the circumstances, and he had no intention of explaining last night. In any case, that wasn’t the point. Somehow, in the heady rush of events, he hadn’t thought of Verity’s connection to the Archbishop of Canterbury. Then her mother had proposed a cathedral wedding, and that uncomfortable fact had come rushing back.
Had he just made his precarious position much worse? Would the archbishop see his engagement as defiance? A metaphorical fist shaken in his face? Ha, take that! Try to keep me down, and watch me marry into your very family. I don’t care a snap of my fingers for your disapproval.
Part of him rather liked the idea. Nothing, and no one, would keep him from his chosen mate this time! But he had more than himself to consider. His prospects for promotion depended on the head of his church. If the archbishop took offense, again, Randolph would never have more to offer Verity than the country parish she despised. Was he honor bound to go back, explain this to her, and offer her a chance to withdraw? His spirits sank further.
“Well, what’s done is done, I suppose.”
Were those tears in his mother’s eyes? That wasn’t like her at all. Randolph examined her face. She looked pale and tired. “Are you well, Mama?”
“I have a touch of something. I’m sure it will be gone tomorrow. But perhaps I’ll lie down for a bit.”
Randolph could count on one hand the number of times his mother had admitted physical weakness. “Shall I ring for Harris?”
“Of course not. Do you imagine me leaning on my maid’s arm like a doddering invalid?”
This sounded more like his indomitable mother. “I could walk with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Randolph.” The duchess rose and moved toward the parlor door. “I do wish you very happy, of course. And so will Papa.”
Randolph nodded. He resolved to have a word with his father as soon as he came home. It seemed Mama needed rest. If she required convincing, Papa was the person to do it.
* * *
Verity’s mother flitted about Lady Sefton’s ball that evening, sharing her good news with every acquaintance she came across. She looked happier than at any time since they’d arrived in London, and Verity was touched to see it. Mama really had pushed herself to give Verity the season she’d asked for, so she deserved a little crowing. For herself, Verity had recovered her equilibrium and was ready for action.
In the congratulations that followed, most people claimed to have known how it would be since the famous duets. Some seemed almost smug, as if they’d made the match themselves. She and Lord Randolph were obviously made for each other, these individuals told Verity. “Are you saying it was an inevitability of fate?” she replied to the fifth person who expressed this complacent opinion. “That my marriage has nothing to do with me?”
“Eh?” replied the matron whose name Verity couldn’t immediately recall.
“I’m not simply a pretty voice,” Verity added.
The older woman drew back. “I beg your pardon. I meant no offense.”
“I make my own choices.”
“Do you?” Her companion’s smile grew condescending. “How fortunate you are.” Gathering her air of irony like an enveloping cloak, she turned away.
“And act on them,” Verity said quietly.
“And thereby hangs a tale,” murmured a deep voice in her ear.
Verity turned to find Thomas Rochford passing behind her. “I shan’t linger, for fear of your fierce fiancé,” he added. “I shall say only that the reasons for his bellicosity are clearer now.” With a graceful gesture, he moved on.
Watching him move through the press at the edge of the ballroom, Verity saw no sign of his wound. Perhaps he held his arm a bit stiffly. She felt a thrill of secret knowledge. And no remorse whatsoever.
Mr. Rochford paused to speak to Olivia. From the expression on her friend’s face, Verity was sure that he received a saucy answer. He laughed, the picture of debonair assurance, and resumed his progress toward the card room.
Olivia surveyed the crowd, saw Verity, and came over to her. “I wish you very happy,” she said.
Verity realized that she wanted to reproach her friend for not visiting Mr. Rochford’s house. When Olivia had done exactly what she’d urged her to do—avoid a scandal.
“Is something wrong?” asked Olivia. “You aren’t still angry about my Rochford scheme, are you? I didn’t go.”
Verity almost said, “I know.”
“I was never going to,” her friend continued. “Not really, I think.”