As he had flailed around in an attempt to sit up in the muddy shallows she had turned to his companion. ‘Do drag him out, sir. If he drowns it will pollute the river. And perhaps you would pass on a message,’ she had added as the young man gawped at her. ‘Tell him that I am no nun and not besotted. I am vengeful. Mr Harrington may whistle for his advancement.’
Two days later she had received a note.
If you try to ruin me, think what tales I can tell of you and the pretty little birthmark on your right thigh. T.H.
It was stalemate and then she’d had a fortnight of deepening anxiety because her courses were late. They’d come at last and with them the realisation of what a narrow escape she’d had. The only small mercy was that Thomas Harrington had found himself a position as tutor to the son of an earl in the north of England and vanished from the district. Her father had appointed Mr Hoskins as his Chaplain and secretary and rarely mentioned his occasional assistant Thomas again.
It had been a painful lesson. The heart could not be trusted and, it seemed, neither could the head, because Papa had sensed nothing wrong with the ambitious young curate. She could have been tied for life to a lying, unscrupulous, unkind man who regarded his faith and his calling as merely the means to influence and wealth and she could have done nothing about it.
‘Breathe in, please, Miss Wingate. Oh, excellent, such a deep breath... Now, let me just tie the ribbons and we will see. Is that comfortable?’
‘If comfortable implies being able to breath or move, I am afraid not,’ Verity said, too immersed in her black thoughts to be tactful. ‘Oh, yes, that is much better.’
But nothing would make the fact of Thomas Harrington’s presence in London any better. All she could do was hope and pray that he was too busy on church business, or in his clubs, to be found anywhere she might encounter him.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Whatever is the matter, dear?’ Aunt Caroline gave her a very beady stare across the breakfast table next morning. ‘You will get lines if you frown like that.’
‘Nothing, Aunt. Just a momentary thought about something of no importance.’
Actually it had been a prolonged thought about something of pressing importance. What was she going to do about Will? Try to avoid being alone with him. And what to do about Thomas Harrington. Avoid him at all costs. And there was a third man to think about now.
‘I did tell you last night that Lord Sedgley is taking me driving this afternoon?’
If Will had not arrived so unexpectedly at the musical reception then she would not have been provoked into flirting outrageously with Lord Sedgley—Verity stopped fretting and examined her conscience for a moment. Well, not exactly provoked, she had to admit. Will had stood there, looking self-assured and ridiculously handsome, just as usual. It was enough to drive any woman to commit an indiscretion. And he had not seemed at all put out by it, which was inexplicably provoking of him.
She had known about Sedgley’s greys because Roderick had rhapsodised about them in one of his letters and anyone would want the opportunity to ride behind those. But, despite offering what any red-blooded duke would surely consider provocation, the infuriating man had merely bowed and taken himself off in a dignified manner.
Not that she wanted him to be provoked. Merely to have his perfectly straight nose put a trifle out of joint, display an emotion.
‘Yes, you did tell me. I suppose it is all right, provided you do not leave the park and he has his groom up behind at all times. Although he does have a slightly warm reputation.’
‘I will be careful,’ Verity promised.
‘Oh, well, in that case there is no problem. Hyde Park is always so full of people—make sure he goes there, not Green Park or St James’s Park. And we are dining with Aylsham tonight. Fairlie, you haven’t forgotten, have you?’ she demanded of her husband, who was silently demolishing ham and eggs at the head of the table.
‘Forgotten? This evening? No, of course not,’ he said with all the emphasis of a man who had done just that. ‘Aylsham, you said? Should be an excellent dinner, always keeps a good table, does the Duke.’
‘That was his grandfather,’ Aunt Caroline said with a roll of her eyes towards Verity, who suppressed a smile.
* * *
‘I don’t suppose you would consider selling, would you?’ Will asked Malcolm Shipley as they drew rein after a long gallop across the further reaches of Hyde Park and turned to canter back to the small group of other riders waiting for them near the head of the Serpentine.
‘I would be mad to,’ his friend said frankly. ‘That’s the best young horse I’ve had my hands on in years and I got him for a song. I’m holding on to Galaxy no matter what I’m offered.’
‘I appreciate the loan,’ Will said. As he had hoped, Shipley had not been able to resist showing off his latest acquisition and had been meeting friends to ride out in any case. They would provide excellent cover from which to observe Sedgley and ensure that Verity came to no harm without Will making his interest too obvious.
‘That’s him now. You can’t mistake those greys.’ Shipley pointed towards one of the rides leading to a stand of mature trees and shrubs. Will had confided that he wanted to keep an eye on the daughter of his neighbour, the retired Bishop, and his friend had immediately grasped the necessity. ‘Perfectly good fellow in all kinds of ways, Sedgley, great sportsman, but I wouldn’t want him squiring my sister about.’
‘There’s no groom up behind,’ Will said.
Damn it, what was Verity thinking of, to agree to get into the vehicle with no groom?
‘Dashed bad form.’ Shipley gestured to his two friends who had ridden out with them. ‘Shall we go that way? Not too crowded with confounded matrons in barouches.’
‘Good idea,’ Captain Wainfleet called back and the group cantered towards the distant copse on a course converging with the phaeton, its high perch swaying over the big wheels, the four greys stepping out strongly in the traces. Two more riders were trotting along the track in the opposite direction, but otherwise they had the area to themselves.