Verity turned around, astonished that the dowager duchess would address her on something so inconsequential. She was even more astonished to see that the dowager duchess had moved to a different chair, which allowed her to better observe Verity.
“Yes, I send the wildflowers,” she said, wary.
“I thought so. Only you would think to give him something like that.”
“He liked wildflowers.”
“Your uncle was very fond of you,” said the dowager duchess. “Sometimes I think he loved you better than any of his own daughters.”
Verity didn’t know what response the dowager duchess intended to provoke, so she said nothing. As she turned back toward the window, her gaze landed on the framed picture of a pleasant-looking young man. It took her some staring to realize that it was her little cousin, whom she’d loved as a brother, all grown up.
“How old is Tin now?” she asked.
“Twenty-eight August last.”
“Shouldn’t he have married already?”
“Sometimes he is in a hurry to marry. But then he realizes the advantage of patience.”
Verity glanced at the dowager duchess. “You mean you have rejected every girl he likes.”
“I want him to marry someone who loves him for who he is, rather than what he is.”
Verity chuckled bitterly. “That is an odd sentiment coming from you.”
“That has been my standard for the spouses of all my children. I’ve done very well by my daughters. I will do well by him too.”
There was a long silence. Then, because she’d worried too much about it, Verity blurted, “Why do you have my son watched? I would like you to stop.”
“He is my sister’s grandson. Do you think the adopted son of a gamekeeper would have found a place at Rugby without my interference? Or that his life there would have been tolerable without the rumors I originated concerning his sire?”
“You used him to threaten me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You used him to keep me in line, so that I wouldn’t tell anyone who I was and embarrass you again, but I would never—”
A footman entered the room. Verity swallowed her rising tirade.
“Mr. Somerset has arrived, Madame,” said the footman.
“Very good. Clear the tea service and show him in in two minutes.”
When the footman was gone, the dowager duchess pointed to a Japanese screen set diagonally across a far corner of the drawing room. “There is a chair behind the screen. You will wait there.”
It seemed a long time before Stuart was shown in—Verity’s eyes were cross from staring at a delicately painted crane. At last his name was announced. She clamped her hands between her legs to keep them from shaking and followed the sound of his footsteps across the floor.
“Your Grace,” he said, his voice warm but puzzled. “You sent for me?”
“I did. Thank you for coming so promptly.”
“I’m amazed you knew where I was to be found—it is not every day that I visit my own solicitors.”
“I do have my means, Mr. Somerset. Please, take a seat.”
“Is it something urgent?”
“It is certainly not something I wish to leave to the caprice of time.”
“You have my full attention then, Madame.”
“I sincerely hope so, for I need you to listen very carefully to what I have to say.”
Someone came in and left. Verity heard the sound of water—the dowager duchess pouring tea.
“It has come to my attention that you have taken up with your cook,” said the elder woman.
From across the length of the room Verity felt him stiffen in discomfiture.
“With all due respect, Madame, that is not something I will discuss.”
She was gratified to hear that his voice had lost some of its warmth.
“I am not interested in the private particulars of your life, Mr. Somerset, but only the public ramifications.”
“Miss Bessler and I have ended our engagement. I see no moral conflict to my ‘taking up’ with anyone.”
“But it will not be interpreted that way. Once it is known that your cook is now your mistress, it will be naturally assumed that it was Miss Bessler’s revulsion that led her to cry off the engagement. Lest we forget, her father is still well beloved among our rank and file. Your own prestige will suffer much in consequence.”
The dowager duchess sounded so reasonable, so maternally concerned that Verity had to will herself not to despair.
“I see,” Stuart answered, his voice guarded. “That would be most unfortunate.”
“Ah, but it is not only unfortunate for yourself. It damages us all. Mr. Gladstone will be grieved to learn that you have so compromised your moral authority. He depends wholeheartedly upon you to lead the contest in the Lower House. We have no one else of equivalent skills and standing. Your diminished stature will severely wound any chance we might have of passing the Home Rule bill. Do you not agree?”