She’d tossed and turned through the night, alternating between the certainty that she’d made the right decision and a melancholy sense of narrowing choices. An engagement settled a young lady’s future; there were so many fewer questions to ask and answer after that. For her, it meant that the dream of setting off to the ends of the Earth was finished. But with that lowering thought had come an image of Randolph wielding the saber, as wild-eyed as any intrepid adventurer. He was rather extraordinary. And his family was far from run-of-the-mill. The duchess had suggested that adventures were to be found everywhere. Perhaps that could be true.
Verity had wondered if Randolph would show up this morning with the hangdog air of a man doing his duty, looking trapped. Despite everything, that would have been the end. She looked deep into his blue eyes and saw no hint of resignation, or hesitation. “Yes, I do.” She gave him her hand.
He kissed it and rose to sit beside her. Two people limp with relief, Verity thought. For the same reasons? Or different ones? How could anyone tell?
Silence fell. Verity wasn’t sure what to say in the aftermath of setting their mutual life course. Did one talk immediately of wedding arrangements? That didn’t seem right. If they could just sing together, all would be well, she thought. Which gave her a whole new perspective on opera. She laughed.
“What is it?” Randolph asked with a smile. When she told him, he laughed, too. “There’s a missed opportunity,” he said. “Why didn’t I think of making an offer in song?”
“I’m not sure which one you could use,” she replied.
“I can think of a few candidates. I would have altered the lyrics to fit the case, of course.” His eyes twinkled. “Or written a new one, just for you. If I could come up with some tender rhymes for Verity.”
“Charity, clarity, parity, severity,” she answered. “Not particularly romantic.”
He laughed again. “I see you’ve considered this issue.”
“I tried to compose a personal…dirge when I was fourteen and spent hours lamenting that I wasn’t named Anne.”
“Plan, man, ran, ban,” he replied.
“Exactly. You can see the possibilities.”
“I can indeed.”
“But, alas, I am Verity Louise. The enemy of rhyme.”
“But ever true,” he replied with much more than laughter in his gaze.
It will be all right, Verity thought as they smiled at each other.
Her mother peeked around the edge of the door.
“Lord Randolph and I are engaged, Mama,” Verity said. Beside her, he stood.
“Oh!” Her mother surged forward. “How delightful. I’m so happy for you.” She thrust out her hands. Randolph took them with a cordial bow. Holding on for just the right amount of time, he maneuvered her into a comfortable chair. He was such a lovely combination of kind and polished, Verity thought.
“Ever since that first duet you sang, I suspected this might happen,” said her mother. “You were the picture of harmony.”
Verity nodded. It was perfectly true. And harmony was a fine thing. Not…pedestrian. How could she think so, when music depended upon it?
“You must be married at Chester Cathedral, of course,” her mother continued. “The bishop will want to preside. He’s very fond of Verity,” she said to Randolph.
“As who would not be?” he replied. Yet he looked suddenly wooden.
“So prettily said.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears, and Verity was touched. Mama had been uncomfortable so far from her familiar haunts, and now she was happy.
“I beg your pardon,” the older woman added, taking out her handkerchief. “Silly of me.”
“Not at all,” said Randolph. “I’m glad you’re pleased.” His tone had gone flat. In fact, he sounded like another man altogether. What was wrong?
“Oh, I am! And Papa will be, too, Verity. So happy.”
Verity blinked, stunned by the realization that she’d forgotten her father’s objections to Randolph until this very moment. How was that possible? Yes, there’d been a great deal happening. Including a rapturous interlude on a daybed. And it was true she hadn’t taken Papa’s warning seriously. He did fuss about small things sometimes, and she simply couldn’t believe that Randolph had done anything very bad. An embarrassment wasn’t a crime. Perhaps the Archbishop of Canterbury was very easily embarrassed? But she knew, with a sinking feeling in her midsection, that none of this would explain to Papa how she’d ended up engaged to the one man in London he’d told her to avoid.
Randolph rose. “I must, ah, give my family the news,” he said. With the briefest of goodbyes, he went out, walking