A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(20)
Lieutenant Crisp cleared his throat. “If Miss Bowman wishes to leave early, I should be very happy to be honoured with the privilege of escorting Miss Congreve home.”
Charles regarded him sardonically. “Yes, I daresay you would.”
“Silly,” said Julia. “If my friend is unwell, I would naturally go back with her myself, but I thank you very kindly for your offer.”
“And as I am quite recovered, the question does not arise,” said Verity. She then felt ashamed of herself for being snappish as she remembered Charles had a full day in his chambers ahead of him tomorrow. She laid a hand on his arm. “I am grateful for your concern, but I assure you I am well able to sustain myself for the length of a rubber of piquet.”
Charles gave her the merest lift of an eyebrow before turning to Lord Fitzgilbert. “Then I accept your sister’s offer with pleasure, if it suits you.”
Lilith’s brother shrugged. “It is a sight more pleasant playing cards than it is listening to wandering pipes and impassioned poetry. A penny a hundred suit you? I should not like to fleece you on my own property.”
Good, now Verity could observe Lieutenant Neville and his interactions with Julia properly. She settled down to so, but was thwarted when he rose to his feet and sauntered towards the card room likewise. Two of the others followed. Lieutenant Crisp flushed unhappily and made to rise. Julia put a playful hand on his arm. “No no. I cannot have my whole escort abandoning me for the baize. Tell us more about your foreign manoeuvres. Is it safe, yet, to go to France? I have heard one can now take tours of the battlefields, which I cannot help considering a little lacking in respect. What do the army think of them?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Verity gave up the unequal struggle for sleep at dawn. She felt out of sorts after the soiree and needed the company of ordinary people around her to balance her. The view from her window, showing a maid scurrying by with a basket and an early morning street sweeper, were soothing. A cart delivering coal plodded past, reminding her of Charles’s task yesterday. Never had she found herself more in charity with his work. How, she wondered, did Lilith stay so detached in the face of the privileged foolishness of her stepmother’s circle? How did Julia find sufficient to occupy her in the intrigues and scandals of society? At least Verity’s mind was now at rest about Julia herself. She had not had a chance to catch her before they retired last night, but if Lieutenant Neville knew so little of her friend as to be passing her notes, she was not in danger. They would talk properly this morning, just as soon as Verity had been out long enough to shake the fidgets from her reasoning. When her maid came in with the washing water, she declared that they would go shopping before breakfast for the handkerchiefs she’d previously forgotten. Bridget laid out a walking dress, hoping aloud that they would not be so very long as she was worried she was coming down with something. She did seem pale and heavy eyed, but Verity reassured her that she would make her purchases in no time.
Outside, the air was still, with an acrid tang of smoke to it. “Newton’s, Coventry Street,” she said briskly to the driver of the first hackney cab they encountered. She formed no great opinion of the horse, who would have been laughed off the streets of Newmarket, but tipped the man an extra tuppence when she alighted, recommending him to spend it on a good bucket of hot mash for the beast, such as her father’s head groom had often advised. “For she’ll be of no use to you dead, will she?” she pointed out. “Even my brother sees to his cattle before himself and he is the most selfish man imaginable.”
“Yes, miss.” The man nodded with the weary obedience that comes from having so many cares he could no longer think straight. The gesture was like a slap in the face.
“Oh, forgive me,” said Verity, horrified and contrite. “As if you do not know that. I am so sorry for my presumptuousness. Will you wait for me here, please? I will not be above quarter of an hour. Then as soon as we are back again I can send you to the livery stables my Godmama uses, with a note that feed for your horse is to be added to Mr Congreve’s account.”
“I’ll wait, miss. God bless you.”
Inside Newton’s, Verity quickly perceived the counter she required and moved towards it. Though it was early, there were already a large number of customers in the shop. She sent Bridget back to wait in the cab and applied herself to the task of pushing between people to check on the quality of the goods. She had almost made her choice when a shout went up further along the counter.
“Oi! Stop thief!”
Verity looked around, startled. It was the duty of the public to apprehend any thief. A child whisked past her legs, the telltale corner of a new handkerchief peeking out from a ragged waistband. A handkerchief. Yesterday’s dreadful scene at the Old Bailey came back to her. Quicker than thought, Verity tripped the boy, extracted the square of linen and bent, saying, “You poor child, are you injured? I am so sorry to have stepped into your way. Dear me, you have hurt yourself.” The handkerchief she contrived to swiftly ball up and throw several feet along the floor, proffering her own embroidered one to glean the graze.
“Young varmint. Your pardon, miss, but he ain’t worth spilling tears over. It’s off to the rotation house with him and I’ll give him in charge myself.”
Verity opened her eyes wide at the sales assistant who had spoken and who now came puffing out from behind his counter to haul the child up by his ragged collar. “The rotation house?” she said. “Good heavens. For what crime?”