Verity and the Villain Read online

  “And you think that’s what happened to Gracey?” A much-subdued Chloe asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “This girl, will we get to meet her?”

  Trent scowled thinking about the brief coach ride he’d shared with Verity. She’d been quiet, and he wondered if he should have apologized for kissing her, although that seemed ludicrous since, theoretically, he’d only been doing what she’d asked. She wouldn’t explain her request. She’d answered his question with her own, “Did you mind?”

  He’d sputtered. It hadn’t been his finest hour, and yet, conversely, it did seem to have been one of the best in his life. He couldn’t think of another kiss he’d enjoyed as completely.

  “You’re not even listening to me.” Chloe stomped her shoe on the toe of his boot.

  He started, roused from the memory.

  “You’ve obviously met the woman you were enjoying last night.” His sister glared at him and folded her arms. “If she’s as heroic as you claim, I’d like to meet her.”

  He laughed.

  “Has she a name?”

  “I assume.”

  “You’ll either tell me, or I’ll let Gram wrestle it from you.”

  “As I said, I’m sure Gram has already heard and has had a complete dossier ordered.”

  Chloe looked out the window. “Yes, how does she do that? She seems to know every man I’ve danced with before I even get home from a ball.”

  “And she lives seven miles out of town surrounded by horses,” Trent added.

  Chloe nodded. “It’s as if she has a secret mirror or a crystal ball. I bet she’ll have heard everything about your latest conquest.”

  Then maybe she can enlighten me, he thought. Although, Verity certainly wasn’t his conquest. He was beginning to suspect that maybe he was hers. To the victor goes the spoils. What had anyone gained from last night? The rumor mill had new gossip. Trent had a memory that would tease him for countless nights. And what had Verity gained?

  There were so many things he’d like to know. He suspected there was more to Verity’s interest in Steele and Lucky Island than moral convictions. She’d wanted to hide her face--why else would she have asked to be kissed? Not that he hadn’t been happy to oblige.

  In fact, he wished she’d ask again.

  #

  Verity followed her aunt down the aisle, her head bowed in humility and feigned reverence. She’d chosen to wear her most demure dress, a high necked, long sleeve affair of Dresden blue muslin that screamed of Protestant propriety. Half the pews were already filled as Verity had hoped. Not too early, not too late, no need to draw any more unnecessary attention. Surely, not all of the parishioners had attended the ball. Only a few could have seen her personal peep show. She slipped into the pew beside her aunt, pulled a bible from its slot and pretended to study. She flipped through the pages and her gaze landed on Psalms 2:12. Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Verity slapped the book shut, her cheeks flaming. Keeping her face lowered, she opened the book again.

  Psalms 83:16. Fill their faces with shame; that they may seek thy name, O LORD.

  Verity closed the book with a small sigh.

  While Aunt Tilly looked around the chapel, smiling and winking at friends and fellow gossips, Verity kept her head bowed. If not for Tilly and Georgina, she would have pleaded a headache and stayed at home. Looking out from under her lashes, she wondered how many of the congregation knew that she was one half of the kissing couple in the hotel’s garden. Remembering Georgina, Verity cast a quick glance to the back-left pew where Georgina typically sat. She made eye contact with Miles.

  He stared at her from the doorway, looking as if she’d slapped him. He knows, Verity thought, sinking a little lower in the pew. Minnie, who stood beside her brother, flashed a tell- me-everything-smile at Verity while towing her brother up the aisle. Minnie pushed Miles into the pew beside Verity. Then she sat down, reached over and grabbed Verity’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Talk soon,” Minnie mouthed.

  Beside her, Miles sat as stiff as a totem pole. He picked up a hymnal and radiated self-righteous indignation.

  Verity tried smiling at him, but he refused to look at her. Even when Tilly, the perpetual matchmaker, slid closer to Verity, causing her to inadvertently bump into Miles, he didn’t smile or flinch.

  “So sorry,” Verity muttered, looking at Miles’ clenched jaw.

  He sniffed.

  While the prayer droned on, Verity thought about Trent. She knew her heart and head weren’t where they should be. She should be focusing on the worship service, not on Trent. She sighed in relief when the sermon started.

  Tilly shifted in her seat, jostling Verity. Verity tried to be steadfast, but she was too slight to not be moved by her aunt’s bulk. Miles gave her a hard look.

  Verity stared at the stain glass window. She felt rather than saw the curious stares of the parishioners. In the quiet lull between the choir and hymn, she imagined whispers. How could she tell any of them, especially her aunt, Miles, and Minnie, that her relationship with Trent was more businesslike than romantic? How could she persuade them when she wasn’t completely convinced herself? She flushed, remembering the kiss.

  Father Klum preached free will while Verity considered her choices.

  “It is the coward and the fool who says this is his destiny. It is the strong man who stands up and says I will make my own life, follow my own path," Klum said.

  My path has led me to Seattle, Verity thought. And I don’t want to leave.

  Steele had never seemed a religious man. She hadn’t feared meeting him in the tiny Episcopal chapel where her aunt attended services, but she ran the risk of meeting him around nearly every other corner.

  “However, we must understand that while we are free to choose, we are not free to choose the consequences of our choices,” Klum continued, pounding his fist on the podium for emphasis.

  She still had her mother’s jewels should she need passage fare. Where could she go? Alaska? San Francisco? Perhaps she could set up a bakery. She missed the pies, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and fruit.

  No. She had, until today’s unfortunate church service, loved living with her aunt. She liked Minnie, Donavan, Miles, Lee and Young Lee, and her work at the shop. If she were honest, she’d admit that she enjoyed kissing Trent.

  She hoped it would happen again.

  Intensity shook Klum’s voice. “We are free to act, but we will be held accountable for our actions.”

  Verity watched Klum from under her lashes. She found his sermon confusing, applicable, and yet true. She couldn’t stay in Seattle without risk. She was still considering the risk when the sermon ended.

  She knelt to pray with the rest of the congregation. She prayed for Tilly, Miles, Minnie, and Trent. She prayed that she’d be able to stay in Seattle and when the prayer ended, she rose to find a slip of paper had been left on the pew.

  Was it an answer to her prayer? Or just an address?

  #

  “So, I’ve heard interesting stories about your little shop girl,” Hester said without looking over her shoulder as she brushed her favorite gelding, Hans, a sixteen-hand Arabian stallion. The horse’s flanks quivered beneath her care, but he stood rigid as Hester worked the brush across his hide. Sunlight streamed through the stable window and caught dust mites floating up from the piles of strewn straw. Hester turned Hans’ head to stroke his mane until it gleamed black. Then she turned her own head and leveled her gaze at Trent.

  Her eyes, blue and clear, saw everything. Her shoulders bore all their burdens. She’d been strong, resilient and sturdy all his life. While she hadn’t always laughed at his pranks, she had sometimes smiled. And she’d always been a fair and impartial judge when he and Chloe had tried to outfox the other.

  Twice he’d seriously argued with his grandmother. The first time was when he didn’t want to attend the university. He hadn’t seen the n
eed. Letters behind his name wouldn’t make him a successful rancher. He had thought she’d relent, but eventually he understood that just as the education gave him choice and opportunity, it had also bought her time. He considered himself fortunate that he had the choice and opportunity to return to the ranch, even if it wasn’t his, yet. Hester had promised him the ranch if he’d receive his college degree. So, he was a doctor of philosophy and not a ranch owner.

  The second argument was over Chloe joining The Puget Players.

  Trent braced his shoulders, although he hadn’t any doubts about his grandmother’s omniscience, occasionally he had hoped. Hopes that were never realized. She ran the ranch, harvested hay, apples, and bushels of onions, and still had the time and ability to monitor the incomings and outgoings of her posterity.

  Gracey being the notable exception.

  Hester slapped Hans’ hide, an at ease command, and the horse lowered his head, nickered, and relaxed. “I hope she isn’t distracting you from your purpose,” Hester said, her brow furrowed beneath her straw hat. She gathered up the gear and returned it to the tackle box.

  Trent followed, relieved he didn’t have to discuss his encounter with Verity Faye and yet unhappy to deliver his unwelcome news. He pulled the jewels from his pocket and he could tell from the flash of pain in his grandmother’s eyes that she recognized them.

  “Where?” she asked, her voice hoarse and thick with unaccustomed emotion. She took a seat on a bale of hay and Trent sat beside her.

  “In Steele’s safe.”

  She leveled her blue eyes at him. “Was that wise?” She took the jewels and fingered them with a faraway look in her eyes. “How?”

  He flinched under her steady gaze. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t utter the excuses.

  Hester smiled and looked away. “A bit of bravado for the shop girl?”

  “No.” Trent stood. “She has nothing to do with this.”

  Hester cocked her head at him, and he had the uncomfortable feeling he looked like Old Shep when caught stealing chickens.

  She picked up the bag, poured out the jewels and held them so that they sparkled in the sunlight creeping in through the wide double barn doors. A mare in the next stall neighed in appreciation. “Pretty, aren’t they?” Hester murmured. She returned the jewels to the bag. Her voice dropped in volume. “Do you think she’s dead?”

  “No, I don’t.” Trent cleared his throat. “Have you heard of Lucky Island?”

  His grandmother gave him a hard stare, as if to say, of course. He squirmed. He didn’t want to talk to his grandmother about prostitutes or brothels.

  “Verity knows someone who has been attempting to rescue the girls on the island.” He made his suspicion sound like fact.

  “Verity, the shop girl.”

  Trent dipped his head.

  “I thought she had nothing to do with this.”

  Trent studied his boots. “I’m hoping she’ll take me to meet these people.”

  “Do the girls wish to be rescued?”

  “Verity--” he cleared his throat. “It’s believed that perhaps some of the girls had been kidnapped and conscripted.”

  Hester grunted. “Dangerous and frightening. Our Gracey?”

  “Perhaps.” Trent had to look away from his grandmother’s pain. “I had suspicions about Steele before Verity’s,” he paused and felt his face flush, “…involvement,” he finished.

  “So Verity’s involved. I thought you said she had nothing to do with this.”

  Trent didn’t answer.

  Hester continued. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It seems an odd and perilous mission for a young girl.”

  Trent looked through the door. He wanted to tell his grandmother that Verity wasn’t that young. He had a sudden vision of how he’d first seen her on the boat, her hair swirling in the wind.

  “So,” Hester interrupted his reminiscing. “You don’t know why Verity is interested in the Lucky Island girls.”

  “No.”

  “Well, then you must bring her here so that I can ask.” Hester stood, brushed her hands on her overalls and said as casually as if she were asking him to pass the butter, “Bring Gracey home and the ranch is yours.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Trussing holds a bird together during a cooking so that it holds an attractive shape.

  Truss with strong string or poultry skewers.

  From The Recipes of Verity Faye

  Trent spotted her across the busy street. Beyond the horses and wagons, he watched her pause outside a book shop. She turned her head as she contemplated the books, the curls poked from her bonnet trailed down her neck. He remembered kissing where the curls lay, and he resisted the temptation to vault across the muddy street. He knew rumors had to be raging after last night’s garden tryst and her aunt specialized in chitchat. Tilly had mastered and perfected gossip and he wondered how she would juggle the talk of her darling niece. Would she champion her? Defend her? Or would she control her tongue and, for once, keep silent?

  Trent watched Verity around the corner. He could either go after her, or--He stopped. He couldn’t think of a good reason not to follow. Perhaps she could lead him to her contact.

  He tied Sysonsby to a hitching post and began up the sidewalk. Verity stopped on the corner of Denny and Broadway and looked around before hurrying through the black wrought iron gates of Denny Park. She seemed furtive and nervous. He watched as she slipped behind a mausoleum. Hurrying after her, unwilling to let her out of his sight, he wondered if she knew that until just a few years ago, Denny Park had been a cemetery. The city had relocated the majority of the gravesites, but a number still remained. Verity hid behind the Huntington family obelisk. He could see the hem of her skirt poking out from behind a rhododendron shrub.

  Smiling, he stooped to pick up a small smooth stone and pitched it into a shrub just beyond Verity. To his surprise, a large pheasant emerged from the bush with a cry and a flurry of feathers.

  He watched Verity’s face light with astonishment and pleasure as she watched the bird wing into the air. The tail streaked behind.

  “Beautiful,” he said in her ear.

  She didn’t turn but continued watching the bird. “Yes, it is.” When the bird had turned into a dark speck in the sky, she looked at him. “Did you know it was there?”

  Trent shook his head. “A happy surprise.”

  “And our meeting here?”

  He spread out his hands and laughed. “I could ask you the same question. Are you friendly with the Huntingtons?”

  “The who?”

  “I thought not.” He cleared his throat and read the names etched onto the obelisk. “John, Grace, Meredith, and Robert.”

  Verity patted her hair back into her bonnet. “I’m afraid I haven’t made their acquaintance.”

  “A pity, seeing as how they’re gone now.” He offered her his arm.

  Flushed and nervous, Verity’s gaze flitted around the grounds.

  “Are you looking for someone?”

  She tipped her head forward and stepped from her hiding place. “I wonder if we should be seen together since our last meeting. We may have complicated our lives needlessly.”

  He offered her his arm. “Complications can be serendipitous.”

  “Is that a word?” She took his proffered arm and slid a glance at his face as she fell into step beside him.

  “Absolutely, it was first coined in 1754. It's defined as the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for. Horace Walpole, parliament member and writer, used it in a letter he wrote to an English friend who was spending time in Italy. Walpole came up with the word after a fairy tale he once read, called The Three Princes of Serendip. As their highnesses traveled, they were always making discoveries, by accidents and good fortune, things for which they weren’t searching.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” She blinked at him and looked as if she expected him to g
row wings and fly away with the pheasant.

  “The three princes hail from Serendip, the Persian word for the island nation off the southern tip of India.”

  “That’s serendipity, not serendipitous.”

  He shrugged and smiled. “If serendipitous is not a word then it should be.”

  “If it is, I don’t think it applies.”

  “It certainly does. Kissing you made me happy.”

  “And that surprised you.”

  “Your request surprised me.”

  “Perhaps we should set sail for the Isle of Serendip.” She bit her lower lip. “I thought I heard whispers this morning in church.”

  They walked in silence through the grounds. The afternoon sun set high above them, too far to afford much warmth. After a moment Trent said, “My grandmother knew.”

  Verity stopped. She didn’t need to ask of what. “Oh dear. Have I gotten you in trouble?”

  “No, but she’s drawn up plans for our cottage.”

  Verity looked heavenward at the bright and yet lukewarm sun. “In Serendip?”

  He shook his head. “Somewhere much closer. But she’d like to meet you first before the hearthstone is laid.”

  “Oh dear,” she said again, a little quieter.

  “And your aunt?”

  Verity blushed an interesting shade of pink. He wondered if she had turned that color after their kiss. In the moonlight, it’d been difficult to tell, although he remembered the heat from her cheeks. In the bright afternoon, it would be different.

  Verity stuttered. “I’m afraid she misunderstands.”

  “No cottage plans?”

  “I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  Trent laughed. “Don’t be. I’m not.” He lowered his gaze to meet hers. “Are you?” He could kiss her again, watch her cheeks to see the color rise, slip his arms around her and carry her into the folly beyond the fountain.