the death of her fiancé four years ago, Verity hadn’t indulged in any sort of flirtation.
“Should I really not talk about how delightfully plump your lips oomph!”
He choked as she grabbed a fistful of leaves from the shrubbery and stuffed them into his mouth.
He spat it out and glared at her. “I prefer my vegetables cooked, my lady!”
Laughter lurked in his tone, and he stared at her as if uncertain what to think of the lady. Verity did not know what to make of herself either at this moment! She felt as if she wanted to cross wits with him, a singularly foolish desire for a man like him truly did not desire simple ladies like her in possession of a secret no one could ever know.
Even this morning her mamma had remarked that she was a spinster at four and twenty, and Verity should accept the proposal of Reverend Ambridge, who had offered his hand to her in marriage for the second time this year. Her mother had dismissed her protests that her heart had been broken with Richard’s death, and it was far too soon to consider accepting another man as a prospective husband.
And Verity had refused for her honour would not allow her to enter a union when she knew she had been irrevocably compromised. When she had politely been trying to make her refusal sting less, the young man had taken her pause as an invitation and tried to kiss her. That memory had her closing her eyes and puffing out a small breath of annoyance. She had been saved from his embrace by Rufus trying to nip the vicar’s derriere, which had dampened his ardour.
“You do not like my teasing,” Lord Rupert gently said, pressing a hand over his chest as if he were contrite.
His penetrating gaze searched her face. “You seem decidedly out of sorts. If I have ruined your peace, I must, of course, most sincerely apologize.”
“I…” Unequivocally flustered, she faltered, her thoughts searching for words and found nothing. “I must return home; my mother is visiting me for luncheon, and I am already late.”
“Is that an invitation?” he asked with such a hopeful expression she lightly laughed.
“It was not.”
“Ah, such a pity. That is another thing I would have delighted in. Then we could converse and get to know each other.”
Verity loathed to admit it, but he was charming her. “I bid you a good day, my lord.” She lifted the basket and dipped into a small curtsy before walking away, her faithful companion trotting by her heel. Verity could feel his stare lingering on her back as she slipped through the small gates and hurried along the lane leading to the modest cottage her brother had leased to her.
“What did you think of the new baron, Rufus?”
Her dog barked quite enthusiastically, pulling a laugh from her. “I agree with you! Very bold and improper but dashingly handsome and charming.”
Another yip from her dog and Rufus continued wagging his tail.
They trotted together through the picturesque countryside until a moderately-sized house loomed ahead of them. A sense of peace filled her at seeing her home and thinking of the inviting fire awaiting her in the drawing room. After Richard’s death, she had been very ill, crying herself to sleep. Her mother had pushed for her to re-enter society and find a new prospective husband, but Verity had refused. Then, following her father’s death three years ago, she had begged her brother, the new earl, to be allowed to live alone as she was now of age.
There had been months of heated exchanges between herself, her weeping mother, and her brother, but Verity had held firm. She had a small inheritance from her maternal grandfather, which allowed her some independence. Verity had suggested moving to Bath or Brighton, but they had compromised on her renting this small house on one of her family’s estates. It was a neat property and not as luxurious as her previous homes as she was only able to keep a few servants to run her home, but it suited her.
Verity had moved in straight away with her former governess, Mary Herriot. They were mostly happy except when her mother descended on her to try and drag her back to town with husband-hunting in mind. Her mother was convinced that her beauty alone would find her a suitable husband despite her small dowry and mature years.
But she didn’t require a husband. The man she had loved and gifted her heart