeared little more than an additional uniform button.
“The world changes on a daily basis, doesn’t it? Some things get larger, others...” Lucas glanced at the device, “get smaller.”
“Indeed.” Julian finished his brandy, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I take it all this social chit-chat means you’re not going to reveal your true reason for being here tonight?”
“Not yet,” Lucas answered. “But I will reassure you once more. Your father is one of the very few people I trust completely, Julian. And you know it. My presence here, my return to Arcvale, neither poses any threat whatsoever to Alastair. I simply need his counsel.”
“Business matters, then. Financial stuff. About which I know next to nothing, thank God.” Julian smiled. “And that fact, my friend, has irritated my father for longer than I can remember.”
“You must know, however, that scarcely a conversation goes by without him mentioning—with a great deal of pride—his son, the Air Commodore. And he manages to slip the First Division, Arcvale Flight, in there somewhere too.”
Julian laughed quietly. “That’s my father.”
“And my friend.” Lucas nodded. “I need his brilliance, Julian, and his advice. When my questions are answered, I promise I’ll tell you about it.” He held out his hand.
Julian took it, and they smiled at each other at the bargain they had just made.
But that marked the end of their moments of privacy, since the orchestra blasted the room with a cacophony of trumpets.
“Oh lord. The Reversal Waltz. I’m off.”
Lucas chuckled. “Cowardice? From an Air Commodore?”
“Absolutely.” Julian rose and nodded. “Are you staying?”
“Hah. How much brandy did we drink, anyway?”
“Not enough for this.”
“Agreed. I’m going to find your father.”
“I’m going to find the door.”
*~~*~~*
Across the dance floor, where eager ladies were already dragging their partners into position, Lady Verity Turner-Yardley was experiencing a slight difficulty focussing on matters of importance.
Such as the donations, which were piling up in a most satisfactory fashion, and the little flower girls, who were now enthralled by the music, the dancing, and the rainbow of gowns, not to mention the somewhat ostentatious demonstration of wealth offered by the spectacular display of jewels decorating the female guests.
The youngsters must be getting tired, and her experience had taught her that tired little girls could manage to find all kinds of trouble—if not create their own..
She straightened her skirts and moved to the side of the room where the chaperones were gathered, laughing, nodding, and generally enjoying the festivities.
“It’s a wonderful evening, Verity.” A quietly dressed woman came to stand at her side. “I believe the donations are going to substantially enrich the Yardley House roof fund.”
“Yes, I think you’re right,” she answered, somewhat absently, her gaze roaming the crowd, dancing, chatting, helping themselves to the buffet which had appeared at some point during the evening.
She had no idea when, though, since her attention had wandered a little from where it was supposed to be.
“You need to rest for a few moments.” Mrs Tabitha Monroe touched her shoulder. “Verity. Come and sit down. You’re tired, and I’m not surprised, given everything you’ve put into this evening. If you want it to conclude properly, you should take a few moments off your feet and gather your thoughts.”
“You’re right, as always. What would I do without your counsel, dear friend?” Verity allowed herself to be led to a chair in a quieter spot, where she sank down, leaned back, and breathed for what felt like the first time in the last couple of hours.
“You’re not unwell?”
“Good lord, no,” Verity chuckled. “But you’re right, this has been a very busy few weeks. Perhaps I haven’t rested as much as I should.”
Tabitha nodded. “Well, now you can ease back for a while, and recuperate. The next month or so is clear, isn’t it?”
“As of this moment, yes. And truthfully, Lady Howe is a whiz at organising the upcoming spring flower show, so I don’t have to put much effort into that.”
“Well, here’s a revolutionary idea. Take a holiday.”
Verity blinked. “A what?”
“A holiday. It’s a period of time when you do things you want to do, not the things you have to do. Sometimes you can actually enjoy yourself.”
“Really?” Verity raised her eyebrows. “What a novel concept.”
Tabitha laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, and you’re probably right. But what on earth would I do with myself, Tabby? Wander around Turningstone and...and...dust things?” She leaned back. “I’d be bored to tears within a week.”
“Well, you could always be nicer to him...” Tabitha tilted her head toward a gentleman bearing down on them.
“Oh good grief. Must I?”
“Yes.” Tabitha touched her shoulder. “Practice now.” She turned away and smiled. “Sir Martin. How smart you look this evening.”
“You are too kind, Mrs Monroe,” he replied. “And I see you’ve wisely insisted Lady Verity take a few moments to herself.” He turned to her, took her hand, and bowed over it. “A magnificent evening, my dear. Magnificent. Not only in donations, but in presentation.”
Verity smiled. “You are too kind, Sir Martin. But I will accept your thanks on behalf of our organization.” She rose, and tried to be polite. “I must thank you for attending. I know you’re not a gentleman who cares much for such things...”
“When you are present, dear lady, one needs no further incentive.”
“Ah. A lovely compliment indeed.”
“I would shower you in compliments, dear Lady Verity, should you allow it. Flowers, sunshine, so many wonderful things would be rained upon you, in words if not in deeds.”
I will not roll my eyes. I will not roll my eyes.
“Sir Martin, forgive my interruption, but I believe your sister is trying to attract your attention?” Tabitha spoke politely into the gentleman’s ear.
He turned, frowning. “Drat the woman. Can’t manage for five minutes without me.” He pasted a smile back on his face. “You must excuse me, dear Lady Verity. I assure you I shall return forthwith.” He bowed himself off.
Tabitha turned away, trying to hide her giggles.
“My dearest friend. My very dearest-in-the-whole-world friend. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Verity sighed and relaxed.
“He’s very devoted, isn’t he? But so...fulsome in his language.”
“He’s an idiot, Tabby. We both know it. And all he really wants is the prestige of the Turner-Yardley name, along with its money.”
“Can’t blame him, dear. He’s not alone, either.
” Tabitha pulled a chair closer to her friend.
“You’re a most desirable catch. You’re attractive—actually quite beautiful when you put your mind to it—young enough to bear children, possessed of a well-respected name, and.
..as you mentioned...a nice fat fortune. ”
“I know.” Verity sighed. “Something for everyone. As my mother continually points out to me.”
“Many would envy your situation...”
“They shouldn’t. It’s not very pleasant to be pursued for everything but oneself. Nor is it pleasant to hear, day after day, the same refrain. You should be married, Verity. Which is why I live in the north wing of Turningstone House, and Mama has the South Wing all to herself.”
Tabitha remained silent for a few moments, her eyes following the dancers as they whirled through the final measures of the Reversal Waltz.
“What if the right man comes along, Verity? One who pursues you for yourself. Would you entertain the notion of marrying again?”
“An interesting question indeed.” She paused. “Drat. I have to start collecting the donations, Tabby, before the end of this dance and people start leaving.”
“All right. I’m with you. We’ll finish that chore together.”
The two women rose and headed for the baskets, smiling and chatting as if neither had a care in the world.
But one of them did. One of them was trying very hard not to ask herself if she would entertain the notion of marrying again—should the right man ask while looking at her with those hypnotic dark amber eyes. ..