“Rough Winds Do Shake The Darling Buds Of May.”
(W. SHAKESPEARE)
Verity knew it was Miles by the overtly strident male knock.
So she sat bolt upright in bed, drew the night robe tight against her neck and bade him and Sephi enter.
It was time to end all this nonsense of kisses and flowers for it only twisted her heart and gave false hope.
She would briefly explain, in the fewest words possible, that this…this whatever it was dictated her life, and as such, it would be best for all concerned if they never saw one another again. Although, of course, they could remain friends, as was de rigueur in these situations.
Her cousin had called her a stubborn goosecap and had stomped from the bedchamber, but Verity’s mind was made up – which was all for the best, of course.
“Enter.”
The door opened and Miles strode in.
Without Sephi.
Or even Aunt.
Her eyes widened, fingers now clutching the coverlet tight as he firmly closed the door behind him in a decidedly Captain Firth manner, a linen bag clutched in his other hand.
“Where’s Sephi?”
He remained by the door, hair tousled and with that stern gaze that made him appear quite ferocious. Verity shivered so drew the coverlet yet tighter to her neck.
“A matter in the kitchens has detained her.”
The kitchens? As far as Verity knew, Sephi didn’t know where the kitchens were.
“Well, we should wait for her.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a man. And I’m a woman. In a bedchamber.”
His lips quirked. “I’m not sure that two women and a man in a bedchamber is any better, Verity.”
Her lips pursed but she wafted a hand to the damask-upholstered chair at the far dressing table. “Take a seat then. This won’t take long.”
Miles ignored the chair and strode over to sit on the side of her bed, squashing the mattress so that she slid in his direction.
With a gulp, she scrambled back to the terra firma of the centre.
“Don’t be frightened of me, Verity.”
She wasn’t frightened of Miles. She was frightened of herself – of his ivy-green eyes causing her to do something foolish like seize hold of him and drag him flat.
“Miles,” she said in her primmest manner, clasping her hands together. “I wish to–”
“Can I begin, if I may?”
Warily, she eyed him but granted a nod as his gaze was so very stern.
“Verity…”
His lips had flattened and she prepared herself. Perhaps he’d realised the kisses must stop also. “Yes, Miles?”
“I have feelings for you.”
She blinked. “F-feelings?”
“When I thought you in danger within that storm, my guts wrenched such as I’ve never known.
When I saw you in the carriage, cowering and silent, my own breath nigh halted.
” He twisted, stared into her eyes. “I will be honest and say I’ve yet to examine these feelings within myself, and I’m not all that good at ascertaining feelings as it is, but I do know they will not allow me to simply walk away from you without discussion or without explanation. Of…everything.”
“E-everything? I don’t think that–”
“I will not pretend that I didn’t think of you in anger over these past seven years, for I believed you had forsaken me.
I enjoyed the army and life, but that summer month together has always stayed with me – the laughter and such fierce passion, our shared interests and the quiet time when we would just…
be. Those memories have never left me, no matter how much I wished they would on occasion.
And within them, you, Verity, have never left me. ”
She felt a moistness upon her cheek. “Y-you mustn’t…”
“So now I wish to hear the truth, Verity. All of it. And unlike when young, I will not walk away.”
A shiver caught her. She knew the gallant man sat aside her did deserve the truth, no matter the pain it would cause her. No matter how his ‘feelings’ towards her might change.
“I do not know where to begin,” she whispered, twisting the coverlet in her hands.
He nodded and then reached over the side of the bed to that linen bag and rummaged around.
“If I may suggest, we could begin with this.” And he pulled forth a small canvas and placed it face down on the bed.
Her pulse raced. The discolouration on the back. The scent of camphor. Surely, he’d not…
Miles brought forth another, placed it in the same manner.
Then another.
And another.
But Verity knew there was one more.
Which he withdrew from the bag and placed face down.
“I… Where did you…”
He turned it over.
Now her pulse ceased. Leaving her shaken yet motionless.
She’d not seen this since painting it all those years ago.
The canvas was smothered in black ragged emptiness, save for a lone circle at its centre that snared one’s gaze, just as she’d intended it to. Within that expanding circle, a scene had unfolded, chilling in its simplicity.
Rain. Blood. Murder.
She closed her eyes and swallowed but felt the clutch of his hand – rough and strong.
“Tell me,” he said softly. “I know your father was lost to highwaymen but… Verity, was there more to it? Did you witness something as a young girl that no one…no one should ever have to witness?”
“I-I…”
Miles swallowed. Steeled himself. “When you are able, Verity…”
And he waited.
“T-that night…” she began, her lashes trembling. “We’d had dinner. Myself, Papa and Lucia, a great-aunt who’d been staying with us for the summer. It was beef and… It’s silly, isn’t it? Sometimes I can hardly recall last week but I can even remember the colour of slipper I wore that eve.”
“Because it would become the last with your father,” he murmured. “’Tis natural.”
Her hand shifted within his. “The footman, who is now our butler Jenkins, came with a message from the village doctor who’d been tending our neighbour. A kind man, Mr Thomkins, who was steadfast friends with Papa.”
“I met him, I seem to recall. But he had an illness?”
She nodded. “A weakness of the heart. The message said he had taken a turn for the worst. He had no family and no one close by and Papa wanted to care for him, so he ordered the carriage be readied. Night had descended, the sky a little grey but the moon was waxing and it was light enough. I pleaded with Papa to let me come along but he kissed my forehead and said he’d see me on the morrow, when we would visit Mr Thomkins together.
That I needed to stay with Great-Aunt Lucia.
” She sighed. “I agreed, rather crabbily, and made him promise to give Mr Thomkins a hug from me, for I was so fond of him. He would buy me books and put brandy in my milk.”
“Like a wicked but favoured uncle.”
“Just so.” Her lashes swept up. “Papa went to his room to change and I to mine for bed, but I remember pausing at my door and looking back. Papa’s shoulders were hunched and he looked so…
so sad and alone. I knew he feared the worst so I told my maid that I’d see myself to bed, to not disturb me as I had a head pain.
I waited some moments and then I-I grabbed a black cloak and crept out, down the stairs and through the back door to the stables.
The grooms were all abed, a single lantern lit, and only the coachman who’d been with us for years was quietly harnessing the horses…
So I took the opportunity to creep around the far side of the carriage, open the door and then huddle low on the floor, covering myself with the cloak. ”
“Your father saw you, I assume.”
Her eyes were moist, lips with an upward tilt as she nodded.
“Of course he did. Papa knew as soon as he sat down, for he held a lantern, but the coachman had already set the horses in motion and so I again pleaded with him that I could help with Mr Thomkins. And make sure Papa had something to eat there. He didn’t have to be alone.
I’d be no trouble. He was rather reluctant but I think…
pleased and I held his hand for the journey. ”
Verity ceased with her tale. Sat in silence for a moment.
“We were on the Downs when rain started. Not heavy but Papa had drawn the curtains nevertheless, when all of a sudden, the carriage shuddered to an awful halt. We were thrown to the floor. I remember shouts and the horses screaming.” Her breath shallowed and Miles ever so gently tightened his grip.
“We heard two men yelling, so gruff, for those inside to get out the carriage and…and Papa…he wrenched open the lid of the seatbox opposite, where in summer we kept blankets and paraphernalia for picnics and…and it all happened so fast but I clambered inside, huddled up while he closed the lid.”
Miles gritted his teeth.
“He bolted it; I heard the metal slide. Then a key turn in the lock, the scrape as it was removed. And t-then, father whispered he…he loved me and I heard the carriage door open.”
She buried her face in her hands and Miles could bear it no longer. So he gathered her into his arms. “You’ve no need to relive this further, Verity. I know the carriage was discovered at dawn so… You must have heard…”