Lady in Rags

Chapter Thirty: Lunch

Having extracted the promise from Richard, there was nothing Verity wanted more than to be rid of him. However, she did not want to disillusion him of her attitude towards him and send him running home in an angry huff to tell his father, so she tolerated his insistence on riding down to the village to buy her lunch, and went back into the dining room to await his return. The prospect of food was as welcome as the prospect of his company was not.

However, before he could return, she was surprised by the sound of more horses' hooves, and looked out the front window to see Mrs Roper driving up in the servants' buggy.

She went out to meet her, and laughed when she saw the loaded basket of bread and fruit and preserves that she carried with her.

"Armiger will be devastated. He's just gone to get me lunch."

Mrs Roper raised her eyebrows as she followed Verity into the house. "Armiger? Love, love, have you been dreaming?"

"Richard Armiger." Verity snatched a roll of bread from the basket and bit into it as Mrs Roper began to lay out her own tablecloth on the ugly old dining room table. "He followed me here, and -" She chewed fiercely, and swallowed. "He knows."

"He knows?" Mrs Roper began to cut the rolls. "No butter, I'm afraid. But I've apples, and half a ham. I didn't think about food until after you'd left, poor girl, when George told me it wasn't to your grandmother's place. He knows what, and how?"

Verity plunged into another bread roll. This time, she waited just long enough to slather a generous spoonful of raspberry jam on it first. Her hunger was like a dagger in her belly.

"He knows about the baby. He guessed."

"Don't you eat too quick, now. You'll be sick. Slow down. And sit down. I can't believe it. That self-centred boy guessing about a woman's pregnancy – and going to get you lunch on top."

"I fainted," Verity said, finally sinking back into a chair. "I fainted, and I think he was worried – about the baby more than me."

"Aye. You're probably right there. He must know, if it weren't for his meddling, that baby would be heir to his title after him."

"If it's a boy," Verity said quietly. "If it's a boy. But it won't be, now, either way."

With her usual indirect weaving and hopping between conversations, Mrs Roper asked, "You fainted? Hurt yourself?"

"Only when I hit the ground." Verity winced and felt her elbows and thighs, which were beginning to bruise.

"You've been ill – very ill. Here, have some ham. Ill with grief, love. It'll consume you, if you don't keep fighting it. And you can't let it consume you. There's things coming in your life worth living for."

Verity smiled faintly. "I know."

The door opened behind them, and Richard entered. He was carrying a loaf of bread under one arm, and a wheel of cheese under the other.

"Oh," he said, seeing Mrs Roper. His gaze rested on the spread on the table. "Oh."

"Please," Verity said, "I'm very grateful to you. I didn't know she would come."

"No matter. This will keep for you." He came forward, his limp pronounced without his stick to help him. "I can leave it here? There was no way to get milk – where does one get milk in the country anyhow?"

"From cows." Mrs Roper eyed Richard distrustfully. "No. Don't go just yet. Sit down."

"I did buy tea," he said meekly. "As apology for the milk. It's in the saddlebag."