A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(26)
As Mr Tweedie’s most recent animadversions on Mrs Bowman’s brother would have made even the most clear-sighted sister bridle, Charles was left with precisely nothing to say to this.
“Did you find any suitable samples?” asked Mrs Bowman at the same time. “George thinks your notion of us removing to Furze House is an excellent one. He is sure that with a little application, John might release me an annual sum to reflect the convenience of him having the dower house back in his own hands to use for staff quarters, or to let.”
Charles looked at Mr Tweedie, aghast. Had the man taken in none of his concerns about Verity being let loose on the wider world without even her brother close by as a brake?
His partner polished his glasses and beamed back at him affably. “You can make an appointment with Bowman’s attorney tomorrow to set the process in motion,” he said.
“Certainly,” said Charles with only the merest hint of gritted teeth. He turned to Mrs Bowman. “It is a pleasure to see you looking so well, Mrs Bowman.”
“We have been talking of the old days. I had quite forgotten some of the adventures my brother got up to.”
“No, did he really?” said Verity, sitting down and looking up at Charles with a rueful, quicksilver smile that said they would have to put off their argument for later so he might as well make himself comfortable. “And him making me that absurd condition that I must be rational for six months before I inherit. How very hypocritical of Uncle James.”
“Possibly he was remembering your younger days,” muttered Charles, taking a seat next to her.
“I don’t see how he would have known about them unless you told him,” retorted Verity under her breath as she bent to rearrange her skirts.
She poured them both tea and began to draw her mother out on the subject of her uncle’s wild past. Charles listened, resigned to the familiar sensation of his infuriation with her draining away, smiling despite himself at her skill in integrating his senior partner into the conversation.
The cake had all been eaten and the tea tray removed before Mr Tweedie glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf and gave an astonished start.
“Bless my soul, is that clock quite right? I had no idea of staying so long. I fear I have been imposing on your good nature.”
“Not at all,” protested Mrs Bowman. “Why, I have not had such an enjoyable afternoon for an age. But Verity, surely it is very late for your godmother and Julia to still be out? I hope nothing has happened to them.”
Charles crossed to the window where the curtains had been drawn against the fog. “They were spending the day with my great-aunt, were they not?” he said, looking out at a mass of solid grey. “If Richmond is as beset by fog as we are here, they will have delayed their departure. Do not distress yourself, Mrs Bowman. I feel sure they will stay overnight rather than take unnecessary risks with the horses.” He turned to his partner. “I had best see you home, sir. It is not an evening for travelling alone.”
Verity looked up in dismay. “Oh, but you will return to dine, will you not? I have to tell you about... about the programme Lilith and I have devised.”
Charles hesitated, torn. Clearly she had something to report beyond a mere explanation of her activities this afternoon. I have had a horrid fright, she’d said. Normally, that intelligence alone would make him stay. However, thieves and ruffians delighted in weather such as this, and Mr Tweedie was not a young man. Charles felt duty bound to escort him to his rooms. He glanced again at the clock. His own father would no doubt be dining at the House, and his mother had taken several of the grooms and footmen with her, so he was equally obliged to augment the male presence in Grosvenor Street until his father should arrive home.
The matter was settled, surprisingly, by Mrs Bowman. “You must both stay to dine,” she said. “We can be quite informal, you know, and I am sure it is what your mama would wish, Charles. I confess to feeling some agitation about her. The presence of two gentlemen in the house will allay both Verity’s fears and my own.”
Mr Tweedie needed very little pressing to accept. Mrs Bowman called the footman in to explain and said she would personally usher Mr Tweedie to a spare room that he might refresh himself. Charles and Verity were left alone.
CHAPTER TEN
Charles turned to Verity, conscious of a reluctance to spoil the camaraderie of the last hour. “What was is it you wished to tell me?”
“Oh, so much, Charles. I hardly know where to start. Some of it might have been a little foolish, so please, you will not shout at me so very loud and bring the servants in?”
“I shall attempt to restrain myself,” he promised, shaken by the troubled look on her face. “Come, sit close by and tell me. Why, for instance, were you out quite alone?”
As she poured out the circumstances of Mrs Bowman’s headache that had evidently passed, Bridget’s illness, Bedford House, the crowd, the phaeton race and the little girl falling, Charles was visited by the habitual creeping disbelief at how these things always happened to Verity. Then she reached Kitty, and Kitty’s husband, and his attention sharpened. By the time she had got to Molly Turner and the walk through thick fog in one of the more notorious parts of London, he had ceased to smile at all.
“God’s tears, Verity, do you know how lucky you were?”
“I didn’t then, but telling it over, I do now,” she said in a small voice. “I’m sorry, Charles. This is worse than the time Julia and I set the bear free because we felt sorry for it being chained the whole time at the fair, isn’t it?”