Where there is Love: The Colchester Sisters Read online

  “I am simply amusing myself, that is all,” Richard said defensively.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Verity said with some exasperation. “I am not basing my findings on nothing more than ten minutes of your obvious jealousy, Richard. You forget, I know both you and Jane very well indeed and I have seen this coming for a long time.”

  “Seen what coming?”

  “Nobody studying you properly could fail to see your growing attraction to my sister. And I am not chastising you for it, Richard, for I think that you would make a very good match.”

  “Oh, do you indeed?” Richard said and laughed. “And why is that?”

  “Because you already love one another,” Verity said simply, and as always, she cut to the very core of things without prevarication.

  “If Jane already loves me, why is she clear across the assembly rooms in the company of Lady Miller’s nephew?”

  “Because Lady Miller asked if she could introduce her,” Verity said and squinted at him in a way which was characteristic of the woman.

  “You always respond so plainly,” Richard laughed. “All right, I shall put it another way. Of course, Jane would never refuse to be introduced to anybody, we both know that. But look at her now. Look how she enjoys his company, how she smiles at him and laughs at anything he says. That is not the behavior of a woman who is already in love with somebody else.”

  “The thing is, she probably does not realize it.” Verity shrugged. “I really cannot explain all the ins and outs for it is hardly my area of expertise. All I can do is report what I have seen and what I am sure to be true. I am afraid you will have to work out the minutiae for yourself.”

  “Why should I work it out for myself when you have already been so helpful, Verity?” Richard chuckled.

  “Obviously, I will help you wherever I can. It is just that I think my advice has already run dry.” She shrugged. “Just buy the book, Richard. It will be quicker and quieter if you do.”

  “Verity, I can hardly imagine myself sitting in my armchair by the fire reading The Romancing of Beatrice,” Richard said with a sigh.

  “Why not? Your father is still away, is he not? And I am sure that your servants would not care at all what it is you read as you sit by the fire. Better that you read the thing now whilst you have the solitude in which to do it.”

  “I have a feeling, Verity, that the world is not as plain and simple as you might think it. Believe me, if I thought that reading a dreadful romance novel would do anything to help me win Jane’s affections, I would do it. But the fact of the matter is that I fail to see how it would help me at all.”

  “Then you admit that you do want to attract Jane’s affections? There, that is a start, is it not? We are not even reading about Beatrice and already she is helping us.” Verity’s eyes were wide and shining with amusement.

  “How clever you are, Verity.” Richard shook his head. “I think I ought to deliver you to your father and leave you to listen to whatever long-winded conversation he and Bartholomew Redford are having.”

  “I do hope you are teasing,” Verity said with a shudder. “It would make the night very long and rather devoid of interest.”

  “Of course, I am teasing,” he said before his attention was drawn sharply to the dancefloor where Jane and the handsome nephew were taking their places.

  “It is just a dance, Richard,” Verity said the moment she realized the reason for his desolate countenance. “Come, we shall join them,” she said and laced her arm through his.

  “You want to dance?”

  “Not really, I just want to show you that a simple dance is just that. A dance. Does not really mean anything, does it?” Verity said, her strident brand of common sense coming to the fore. “But you must concentrate on the dance itself otherwise we will end up in a heap.”

  “Well, I will do my best,” Richard said and led her to the dancefloor.

  Chapter Five

  “I see you have your nose in that book again, sister.” Amos, Jane’s brother, sat down on the couch at her side. “Is it really as exciting as all that?”

  “It is a lovely book, Amos,” Jane said, not at all ashamed to be so romantic in front of her brother.

  Amos was just about the finest brother a woman could have in the world and he adored his sisters as if they were the most precious people alive.

  “Well, I am glad that you are enjoying it, my dear. Even some of the men at my gentlemen’s club are talking about it. It is a funny thing, is it not, that a nation could be gripped by something seemingly so silly?” He held his hand up when she had begun to object. “I do not think I mean silly, Jane,” he said and chewed at his bottom lip for a moment whilst he thought. “Perhaps a little frivolous and romantic.”

  “All right, I will admit that much,” Jane laughed. “But really, it is very enthralling. I suppose we all like to read something a little frivolous now and again.”

  “I believe that you would read nothing else if you had the chance of it.”

  “That is very true, Amos,” Jane said and smiled, closing the book and setting it down before reaching out to take her brother’s hand. “So, how is your day to be spent today, brother?”

  “I am meeting with a friend of mine for a little hunting on his estate.”

  “Oh yes? Which friend?” Jane was always interested in her brother’s life.

  “Charles Woolford,” he said and narrowed his gaze. “I do not think you know him.”

  “No, although I have heard you talk of him before. I gather you are not the closest friends?”

  “We are really acquaintances, Jane, but he is a very fine fellow and I am pleased to be spending the afternoon in sport with him.”

  “Then he must be a fine fellow indeed if you like him, Amos.” She patted his hand vigorously before releasing him.

  “And he has very good taste.” Amos went on and Jane looked at him curiously, knowing that there was something to be told.

  Amos was the oldest of the four siblings. At seven-and-twenty, Jane thought he really ought to have been married by now. Still, Amos thoroughly enjoyed his life and had such a kind and amusing disposition, just like her father, that he could likely afford to wait until any age and still find a willing bride.

  And he was a handsome young man with a ready smile and open features. More than one of Jane’s female friends had expressed admiration for him and she had gladly given him the details on every occasion.

  “In what way does your new friend have good taste, Amos?”

  “He has good taste in young ladies, Jane.” Amos was the sort of man that Jane could read like a book and his broad smile was so teasing that she knew what was coming next. “The poor man has seen you from afar, my dear, and declares you to be the greatest beauty in all of Hertfordshire.”

  “Really?” Jane said and knew that she did not have to be coy with her brother. “Did he really say that?”

  “He most certainly did and I, my dear sister, congratulated him on having the finest taste in all of England.”

  “You are a very good brother. Tell me, what sort of man is he?”

  At that point, Verity and their father came into the drawing room and Jane realized that it would very soon be time for tea. Once again, their beloved mother was out and working hard for charitable causes. She was so busy of late, but Jane would not begrudge her it.

  “I think he is handsome enough to suit your tastes, Jane.” Amos went on, not at all perturbed by the appearance of Edward and Verity. “He is a clever sort of a man and he has a very fine estate. Not quite as large as Father’s, but large enough.”

  “But what sort of man is he?”

  “A clever man, did I not just say?”

  “I suppose I am not asking properly,” Jane said, noting that her father was already amused before he had a complete understanding of the conversation. “I am just thinking what a wonderful thing it would be if he was a romantic young man.”

  “I cannot say whether or not he is
romantic, my dear,” Amos said and turned to look at their father with an amusingly pained expression. “It is hardly the sort of thing that one man discusses with another.”

  “Which is a great pity, for I am bound to say that it would encourage reticent men to delve a little deeper,” Jane said with a sigh.

  “My dear Jane, there is more to a young man than a romantic notion,” her father said before sitting down heavily in his armchair by the fire. “You would not want one who was not clever, would you?”

  “Of course not, Papa.” Jane said defensively. “But I would not be pleased by a young man who did not think me worthy of a little romance. I am sure that you did much to show my mother that you cared for her in the weeks and months before you proposed marriage.”

  “Indeed, I did, Jane. And I was rather good at it, as a matter of fact,” he said and held his head high with the desired effect of making his children laugh. “I still am.”

  “We will have to take your word for it,” Jane said between breathless laughs. “Or better still, take Mama’s word for it.”

  “Papa is romantic, Jane. Just last week he had some early daffodils cut from the garden for Mama,” Verity said and sat down on the couch on the other side of her brother.

  “Here I sit, a rose between two thorns,” Amos said amusingly.

  “You mean a thorn between two roses.” Jane corrected him.

  “Ah, I always get that back to front.” Amos began to fidget. “Is tea coming soon? I am awfully hungry.”

  “Yes, Papa asked for it when we were on our way here,” Verity said and shook her head. “And when are you not hungry, Amos?”

  “We are getting off the subject,” Jane complained. “Tell me more about this… what was his name?”

  “Charles Woolford,” Amos said and shook his head. “The poor man, you have forgotten him already.”

  “Only because Papa distracted me so. But he does sound like a very nice man.”

  “He is a nice man, Jane. And as you know, I am very protective of my sisters and would not have them introduced to just anybody,” Amos went on.

  “Then I am to be introduced to him?” Jane asked brightly.

  “Oh no!” Verity complained loudly. “You are adding another man to your own novel.”

  “My own novel?” Jane said and peered around her brother to look at her sister.

  “Yes, The Romancing of Jane,” Verity said, and all present, Jane included, laughed heartily.

  “If it is good enough for Beatrice, it is good enough for me,” Jane said firmly.

  Chapter Six

  “Miss Colchester to see you, Sir,” the maid said after tapping on the drawing room door. “Would you like me to show her in?”

  “Oh, yes please,” Richard said, his spirits suddenly soaring.

  He had been thinking about Jane all morning as he plowed his way through the first few pages of The Romancing of Beatrice. As Verity had suggested, he had managed to procure himself a copy. But, being a little proud, he had begged one of the maids to go and get it for him, careful to beg for her discretion at the same time.

  Still, his explanation that he was simply going to use it as a reference for wooing young ladies seemed to satisfy her curiosity and she was only too pleased to help.

  And so, he had decided to read it all before his father returned. He still had a week further to himself whilst his father visited relatives in the Midlands. Surely, that would be enough time to have the thing read. And yet, he was finding every page so difficult, especially since his own incredulity seemed to interrupt him with the turn of every page.

  “Miss Colchester, Sir,” the maid said and stood back to reveal Verity rather than Jane.

  “Oh,” Richard said and immediately regretted the obvious display of disappointment. “Maisie, would you be so kind as to do the honors and bring some tea?” He smiled brightly at the maid. “I know it is still only mid-morning, but I would be very grateful.”

  “Certainly, Sir,” Maisie said and bobbed before turning to leave.

  “You were expecting Jane,” Verity said with a laugh. “But I am afraid that I will have to do.”

  “And you will do very nicely, my dear, as always,” Richard said, knowing that he did not really have to struggle to soothe Verity’s wounded ego. In all truth, he wondered if such a creature’s ego truly existed in Verity. In a lot of ways, Verity seemed quite impervious to the little slights that any other woman might have found insurmountable.

  “Yes, all right.” Verity shrugged. “Ah, I see you have taken my advice!” she said and darted across the room to snatch the little volume up from the low oak table at the side of his chair. “The Romancing of Beatrice,” she said and stifled a laugh.

  “Well, you did advise it.” Richard was ready to defend himself.

  “Oh, please do not look so dismayed,” Verity said and reached into the pocket in her gown to reveal that she too had the book. “You should have seen the look the bookseller gave me. Still, I daresay it was nothing in comparison to the looks that you got.”

  “I sent Maisie,” Richard said. “I admit it openly.”

  “I cannot blame you, it really is a dreadful book.” Verity sat down on the couch. “Goodness, it is warm in here.”

  “I keep throwing logs onto the fire, my dear. I have hardly moved all morning for reading this thing and so I grew a little cold.”

  “It is a good thing that your father is not here for I know he would not be at all pleased at you racing your way through so much fuel.” Verity opened her copy of the book. “Where have you managed to get to?”

  “Lord Pemberchook and his dramatic ivy-climbing and rose-leaving scene.” Richard closed his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side. “I would have thought that the action would have built from slight to great, but it seems to be rather haphazard.”

  “Yes, climbing up the ivy seemed like a strange thing to have so close to the beginning. Still, there does not appear to be much by way of common sense in this thing,” she said and tapped the pages with her index finger. “But it is all we have to work with.”

  “I must admit, I think climbing up the wisteria, or getting a ladder, is all a little bit obvious. It seems a little bit over the top and I am not entirely sure that Jane would be as impressed with that as she might with something different,” Richard said and ran a hand over his soft beard.

  “I agree entirely, Richard, and I have found something that I think would suit you very well.” Verity, wearing a long-sleeved and rather plain fawn colored gown looked suddenly a little animated.

  “Oh, yes?” Richard said and lifted his own book ready to find the exact passage.

  “It is on page seventeen,” she began, and he coughed, causing her to look at him sharply. “What?”

  “I have not yet got as far as page seventeen.”

  “And you have been reading it all morning?”

  “It is, without the shadow of a doubt, the worst book I have ever read, Verity.” Richard said with a sigh. “The beginning of each fresh page causes me physical pain.”

  “How on earth can it do that?” Verity asked but laughed regardless. “Shall I just read it to you?”

  “Yes, please do.” He closed his own book and leaned his head back as he allowed his eyelids to fall shut.

  “Right,” Verity said, and he could hear her turning the pages. “When the butler delivered the small box to her, Beatrice could hardly wait to open it. She could already see the calling card of Mr. Augustus Dalrymple sitting on the top and she was all excited as she wondered what he had sent her.”

  “Was it a limb?” Richard said dryly.

  “No, it was just a little box, you see,” Verity said so plainly that he did not know if she was being equally sarcastic or simply as literal as she was the rest of the time.

  “Shame,” Richard said, and Verity cleared her throat to continue.

  “Beatrice untied the string with quivering hands, her heart thundering with anticipation. She cast the
string carelessly to one side and hurriedly pulled off the lid. And there, resting on a velvet cushion, lay an intricate love heart carved out of sugar. Beatrice’s hand rose to her own heart and she let it lay there as she stared down into the box. How very caring of him, how romantic. He had gone out of his way to discover that Beatrice adored such sugar treats more than anything and that it was heart-shaped, well, that was more romantic still.”

  “A heart made out of sugar? But why?” Richard said with a sigh.

  “Because it is prettier than a limb made out of sugar, Richard, or a kidney.” Verity chuckled. “But it is not really the point.”

  “Then what is the point? I have never known Jane to be particularly fond of sugar creations. I have seen her stand at a sugar banquet and eat nothing all night.” Richard shook his head. “No, Verity, I do not think that would do at all. I do not think that Jane would find something like that as romantic as you imagine.”

  “No, I do not mean for you to send her a sugar heart, Richard. But to send her something that she does like.” Verity sighed in exasperation. “To find the thing that she likes more than anything and to send it to her.”

  “But how am I to know what food she likes more than anything?” Richard continued to complain.

  “For heaven’s sake, because I am here!” Verity was shaking her head. “I can tell you what she likes the best.”

  “Oh yes, of course,” Richard laughed. “Well, what should I send her?”

  “A box containing Chelsea buns,” Verity said with confidence.

  “Oh yes, she is rather partial to Chelsea buns.” Richard nodded heartily in agreement.

  “But they must come from Mrs. Deary’s teashop in Colington. Those are the ones that she likes best and Mrs. Deary will put four in a box for you if you ask nicely.”

  “That all sounds simple enough,” Richard said, “so, I shall send a box containing four Chelsea buns and my calling card and see where that gets me.”