Fragile Mask (20 page)

‘
Oh, the deuce,’ he muttered. ‘Matchmakers in
force.’

‘
Precisely, my dear boy,’ laughed Sir John. ‘Danger awaits
you here. Don’t you see the hopefuls about them?’

And, indeed, there were in evidence several young females,
flimsily clad in the new muslins, and apparently in attendance on
their elders. Denzell had not noticed them. But he did now, seeing
at once in one or two eyes as they looked away from his glance,
those flickers of interest that would, but a few months back, have
piqued him into selecting a potential flirt.

‘
You see them?’ queried Sir John, his amusement plain.
‘Indigent relatives, one and all. It is all the fault of one such
who came here a year or two since. A delightful girl. She married a
local marquis.’

Denzell’s glance came back to him, understanding in his
eyes. ‘I see.’

‘
I thought you would.’

‘
Well, they will not catch me. I have other
plans.’

‘
I thought you had.’

Denzell laughed. ‘You are far too acute, Sir
John.’

Sir John sighed, mock-sentimental. ‘The truth is, my
friend, that I am an incurable romantic. Let me advise you to turn
your eyes to that archway behind you.’

There was no mistaking the meaning of this. Denzell’s heart
did a reckless dance, and he looked around. Verena! Warmth flooded
him.

Chapter Seven

She had not changed. Verena had not changed in the least.
So fresh she looked, in the sprigged muslin gown, honey-gold loose
curls spilling onto her shoulders from under a chip-straw hat,
decorated with knots of tiny artificial blossoms. She was
exquisite, like a china doll.

That same smiling mask adorned the perfection of
her features, dispensing equal attention—and
no
favours,
thank God—to each of the several males inhabiting her orbit. She
was standing under an archway, the grace of her figure as elegant
as the setting.

Denzell felt decidedly odd, the warmth giving way to a
feeling he could not recognise. It was not, however, a feeling he
could enjoy, for it was causing him a good deal of
discomfort.

Why had he come here? Verena Chaceley was not going to
welcome his advent. He must be mad. Where the devil was he to find
the gall to approach her? He had not thought himself to be such a
lily-livered poltroon. He had not been so fainthearted since his
green youth, before he had confidence in his ability to secure a
lady’s interest.

Was it only that, after all? Had Ossie been all along in
the right of it? He was piqued, pricked in his pride, and had
allowed himself to fall victim to his own vanity. Then what the
devil ailed him that he had come chasing down here like a lunatic
at the full of the moon, who knew not what he did?

To the devil with it! He would go straight up to her and
greet her as if nothing in the world had ever occurred between them
to prevent his doing so.

His feet were already moving on the thought, and he had
arrived at the knot of persons of which Verena was the centre
before he had time to regret or retract. She had her back to him
and Richard Cumberland, that unspeakable nuisance of a playwright,
was addressing her. He could scarcely wait for the gentleman to
arrive at the conclusion of his sentence.

In a voice loud enough—and cheerful enough—to gain him the
instant attention of the entire circle, he spoke up.

‘
Good day to you, Miss Chaceley.’

Shock blanketed out all thought in Verena’s head.
A jolt seemed to stab in her chest. Out of the fog came one
coherent idea:
hold your
countenance,
Verena.

Time seemed to Denzell to be standing still. For a moment,
although every other head turned to look at him, Verena did not
move. It appeared to Denzell as if she froze. The succeeding
silence seemed to go on forever.

But in reality it could only have been an instant before
the honeyed hair rippled a little as she turned. The unyielding
mask was in place, with that faintest trace of a smile. The exact
same level of polite disinterest was in her voice as had been when
she first spoke to him.

‘
How do you do, Mr Hawkeridge?’

The most intense dissatisfaction invaded Denzell’s breast.
A savage thought sliced through his mind. At least she had
remembered his name. Beautiful, serene, and exquisitely polite was
she. And not at all the Verena he had expected—nay, longed—to
find.

‘
I am very well, I thank you,’ he said, almost curtly. ‘I
trust I find you in good heart?’

‘
Extremely so.’

‘
And your mama?’

‘
She is in better—health.’

Was there a stress on the word? It was so hard to tell. How
the deuce was anyone to know anything of the woman, when she
persisted in this determined shutting off? The devil take you,
Verena Chaceley.

Unable to think of anything to say that would not sound
churlish and rude, Denzell bowed and moved away. Let others take
the field. For himself, he was done with it.

He heard men’s voices start up behind him, and found
himself wishing for the butt-end of a pistol that he might knock
them all on the head, the fools. Wasting their time in such a
fashion, with a woman who would take a mile before she gave an
inch. Nevertheless, he could not help but glance back.

Startled, he halted and turned, staring at the knot of
people he had just left. They were dispersing, but where the deuce
was Verena? She had been there but seconds ago.

His eye swept the room—and caught a glimpse of the
straw-hatted head. It was bowed a little, and she was hurrying,
taking a path close to the walls, passing behind the little groups
of persons as if she wished to remain unnoticed. Where was she
going? Looking forward, he saw the entrance doors. She was
leaving!

His eyes went back to her, and he saw now that she had a
hand pressed below her bosom. His glance strayed up to her face.
She was biting her lip. Deuce take it, Verena, what in the world
was amiss?

Thought deserted him. There was no feeling now in his
breast but distress for her evident distress, and all he knew was
the need to aid her, if he might.

Without quite knowing how he had got there, Denzell found
himself out on the Pantiles, for the moment thankfully all but
deserted. Except for the figure that clung to one of the columns of
the colonnade with both hands, breathless and trembling.

‘
Miss Chaceley!’

Verena jumped, her eyes flying open as she looked up. Oh
no, not he again! Had he not done enough?

‘
Forgive me, I think I startled you,’ said Denzell
anxiously. ‘I could not help but see—Miss Chaceley, are you unwell?
May I do anything for you?’

‘
Unwell? No!’

That she was not. Yet what to say—how to explain
to him, the author of her confusion, this extreme reaction
to
his
sudden appearance? The reverberations of the painful
jolt in her breast were not yet ended. How she had kept her
countenance she did not know. Thank heaven she’d had her back to
him. Otherwise, she could not doubt but that he must have seen it
in her face. And, dear heaven, here he was again.

Desperate to retrieve her façade, Verena sought for
control, knowing that at any moment he would make one of those
outrageous comments—that had done so much to alienate her and yet
had set him in her thoughts, as it were, in immovable marble—that
he had made on those previous occasions.

But Denzell, watching the strain in her lovely features as
she tried to bring them back under that iron mastery, was beset by
so much emotion that he would not have dreamed of adding to her
distress by any untoward remark. Moved by the unprecedented
desertion of that very control that he had so much deprecated but a
few moments before, he searched his mind for some legitimate excuse
that might afford her ease. He could not bear to see her so
weakened, no matter the cause. He would have given much to have
swept her up into a safe embrace—his own. But that was impossible.
Spurred by necessity, he found the key.

‘
It is insufferably hot in that place, is it not? I confess
I found it so myself.’

A grateful look rewarded him. ‘Y-yes, it—it was
airless.’

Denzell glanced up at the cloudless sky. ‘I dare say we may
find it increasingly hot outside later on.’ He smiled down at her,
noting with satisfaction that she was recovering her lost control.
He offered his arm. ‘Meanwhile, do take the air with me for a turn
or two, Miss Chaceley. Is not that what the Pantiles are
for?’

A tiny choke of laughter escaped her. ‘So I
believe.’

The somersaulting sensations in her breast were quietening,
thank heaven. She was so glad of his tact that she forgot her old
resolve to remain aloof from this dangerous man. Besides, he was
waiting so patiently, his arm ready for her hand. It would be
unkind—even churlish—to refuse him. Her jelly legs seemed to be
firming up, and she tentatively released her clutch on the
column.

To her consternation, she was not as steady as she had
expected. Her knees buckled a trifle. Denzell was swiftly at her
side, grasping her arm—and sending such a shooting sensation up her
body with his touch that she was obliged to grasp on her other side
at the column again.

‘
Lord!’ she uttered helplessly.

‘
Don’t hurry,’ he said. ‘Take your time. It takes a moment
to recover from a near faint, you know.’

Again he was offering her a fitting excuse. Verena could
have kissed him. She balked on the idea. What was she thinking of?
A flood of warmth caused her to let go of the column in order to
clutch at her cheek to hide the burning. Faint indeed. True, she
had felt close to swooning, but she was certain her colour belied
that possibility now. If only he knew that all this must be set
down to his unexpected arrival.

‘
I am ready now,’ she said with a calmness that did not in
any way reflect the tumult of her emotions.

Denzell took her hand and placed it securely within his
arm. The way she clutched at this support demonstrated more than
anything else the strain under which she still laboured. His heart
seemed to dissolve.

For a few moments they paced up the tiled pathway, both
concentrating on the effort required. But as he felt Verena’s grasp
on his arm loosen, Denzell looked for some innocuous topic that he
might introduce. Searching, he discovered the one thing on which
they might safely embark.

‘
Is it not an excellent thing that Osmond and Unice have
managed to produce the girl they wanted?’

He could not have found anything better. The most natural
smile creased Verena’s countenance, filling her features with
warmth.

‘
Little Julia? Yes, indeed, I was so delighted for
them both. She is the most beautiful baby, and so
good.’

‘
So Osmond keeps boasting. He claims that he has not once
been woken in the night.’

‘
That is because, so Unice tells me, he sleeps like one
dead. She says that he would snore through the lamentations of a
dozen babies.’

Denzell burst out laughing. ‘By George, how I shall roast
him!’

‘
Oh, pray don’t,’ Verena begged. ‘Unice wishes him to
believe himself the perfect father.’

He glanced down at her. ‘Why, if he is not?’

An unprecedented gleam danced in her eyes as she returned
his look. Fascinated, Denzell’s steps ceased.

‘
Miss Chaceley, you look the picture of
mischief.’

‘
Do I?’

‘
Yes. Tell me at once what it is in your mind.’

Verena bubbled over. ‘It—it is just that Betsey—my maid,
you know—had warned Unice that girls are much more difficult to
bring up than boys, so Unice has vowed she will pass this trouble
on to Osmond. Although,’ she added as he began to laugh, ‘Julia is
so angelic that I cannot conceive of there ever being a necessity
for her to do so.’

‘
Really, as a fellow male, I feel I ought to warn Ossie of
what is in the wind,’ he said, resuming their walk.

‘
You may safely do so,’ Verena agreed, moving with him and
smiling. ‘Unice has already told him, but she swears he thought she
was jesting.’

He was silent for a moment or two, aware all at
once of the extraordinary nature of this interchange. She was
so
normal
,
so
pleasant and amiable. The mask had been dropped. Sudden anxiety
attacked him. How long would she remain thus open to him? What
might he not say that could turn her in an instant into the effigy
that so depressed him? The fear kept him silent for a space, but it
did not appear that Verena felt the absence of
talk.

In fact, she was feeling so relaxed that she scarcely
noticed how unguarded she was. The companionable nature of this
short interlude was so comfortable that she had quite forgotten the
dangers. Indeed, she had forgotten everything—all the stresses of
her life, the fears, wiped out by the unprecedented materialisation
of Mr Denzell Hawkeridge.