Page 95 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

He cupped her cheek with his hand. “My love, you are braver than anyone I know, and stronger. However, I’m very glad you feel I help you. Do you want me to go with you?” There was a certain wariness in his eyes, and she knew he thought she would insist on doing it by herself.

In the past, she would have, but now she said, “Yes. I want you by my side.”

“Then that’s where I’ll be.”

WHEN THEY ARRIVED at Poppy’s house, Verity was doubly glad Nathan had come with her. His quiet presence steadied her as she left the carriage and started up the short walk to the house. But before they reached it, the front door opened, and Jonathan Stanhope came out.

Verity came to a dead halt, stunned, her stomach turning to ice.

He was putting on his hat, his eyes on the steps in front of him, but he looked up and saw Verity. He went still, his gaze suddenly intent—like a hound that had scented his quarry, Verity thought.

Beside Verity, Nathan muttered, “What the devil is he doing here?”

Verity’s thoughts flew to her sister. Had he hurt Poppy? Threatened her? And suddenly the ice was gone, and a hot determination flooded her.

“Nothing good,” she snapped and tightened her grip on Nathan’s arm.

“Verity.” A smile started on Stanhope’s face—not the fierce triumphant one he had shown her at the play, but an uncertain curve of the lips that matched the faint wariness in his eyes as she marched up to him. Before she could speak, he said, “I wish to apologize for startling you at the theater. I had been looking for you for a very long time, and I was so surprised that I fear I lost my manners. I should have guessed that you might not know who I was.”

“Oh, I know you, Lord Stanhope.”

“I see.” He looked taken aback. “Well, um...I’m not Lord Stanhope yet. Merely Mr. Stanhope—Jonathan, I had hoped, to you. My father still holds the title.”

Verity stared. She felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her. “He’s alive?”

“Yes. Were you not aware?”

“No,” she said faintly, feeling a little breathless, and Nathan slipped his arm around her waist.

“He still lives. But he is much changed. He spends most of his days in a chair on the terrace, looking at the garden. His memory is very poor. He wouldn’t know who you are.”

“I thought—all that blood—I thought I killed him.” Verity was grateful for Nathan’s supporting arm. She was bombarded by conflicting emotions—relief, joy, disbelief, regret over the years lost—and she turned to Nathan, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“I know, love,” Nathan said to her, tightening his arm around her waist. He looked over at Stanhope. “Verity thought that she had been blamed for his murder. That evening at the theater, when you appeared, well, we presumed that you were going to accuse her of exactly that.”

“That is why you ran?” Jonathan said. “You thought I wanted revenge?” He shook his head. “I don’t. Frankly, I am grateful, as are all the servants. Father seems content and is in no pain, and the household is now peaceful. No doubt I sound as cold as he, but what you did made my life a great deal more bearable. I was under his rule just as you were. I was still at school...the servants found him. Money and jewelry were missing, so the assumption was that thieves had broken into the house and when he tried to stop him, they attacked him.”

“But Poppy and I were gone.”

“We decided that whoever assaulted him also abducted you and your sister.” A faint smile touched his lips as he saw the skeptical expression on Verity’s face. “I didn’t believe that, you understand, but it seemed the best solution. I did try to find the two of you, but not because I wanted you punished. I thought to simply bring you home. But we could find no trace of you.”

“We were hidden by an expert,” Verity said drily.

“Eventually, I found Poppy, but you were much tougher to locate. I hired a Bow Street Runner—”

“Milsap,” Verity cut in.

“Yes.” Jonathan frowned, but didn’t ask her how she’d known. “He told us you were dead. However, Poppy never believed it. She said you were the toughest, most resourceful person in the world and we would eventually find you. Still, several years in, I gave up searching. But when I saw a redheaded woman at a party not long ago, it relit the question in my mind. I contacted Milsap again, but he proved as useless as he had been the first time. And then, by the merest chance, I saw you at the theater. After that, I was able to discover where you lived, but no one was there.”

“We were on our honeymoon,” Verity said. “I’m sorry—I haven’t introduced you to my husband, Nathan Dunbridge.”

The two men shook hands, and Jonathan went on, “Please, you must come inside. Poppy will be beyond delighted to see you.”

They followed him to the front door, where a puzzled-looking maid let them in, then, bobbing a curtsey, led them to the drawing room. Verity’s sister was seated, stitching on an embroidery hoop, and she looked up in surprise. “Why, Jonathan, you’re back. Did you forget something?”

Her eyes went past him to Verity, and she drew in a sharp breath. Poppy jumped to her feet, her embroidery falling unnoticed to the floor. “Vetty!”

Verity nodded, her throat clogged with tears at the sound of the childhood name that only Poppy had called her.