Verity’s spine, a simmering promise for the future. She was sorry when he let her go. “Come,” he repeated. “I hereby enlist you in our conspiracy to make Papa eat.”
Hand in hand, they went downstairs. Randolph walked into the dining room first, and when she followed, Verity stopped short. She hadn’t realized that there were five Gresham brothers at Langford House now. They stood protectively around their father, forming a breathtaking picture of masculine beauty.
Flora caught her eye. She nodded and smiled as if she was well aware of what Verity was thinking.
Randolph introduced her to Alan and Nathaniel. The latter had just arrived and was still in riding dress. As they all moved to the table, Robert mentioned that their wives hadn’t accompanied them because one had a new baby at home and the other was about to give birth. Fleetingly, Verity remembered that she’d been angry with Robert the last time they spoke. That emotion seemed long ago and trivial. While soup was placed before them, Sebastian wondered where on the high seas James might be by this time and when their letter might reach him.
Verity had expected a dour mood at the dinner table. She’d imagined they’d all be worried and distracted, and she’d meant to find ways to raise their spirits. She’d often done as much when she and her parents visited bereaved families. Not bereaved, she corrected immediately. And wouldn’t be, she prayed.
Instead she found a group as determined as she was to support one another. They said heartening things, offered special dishes to those nearby, and kept their expressions hopeful. Except when they cast anxious sidelong looks at the duke, Verity noticed. She wasn’t well acquainted with this impressive gentleman, but even she could see the change in him. His body seemed to have shrunk inside his immaculate clothing. His face was blank. Even when he responded to his sons’ remarks, he wasn’t really there behind his blue eyes. He ate mechanically, as if fulfilling an onerous duty. Verity felt like an intruder whenever she looked at him.
A servant was sent for Verity’s things, with a note explaining the new plan to her mother. Verity was braced for objections, but her valise arrived with a sympathetic note from her parent. Mama had even thought to include some sheet music that Verity had brought with her to London.
Verity unpacked in the bedchamber where she played. It was both economical and sensible to use the same room. She could nap and rise and play in the night as others slept, and then lie down again. Randolph searched out more of the duchess’s favorite pieces, and as the house settled into nocturnal silence, Verity sat down to play them. The first notes rang strangely in the hushed house, even though she was playing quietly. But only a few bars in, she fell into a familiar peace. Music had been her joy and solace, her celebration and consolation, for most of her life. She was glad to offer it up as a healing gift, grateful that she had the ability. Let it do some good, she thought as her fingers moved over the keys. Let it truly help.
In the days that followed, Verity’s life took on a dreamlike routine. The outer world receded. She had no idea, and no interest in, what was happening beyond the walls of Langford House. There could be nothing more important than pulling the duchess through this crisis. The London season, and even her mother’s visits, seemed part of another existence. Here was only music, and Randolph, who often sat near her as if she was a hearth fire and he desperately needed warmth.
She was playing Mozart in the depth of the night when she heard raised voices from the duchess’s room. She paused, listened. Repeated, the cry sounded like a call for help. Verity rose and went to see.
Across the hall, Flora was struggling with the duchess, who was pushing and clawing, seeming determined to get out of bed. “Help me,” said Flora.
Verity hurried forward. “Where is the nurse?”
“She went down to the kitchen for more broth. Catch her other side.”
Verity moved around the bed and did so. The duchess’s flailing arm was unexpectedly strong. It took both Verity’s hands to still it.
“Let me go!” cried the older woman, writhing and grimacing. “It is unjust to keep me imprisoned here! I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Her fever is high all the time now,” Flora murmured, gripping the duchess’s other arm. “She doesn’t know us.”