Fallen Angel (11 page)

She was a fraud, Verity realized. The man sitting beside her quite misunderstood the situation. It was just like that day in Nicholay’s Fur & Feather Manufactory—all the strength she felt, all the fortitude he thought he saw in her—it all came from him.

Before Lord Sherington decided it amused him to befriend her, she had been so weak, her relatives had used her as they wished—ignoring her, ordering her around, criticizing her, humiliating her in front of others—and she had been too much a pudding-heart to object. Only when he was with her did she feel strong.

And after he lost interest in her? How well would she manage after he became bored with her and sought out someone new to entertain him?

Even worse, how could she suffer the pain of losing him without dying herself of a broken heart?

Linking her fingers tightly together in her lap, she tried to hide her agitation of spirit, wishing desperately that she could think of something innocuous to say that would get her mind off the coming pain. But she had never been able to chatter on about nothing in particular the way her sister and her niece did.

When Lord Sherington finally deposited her on her doorstep, it seemed but a foretaste of what was to come. He had revealed to her something of his past, and now she understood the reasons for the hunger she had seen in his eyes. Unfortunately, despite his insistence that she was a strong person, she knew she was not woman enough to fill the empty places in his heart.

Now, watching him drive away, she felt as if he had stolen the very soul from her body, but she doubted if he was even thinking about her.

And as always when he left her, her first thought was to wonder if she would ever see him again. This time the pain was already starting, because even though she had waited, hoping he would suggest another morning drive, he had made no mention of any future meeting between the two of them.

“He is quite taken with me, you know,” Petronella confided in her best friend, Harriet Coupland. “I am sure that if I gave him a sign that I would welcome his advances, he would ask me to be his mistress.”

Verity almost choked on her tea, but Harriet merely giggled and said, “Oh, Petronella, you would not dare be so bold.”

“Certainly not, but I must tell you, it quite pains me to know I must someday break his heart. I believe, actually, that with a little effort, I can push him in Antoinette’s direction. She is quite like me when I was a young girl, you know.”

How she could utter such a tarradiddle was beyond all understanding, but as Petronella rattled on, Verity gradually realized that her sister was not consciously lying—she actually believed what she was saying.

“And he is quite grateful that Ralph is willing to give him advice on the political issues facing this country. Ralph says that he has almost persuaded Lord Sherington to take his seat in the House of Lords. That will be quite a feather in Ralph’s cap.”

There was a tap at the door, and Otterwall entered, bearing a letter on a salver.

Petronella snatched it off the tray, gave a shriek of delight when she saw the seal, then waved it triumphantly in Harriet’s face. “There, what did I tell you, he has sent us another invitation.”

“Who?” Harriet asked, craning her neck to try to see the letter more closely.

“Who? Need you ask? Lord Sherington, of course.” At her sister’s words, Verity’s heart missed a beat and then began to pound at double its normal speed. Lord Sherington had not yet grown tired of her company. Impatiently she leaned forward, wishing she could snatch the letter out of her sister’s hands.

Well knowing she was the center of attention, Petronella broke the seal and carefully unfolded the heavy vellum, then read aloud, “ ‘I hope you will forgive the lateness of this invitation, but I would appreciate it if you and your family would join me in my box at the opera this evening.’ There—what did I tell you. Two nights ago he took dinner with us, last night he escorted us to Lady Finzel’s musical evening, and today he has invited us to the opera. Why, the man positively dotes on me, and cannot endure to let a single day go by without seeking out my company.”

Harriet snatched the missive out of Petronella’s hand and inspected it. “The invitation is addressed to Lord and Lady Wasteneys and Miss Jolliffe. I do not see that he has signaled you out for any special attention.”

“Well, of course not, silly. That would be indiscreet. But it is me he is besotted with, of that you may be sure, even though he is forced to include my husband in the party for propriety’s sake.”

Leaving the two women arguing about the significance of the wording of the invitation, Verity hurried up to her room and began to search in her clothespress for a gown suitable for an evening at the opera.

But it was soon clear to her that she had allowed her wardrobe to become shockingly neglected. Since she had rarely gone out the last several years, all her evening gowns were old and out of style, and the colors were likewise quite drab. Nothing she owned was elegant enough to dazzle Lord Sherington, and she found that she very much wanted to impress him.

In a daring move, she went to her sister’s room, hoping to find some discarded dress that could be made over. They were of the same height, so that would be no problem, and even though Petronella was possessed of a much fuller figure, taking in a garment was always possible, where letting it out would not have been.

At the very back of Petronella’s wardrobe Verity found an absolutely stunning gold gown trimmed with bronze, which her sister had not worn in two years, but which with a few simple alterations would not look too dated. Carrying it back to her own room, she quickly tried it on.

The neckline gaped open, but a few tucks should fix that. When she looked at herself in the cheval glass, however, Verity knew that she could never wear such a gown, no matter how high or low the neckline.

The dress was indeed elegant, but all it did was make her appear even more colorless and insignificant than usual. She looked, in a word, like a sparrow trying to wear a peacock’s tail.

Unable to look at her reflection any longer, Verity changed back into her regular dress. She had really no choice but to wear her gray silk, but perhaps she could at least persuade one of the maids to help her change the ribbons? And she could wear her grandmother’s pearls, which would bring her comfort even if they did not turn her into a ravishing beauty.

That evening, while they were waiting for Lord Sherington to arrive, Verity caught sight of herself and her sister in the mirror. The contrast between the two of them was so great that no one would have ever taken them for sisters.

Decked out with the Wasteney emeralds, Petronella was more eye-catching than ever before, whereas Verity had to admit that she herself looked exactly like what Lord Sherington had accused her of being—a nondescript, easily overlooked, extraneous female. In other words, a poor relation.

But even while she was coming to that conclusion, Lord Sherington was announced, and Verity once again felt her self-confidence soar. Since she had no looks, he must find something to admire about her character. Or perhaps he, too, felt there was a bond between them?

At times like this, when he caught her eye from across the room, it seemed as if he did. And yet at other times it was obvious he was only trying to manipulate her.

Straightforward coercion she did not mind in the slightest. In general Lord Sherington made no effort to disguise the fact that he was not a man who concerned himself overly much with the wishes of the people around him, and she was perfectly content when he was snapping at her for something she had said or berating her for something she had done or simply ordering her to do his bidding.

But every now and then he seemed to be trying to disguise his true nature from her, although it seemed absurd of him to expect her to be taken in by a few token efforts to consider her wishes.

Indeed, absurd was the only word to describe his behavior. Since he was a man who was obviously accustomed to taking whatever he wanted from life, and since it was equally obvious that she was unable to tell him no, why on earth should he ever feel constrained to play the part of a proper English gentleman around her?

The singing was magnificent, but the attention they were receiving from the other boxes was making this evening an ordeal for Verity. Still, she was doing her best to emulate Lord Sherington and ignore the rude stares and pointing fingers of the other opera-goers, and she could only wish her relatives would do the same.

Antoinette had been left home with a sore throat, which had distressed her mother no end. But unfortunately Petronella’s motherly concern did not demand that she stay home to nurse her only child. Seated between Lord Sherington and her husband, Petronella was obviously determined that not a soul in the theater should fail to notice in whose box she was sitting. To that end, she was smiling and waving at friends, acquaintances, and even those who Verity suspected were total strangers.

Bevis and Cedric, who had simply appeared and without the slightest by-your-leave made themselves at home in Lord Sherington’s box, were even worse. They were openly ogling the opera dancers and carrying on a heated discussion as to the relative merits and reputations of the less than respectable ladies in the other boxes.

As for Ralph, Verity could wish her brother-in-law did not snore quite so loudly. He woke up only when the curtain came down at the end of the first act, and hoards of people, most of them barely acquainted with the Wasteneys, began squeezing into the box, all coyly soliciting introductions to Lord Sherington, whose frosty manner only encouraged them rather than discouraged them.

Petronella was in alt, gushing out welcomes, kissing the ladies’ cheeks, and simpering when the gentlemen lavished compliments on her.

For once Verity was thankful she was so easy to overlook that no one appeared to notice her on the other side of Lord Sherington, who was large enough to make an effective shield.

By the time the curtain went up on the second act and the last of the intruders straggled out of the box, Verity could only wish her relatives might follow after them.

As if able to read her thoughts, Lord Sherington turned to Bevis and Cedric and said, “Might I ask you gentlemen a favor?”

Receiving an enthusiastically affirmative response, he continued. “My hunt master writes to inform me my hunters have been growing fat and sluggish from lack of sufficient exercise, but I fear my business is too pressing for me to ride to hounds this season. Might I persuade you both to stay at my hunting box in Gloucestershire and make use of them? It is rather indifferent hunting country, not at all what I am sure you are accustomed to, but perhaps you can contrive to amuse yourselves tolerably.”

Verity thought her brother-in-law’s nephews were going to expire on the spot with delight—either that or they were going to knock Lord Sherington head over heels into the pit, so enthusiastically were they clapping him on the back and telling him what a capital fellow he was.

“One of my grooms is driving up there tomorrow quite early,” Lord Sherington managed to interrupt them long enough to say. “If you could be ready by eight, perhaps?”

Although they assured him they could be, neither young man made any move to lea
v
e the box. Verity was amused to see that Lord Sherington was up to this additional challenge.

“It is indeed a shame, but I suppose if you are to be packed on time, you will have to miss the rest of the opera.”

How he managed to keep a straight face while Bevis and Cedric stumbled all over each other in their haste to leave the box, Verity would never know. Fortunately she was able to hide her amusement behind her fan.

Without the two of them the box was considerably quieter. Even Petronella finally seemed satisfied that she had attracted enough attention, and left off her waving, although she still directed her attention everywhere but to the stage.

Leaning over, Verity murmured in Lord Sherington’s ear, “That was excellently done.”

“I am glad you approve,” he said in a voice meant only for her ears. “Tell me, Miss Jolliffe, does your brother-in-law hunt?”

“I am afraid he does not even ride,” she answered.

“Then has he ever expressed an urge to see Jamaica? Or perhaps India? A long sea voyage would be quite easy to arrange.”

“He dislikes traveling, and considers even Hampstead beyond the bounds of civilization, which to him decreases in direct proportion to the miles one travels from Whitehall.”

“Pity,” Lord Sherington said, turning his attention back to the singers.

The real pity was that Verity had never had a chance to travel and given her circumstances doubtless never would. Since she was a small child and her grandmother had read stories to her about distant countries and the strange customs prevailing there, Verity had always wanted to travel.

On the other hand, were she forced to choose between sitting beside Lord Sherington in a crowded theater and sailing up the Nile, she knew she would not hesitate to remain where she was.

Despite the best intentions, Gabriel could not bring himself to remain in the box during the second intermission. He would have liked to escort Miss Jolliffe out into the salon for some simple refreshments, but he knew too well that her sister would hang on his other arm if he even suggested such a possibility.

Having heard this particular opera before, he could tell when the second act was almost over, and before the intermission actually began, he rose to his feet and informed his guests that he was going to procure refreshments for them all.

As anticipated, Lady Wasteney leaped to her feet and reached for his arm, but by stepping back quickly, he managed to avoid her clutching hands.

“Ah, but only consider, my dear Lady Wasteney, that it will be a sad crush, not at all a suitable place for a lady. I could not wish you to be knocked about by all and sundry. It is better that you remain here, where it is safe.”