A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(3)
Verity continued. “You forget how comparatively little we have seen of Uncle James. It is only these last six months that he has been able to stay with us. He liked to talk of his travels, and of matters in town and around the rest of the world. Mama was so happy to have him here, after years of his not visiting due to not getting on with Papa, that I did not want to upset his mood by saying anything out of place. I should have followed my instincts. That is a sad reflection on modern manners, is it not? Let me refill your cup, Charles. Would you like a piece of this plum cake? It is very good. John and Selina have imported a French chef on purpose to be the sensation of the neighbourhood, so Mama and I had no difficulty in enticing Cook across the park to look after us here. Very fortunately, it was before Selina discovered M’sieur Gaston has trouble with the plain, everyday fare John prefers.”
Charles could not repress a chuckle. “You are a wicked young woman, Verity. I pity your eventual husband.”
“Envy him, you mean,” said Verity, supremely confident. “I shall arrange our domestic affairs so he will think it pure chance that he is so comfortable, rather than the result of the extreme manipulation a woman always has to do to ensure the smooth running of a household. If I marry at all, that is.” She put her head on one side. “Have we finished the examination yet? Do you believe me to be intelligent and not a flibbertigibbet?”
“Verity, dear,” protested Mrs Bowman.
“I always did,” said Charles. “But it is not what I believe that is important. The difficulty lies in proving you have spent six months in a rational manner. The senior Harrington branch will undoubtedly mount a challenge else.”
“I see. To whom am I to prove it?”
Charles felt himself colouring. “To me. As I am your uncle’s executor, you inherit me along with his fortune.”
Verity’s face melted into a wry, amused smile. “And you are far too honourable to hand it over with anything less than a commendation that would stand up in fifteen courts of law right up to a scrutiny by the Lord Chancellor himself. My poor Charles, how very shabby of Uncle James.”
Up until now, this had also been Charles’s feeling on the subject, but the tea and cake had mellowed him. “Not at all. I daresay it will not be so very onerous. I shall give the matter some thought. Mrs Bowman, will you excuse me? I have sat here long enough in all my dirt and should like to wash off the dust of the journey. Also, I must pen a note to my friend Prettyman at Fordham, apprising him of my intention to call tomorrow. There is a matter of an expiring lease to settle that Mr Tweedie has asked me to oversee while I am in the neighbourhood.”
“Oh, may I come with you?” said Verity at once. “We can use Mama’s carriage. I have not seen Jenny this fortnight at least.” She tapped his hand playfully. “And while we are there, I shall enquire in a most serious manner about the progress of their repairs to the Prior’s Ground. Is that rational enough for you?”
Charles hesitated. He had not foreseen this. “It is, and I can hardly bar you from making a call in your own equipage, but I will be discussing business, Verity.”
She smiled sunnily. “And Jenny and I shall be playing with the children while we search for meat in all the local gossip. I perfectly understand. You need not fear you will be expected to dance attendance on me.”
And there was the reward for his labours gone, reflected Charles glumly as he followed a footman up the stairs for his delayed wash. The worst of it was, he did not quite see how Verity had done it. He had intended a night’s stop here only, to acquaint Verity and her mother with the terms of Admiral Harrington’s will. That should have been ample time to advance them a sum if it was needed, get the papers signed and witnessed, come to an agreement on what constituted rational behaviour, not be drawn into any of Verity’s more far-fetched schemes, and then he would be away to Rooke Hall for a couple of days of relaxation with Adam Prettyman.
Prettyman was a comparatively new acquaintance, but the two men had straightaway recognised in each other a kindred spirit. Both were younger sons who had chosen to work for a living outside their natural milieu rather than grub on the family estate for little more than board and lodging. Both were active men, preferring a life of busyness to wasting hours in idle pursuits. True, Adam had solved his early restlessness in a rather extreme manner by becoming the actor-manager of a company of players, whereas Charles had settled for studying the law, with side excursions into protecting people’s rights in person where the law seemed inadequate, but essentially they were alike. They shared the difficulty of having feet in two worlds, of matching their persona to the current situation. With Adam’s retirement from the stage, Charles had aided his friend’s re-integration into society by introducing him to the fencing and boxing saloons he favoured in town. In return, Adam was one of the few people in whose presence Charles didn’t have to think about who he was, attorney or gentleman. Verity had been more correct than she knew when she’d made that light-hearted comment about the nature of his work being trying for him. Charles was as thick-skinned as any other man who’d spent his formative years at Eton, but at times the distinction between his two lives was damnable. He had been looking forward to two or three days at Rooke Hall where he could simply be himself.
Now he was committed to a morning visit only and back here to sleep a second night. It was, he told himself, the last time he would underestimate Verity Bowman. She might be the very picture of an empty-headed ninny when she chose but as she had reminded him earlier, he had known her since the cradle. Behind that amiable facade, Verity was as nimble-witted as a whole shipful of monkeys. He would do well to remember it. Starting, he rather thought, with dinner this evening.