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Chapter Two
Fingers as nimble as those that sew with a proficient hand glided along the strings, her voice rising and falling with the soft melody. Her eyes were half-closed, her memory sufficient enough to play the tune without the supplementary of notes. The bright light of the afternoon sun sashayed through the windowpane, illuminating the evergreen carpet and Vera’s black hair held high on her head by a brightly jeweled clip. Her skin was of pale countenance like her mother, nothing like the creaminess of the father’s. Her eyes held the cobalt hue that her mother carried. The only hint that her father had ever existed was Vera’s hair, just as dark and thick as Mr. Adams’ had been.
She paused in her playing, her hands halting on the strings. The last time she had seen her father was on her sixteenth birthday. He hadn’t even looked at her as he packed his bags, anger flashing in his eyes, diminishing the seafoam color to that of the ocean on a stormy day. Vera remembered herself ineffectually calling out his name, reaching out with her fingers as he walked to the door. “Daddy?”
He had spun then, meeting her eyes. She felt her mother’s hands on her shoulders, and Vera had glanced up to encounter Mrs. Adams resolute expression. Her father had nodded once, caught Vera’s eyes, and said the one thing she would never forget:
“She is no daughter of mine. I want no connections. It is done here.”
Then he was gone with the aroma of his strong cologne fading in the air.
Vera shook her head, the memory breaking up like pieces of fog being struck by the waving of a hand.
“Miss Adams?”
Vera glanced up to be met by the same young girl as this morning. She hadn’t thought of it till now but she had never seen the girl before. Mrs. Adams must have hired new hands.
“Yes?” Vera nodded her head for the girl to speak.
“Mrs. Adams has returned from her outing. She wishes for you to join her in the lounge.”
“Very well.”
Vera quickly made her way down the hall, opening the heavy pine door that led to the lounge. It was a cluttered room, filled with luxuriant sofas and winged armchairs, a fire crackling agreeably in its grate. The Adams family was grateful of the host that so graciously lent them their apartment, furnishings included.
“Mother, I hope your trip was successful.” Vera took a seat near the fire, arranging her skirts around her knees, tucking her slippers beneath her.
“It was… satisfactory.” Vera zeroed in on her mother’s face when she heard the slight pause in her speech. That was when she noticed Mrs. Adams face was pulled down in a frown, her brow puckered, her hair falling out of its usual orderly state.
“What is it?”
Mrs. Adams met her daughter’s gaze and sighed deeply. “Lady Darnold as been gracious to offer us a home here in her cousin’s absence.”
Vera answered properly, with a nod of agreement, though she was restive with the need to know why her mother was so agitated.
“She has told me some fairly helpful yet problematic things.”
“As?”
“That Baron Cranford is in town and is having a dinner tomorrow. He has requested us to join him.”
“Baron Cranford? Is that not a good thing that such an elite family is coming into London? And that we have been invited into his home?”
“’Tis true, that is a bit of exultant news. But do you not remember, Vera, what relation Baron Cranford is to us?”
Vera nearly fell from her chair. “He did not dare bring Admiral Yalmire with him, did he?”
“He did dare.”
“But he far well knows that we have taken harbor here. Why would he do something so offensive?”
“Lady Darnold is as baffled as we are. She assures us that Admiral Yalmire’s stay is strictly business, if the rumors are to be trusted. He’ll be on his way within in the week, heading on to Bath.”
Vera shook her head, her fingers turning icy cold at the shocking news of Yalmire’s entrance back into their lives. It is Yalmire’s only daughter, Miss Amelia, who ensnared Mr. David Adams’ attention those years previous. She—the very evil that drew Eve to eat the forbidden fruit— seduced Vera’s father to adultery.
Now her mother was separated and left to spend the rest of her life disgraced while her father rendezvoused with Miss Amelia.
“Please don’t tell me that Miss Amelia and… David are with him.”
“He is still your father, Vera,” Mrs. Adams scolded with severity.
Vera’s eyes hardened as she stared into the flames. “He is no father of mine.”
Mrs. Adams sucked in air sharply, recognizing the same statement Mr. Adams had said two years ago. Choosing not to comment on it, she said to her daughter, “No. Lady Darnold assured me the two are far from her, somewhere in Manchester, she thinks.”
“Good. Be him cursed if he comes anywhere near here,” Vera whispered, too quiet for her mother to hear her.
“Now, we must take this with good graces. We must be proud. They expect us to wilt under them, but we will not.”
“No, mother, we will not.”
“Very well. I hope I haven’t upset you too much, my dear.”
“You are mistaken, mother, for I am not upset at all. But I am glad you are home for I have a new piece to play for you on the harp.”
<<>>
The following night, Vera sat before her looking glass, peering analytically at her reflection. Her cheeks were wanting color, as were her lips, and her eyes were glassy with the lack of sleep. But Barbara, her maid that had assisted her throughout her life, had outdone herself once again by altering Vera’s hair into a masterpiece.
It was high on her head, many tendrils curling around her face and falling over her brow. The top was a complicated swirl in the shape of an ‘S’, many elegant pins holding it in place. Then, over it was placed a hat with a wide brim, feathered and convoluted.
Her dress was new, a shade of dark indigo, the sleeves short, the bustle cumbersome, the train long and layered. The front was cut, showing the many shades of alternating creams and ceruleans. The corset was tight, giving her the tiny waist that most women aspired for. Her bust protruded farther than she would have liked, the neckline swooping low over her breasts. Suspended there was a necklace of a single jewel matching her dress with a satin ribbon holding it in place.
Vera concluded that she looked acceptable.
“Come, Miss Adams, the carriage awaits.”
Vera nodded and slipped on her white gloves that reached her elbows. Slipping on a short coat against the winter chill, she departed and reached her mother in the foyer.
Her mother was clothed more modestly, with a dress of forest green, a shorter train, and a higher neckline. Her hair was in a simple chignon but an ornate hat with matching ribbons garlanded her head. She too wore a coat to protect her against the elements.
“Vera, do you always have to exceed me?” Mrs. Adams teased, looking her over with approval.
“Mother, you look handsome, as usual.”
“As do you. Far better than I, I’m sure.” She winked and then motioned the footman to open the door and lead them to the carriage.
It was a frigid night, one where the breeze would tear at any exposing skin, like Vera’s face. The night was fully upon them, the stars winking coyly at them. The buildings looked rustic at that moment, unlike in the day when they lost their charm. London was still lively at this late hour, many couples out strolling or heading to the Theatre.
By the time Mrs. Adams and her daughter reached the carriage, both their faces were raw from the cold. Vera tried to rub some feeling back into her fingers as Mrs. Adams ordered the driver to Baron Cranford’s home.
On the ride, her mother talked of all the etiquette Vera must follow. Vera was slightly goaded by this. She wasn’t so insufficient that she couldn’t be properly fashionable at the dinner. She knew that the only reason for her restless was that she was beyond apprehensive. She hadn’t been seen in apposite society in over a year. There was going to be talk, there was no avoiding it. But she just hoped that she could control her sometimes-unmanageable temper.
While she half listened to her mother, she watched the outside activity. Many women were dressed in large fur overcoats, their skirts barely brushing the snow-covered ground. Men were at their elbows, aiding them over the treacherously icy sidewalks that they sometimes faced.
With a pang, Vera summoned up the image of Thomas. She remembered when he used to abet her like the men outside did; when he used to spray her with water from the sea, his crooked smile lighting up his whole face. But that all seemed like a ‘once upon a time’ out of a storybook. Nothing that she could ever experience again if she wanted a fitting husband before spring fell upon them.
The carriage rolled to a stop and Mrs. Adams peered out the window. Vera glanced over her shoulder and saw Everlancor in all it’s glory, having been in the Baron’s family for decades. Thinking of Admiral Yalmire being within laughing, drinking wine, conversing with the Baron, made her feel ill. She couldn’t do this, not now, not ever. She wasn’t fit for this kind of society. She wasn’t a Baronet’s daughter, or the Queen’s royalty. She was just Vera Adams of Edinburgh.
“Vera, please dear, don’t delay.”
Vera jolted and saw her mother already outside, shivering in the chill. Agilely leaving the carriage unaccompanied, she took her mother’s elbow and led her to the grand doors that led inside Everlancor. A footman opened the door for them and they were led just outside the dinning room doors. There, they were met with Lady Darnold.
“Oh, I fretted that you would be late,” she whispered under her breath near Vera’s mother’s ear, “They are getting atrociously impatient.”
“We are here now,” Mrs. Adams said firmly, and Vera smiled. She had her mother with her, the strongest woman she had ever known. With her, she could accomplish anything.
Or so she aspired.
