6. Plants, Like Men, Need Regular Feeding
PLANTS, LIKE MEN, NEED REGULAR FEEDING
“Perhaps I ought to stay home tonight. You might have need of me now?” Verity perched aside her aunt on the drawing room sofa and endeavoured not to crease her new dusk-rose dinner dress. Another wondrous Sephi creation.
Yet a case of the collywobbles had beset her concerning Mrs Tait’s occasion.
“No, no, I’m quite well.” Aunt Theo’s loose black hair with its laces of silver swung in emphasis. “A few scratches will heal, my darling. It will just be a little sore for a while. So I must sit quietly here instead. And read.”
Verity gently patted the bandage on Aunt’s wrist. “You must be more careful. Some of these cats are quite feral. And don’t take so kindly to…bathing.”
“I had no choice. Poor Valmont was so besmirched from the alley I found him in.” Her nose scrunched. “Which won’t do at all for the ladies who trail him seeking a liaison. He is such a handsome cad…er, cat.”
“Hmm.”
A spike-furred Valmont eyed them from the gap between bookshelf and ceiling, his tail whipping to and fro.
With an aristocratic ruff of white and his sleek curves accentuated by brown stripes, one felt sure he could swat at both hand and heart.
A handsome cad, to be sure, but with a dangerous air, eyes gleaming with predatory intent.
Verity swerved from his hypnotic gaze. “So, surely you would like my company tonight then?”
“Not really, darling.” Aunt grinned. “I’ve a new novel.”
“But it wouldn’t be any bother,” reasoned Verity, playing with the scalloped decoration on the bodice of her dress.
With a purse of lip, Aunt placed her book to the side, twisted and, despite her bandaged wrist, gripped Verity’s shoulders with all the strength of a cat with a fish head.
“Your parents, God bless their dear departed souls, would never have wanted you to solely spend your nights keeping me company. They would have wanted you to have fun. With people your own age. That is why I accepted Mrs Tait’s invitation on your behalf.
” She closed her lids. “Your father’s death…
affected you deeply, how could it not?” Her grey eyes flickered open.
“But for too long now you’ve not lived your young life to the fullest.”
Verity bit her lip. There was a kernel of truth to that, yet her reticence also stemmed from the evident glint in Mrs Tait’s eye and her designs upon Miles as suitor for her daughter, Juliet.
Which could only mean one thing…
He would be in attendance also.
With that stern glance and those muscular shoulders.
“I’m not sure–”
“Verity Seymour! You hurtle around Town in your phaeton like a member of the Four-in-hand Club, manage a household with all its eccentricities, including Persephone and I.” She winked.
“And have established yourself as a sought-after artist! What you have overcome takes enormous pluck, so do not tell me you’ve not the courage to attend a dinner next door.
And in a conservatory, of all places! Perfect!
It will be like…like sitting in one’s garden but without the ants. ”
Verity chewed her lip. “I suppose… I suppose you’re right.
” The words had slipped out and she almost wished to call them back.
Yet here she was: primped and polished by her maid, sewn into her gown, gloves buttoned and hair coiled and braided.
It would be ridiculous to change her mind now.
Not to speak of dearest Sephi whom she could never abandon.
And maybe…maybe of late, she had become too set in her ways, too comfortable with quiet evenings and familiar company.
With twenty-four years to her name, perhaps she should broaden her experiences.
Just a little. So she drew a steadying breath, kissed her aunt’s cheek and managed a smile.
“After all, it is only a quiet dinner with friends.”
And even if he did happen to attend, as earl he’d be seated at the aristocratic end of the table. Far from herself.
“That’s my Verity. Now off you go! Shoulders back. And I shall read my book. The opening line is excellent.”
So after a buss to Aunt’s cheek, Verity rose and wandered out, shutting the door softly behind her.
Descending the stairs to the hall, she vowed to heed Aunt’s words and enjoy the evening: to admire the plants in Mrs Tait’s conservatory, savour the doubtless fine fare and, if her eyes should happen to meet his at the end of the table, she would offer a bland smile and–
“One sly remark about my ruination, just one!” Sephi rushed down the stairs behind her in a haze of cornelian blue. “And I will not be held accountable for what I might do with one of Mrs Tait’s doubtless expensive forks.”
And besides, Verity wasn’t the only one with nerves tonight.
In the vestibule, they sought each other’s hands. “You look divine, Cousin.”
“Thank you.” A blush tinged Sephi’s cheeks. “As do you. I knew that colour would suit.”
While Jenkins the butler slid back the bolts of the door, Verity and her cousin twisted to the hall mirror.
Two ladies with eyes bright stared back, coiffures perfect, lips bitten red.
“I’m… I’m so nervous,” whispered Sephi all of a sudden. “My heart is fluttering like a trapped bird.”
Verity felt the sting of tears behind her eyes.
“I’m nervous too, Sephi. What if I… I…” She shook her head.
Recalled Aunt’s words. “But we have each other, and Mrs Tait has promised to sit us close.” Their clasp tightened.
“And maybe the other guests are nervous too. After all, the Scandalous Scarlet Spinsters are attending. Well, two of them at least.”
Sephi nodded and pulled back her shoulders. “So beware Gentlemen of a Delicate Disposition! Heed me Daughters of Innocent Mien…”
“For we in scarlet,” Verity continued, “remain unbowed.”
A splutter of laughter and they turned to the door their butler held open. Seven years ago, he’d been her father’s footman, then promoted to his current position when they’d moved to London.
“Thank you, Jenkins.”
“A pleasure, Miss. I’ll be here when you return.” His lips curved. “And I believe all will go perfectly well. Just you see.”
Verity grinned. Jenkins was young for a butler but he’d been with them throughout. “What would we do without you?”
His lips twitched. “I shudder to imagine, Miss, but I daresay chaos would ensue.” He gave a shallow bow. “I’ll watch from the front step until you are safely inside.”
So with wide smiles and lighter hearts, Verity and her cousin stepped forth unbowed…to next door.
As Miles skewered the divine mutton cutlets, he wagered that no man had ever encountered such a grievous situation.
Mrs Tait, who hosted from the head of the table, was not one to seat her guests in accordance with Ton hierarchy but rather at her whim.
Lord Ludford, whom Miles had hoped to be seated by in order to enquire after a root cutting from his agapanthus, was at the lower end of the table, and although the marquess had at first huffed with aristocratic displeasure, he was now absorbed in conversation with some scientist opposite, over their mutual pastime of entomology.
To one side of their hostess was Cousin Alasdair of all people and beside him was the young daughter of Lord Kane, a timid girl with a lisp.
Miles had at first feared for the girl but he now saw the sense as she was most au fait with Paris, her mother having been born in that city, and where Dair had spent a goodly amount of time after Napoleon’s first abdication.
Hence they talked of the glittering sights, the marvellous food and the insolent waiters.
Across the table from Miles sat an interesting young man who happened to be a cutlery merchant, Miss Persephone Nash aside him, while to her other side was a wealthy and silver-whiskered banker.
Both gentlemen vied for Miss Nash’s attention like hounds with a bone, which appeared to bemuse the lady somewhat.
And so the thoughtful pairings continued…
Except when it came to himself.
Something must have gone wrong.
To his left was the hostess’ daughter, Miss Juliet Tait, a girl just as attractive and intelligent as her mother.
Quintessential countess material, in fact.
Accomplished in all ladylike pursuits, she relished Town life, esteemed Mozart and had a keen knowledge of Egyptian decor. Unfortunately, Miles preferred the countryside, couldn’t sit through the Jupiter Symphony without fidgeting and didn’t know his Horus from his hounds.
And then to his right sat…Miss Verity Seymour.
Other than their initial mutual acknowledgement, when she’d appeared to gulp heavily, they had not looked at or spoken a word to one another.
Instead, they’d studied their white soup as though it were a never-before-glimpsed orchid before turning their attentions to the guests on their adjacent sides.
Yet for some galling reason, he could not help but be aware of her.
Each rustle of skirts. Every shift of slipper. The removal of silk gloves before eating. The rise of her dusk-rose-coloured bodice which plumped her bosom to perfection.
All in all, twenty people dined at the sumptuous table situated, a little oddly, in Mrs Tait’s conservatory-cum-orangery.
It abutted the house, taking up a good quarter of the garden and was a sight to behold: the candles reflected off the panes of glass in the tall windows, bouncing light around like stars, and if one cared to look overhead, the real celestial entities could be seen between the struts of wood and glass that made up the – surely very expensive – roof.
The scent also seduced, of tiny green oranges and lemons peeking from their lush foliage and fierce thorns, while the flowers of the Passiflora alata burgeoned with growth.
So he should cease being churlish over one of his dinner companions.
This morning, he’d met with the hobbling clerk at the Regiment Office but frustratingly, the ledger containing the address for Mr Cecil Webb was being held by the commanding officer. The clerk had promised to send a message forthwith.
Then there was the other man he wished to locate. One Jacob Dempster.