Least Likely to Marry a Duke (Liberated Ladies)

Thomas was a bully and bullies backed down if they were confronted because they were cowards, so Papa always said. Cowards were fearful, so, what was Thomas afraid of? Who was he afraid of?

He should be afraid of Will, but he clearly thought that she would not tell him or, that if she did, he was such a pattern card of respectability that he would not fight over one disgraced and disgraceful young woman.

There was Bishop Alderton, but he was not Thomas’s superior and, besides, he already thought Verity was at best a hoyden and, at worst, all that Thomas would accuse her of being. The thought of appealing to him for help was rather less attractive than the idea of walking down St James’s Street with a placard announcing that she was a trollop.

She ought to know which parishes the Bishop of London was responsible for... But why stop at a mere bishop? She had met the Archbishop of Canterbury on three occasions and he had seemed a very fair and reasonable man, not a prig like Bishop Alderton. He respected her father and she felt certain—almost certain—that if she was completely frank with him, he would help her and deal with Thomas.

Although I would much prefer not to have to.

The thought of confessing her youthful mistakes to a venerable churchman made her toes curl. She would give Thomas one chance to withdraw his threats, admit that they should forget the past and then, if he would not, she would go to the Archbishop.

* * *

Her reticule bumping against her thigh was satisfyingly heavy. Verity mounted the steps to Thomas’s front door and pulled the bell, looking around while she waited.

The vicar’s house was on one side of the little square with the church of St Wulfram opposite. A very nice neighbourhood and very nice house. He would not want to lose this.

All very genteel and, although she was alone with no maid, no one was staring in a vulgar manner. Presumably well-dressed, veiled women were a common sight on the Vicar’s front steps. Were they all calling to discuss one of the welfare committees this parish doubtless abounded in or, knowing Thomas, were some of them visiting the handsome Vicar for other reasons altogether?

‘Yes, ma’am? How may I help you?’ A very superior footman in livery was waiting respectfully for her to stop air-dreaming.

‘I am here to see the Vicar. I do not have an appointment. Please tell him it relates to the effectiveness of cold bathing.’

‘Cold... Yes, ma’am. Would you be so good as to step into the drawing room and I will ascertain whether Mr Harrington is free to receive you.’

The drawing room was located at the back of the house. It was furnished with good taste, nothing was vulgar or ostentatious, but money had been spent wisely to create just the right image. A clergyman who was ‘one of us’ as far as the parishioners of this fashionable parish were concerned—undoubtedly a vicar who was going to rise up the social scale still further.

Verity sat down with her back to the door. She had no desire to find Thomas between her and the way out if she needed to leave in a hurry.

He came in more quickly than she had imagined and from his raised colour she guessed that her unexpected arrival had disconcerted him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came to discuss your threats,’ she said, hoping she sounded bored and disdainful. Keeping her gaze on his face, she loosened the drawstring on her reticule and slipped her right hand inside until her fingers closed over the butt of her uncle’s duelling pistol.

‘They were not threats, Verity. I was making promises.’ He took the seat opposite her, crossed his legs and smiled.

‘I see. In that case there is only one thing I can do.’

‘Go home to your papa and wave goodbye to your Duke and to respectable society.’

‘Give up and let you win? Good gracious, whatever made you think that I was such a feeble creature, Thomas? I shall go and see the Archbishop of Canterbury and tell him the entire story.’

‘It would ruin you.’

‘But I will be ruined anyway if you carry out our threats. This way I will have the great satisfaction of knowing that I have brought you down into the bargain. You must see the attraction of that.’

He stood up. ‘Who knows you are here?’

Verity slid the pistol out into plain view and lifted it. ‘I am able to use this. I taught myself to shoot in the country. Target practice, you know—I am accounted quite a good shot with a pistol and bow and arrow, although a bow might have caused raised eyebrows on the streets of Chelsea.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

The hair on the nape of her neck stirred as though in a cool breeze, but she told herself to keep calm, that his expression was frustrated fury, not killing rage. Thomas’s gaze was darting from her face to the door and then to the far corners of the room and his mouth was half-open, as though he was about to rage at her.

‘This is one of my uncle’s Mantons. Hair trigger, of course. And, yes, I would dare. Dare to shoot you if you threaten me, dare to confess all to the Archbishop. You see, I love William Calthorpe, my Duke, and I will not have him punished for my follies. He does not love me, but then I would not expect him to. I have been nothing but a trouble to him from the moment we met and I am the most unsuitable woman for him to marry. But there it is and there is nothing to be done about it.’

‘I would not say that,’ Will remarked from behind her, his voice husky.

Chapter Twenty-One