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V erity knew something was wrong the moment she’d entered the room. For one thing, her father was hovering, instead of hidden behind a book in his favorite chair.

She froze mid-step. “What’s the matter?” Her gaze flitted from her father to her mother and back. Her mother was pale and quiet. It was her father who answered.

“Napoleon has returned to France. He is amassing an army as we speak. I’m afraid war is imminent.”

Ice trickled down Verity’s spine. Her thoughts flew at once to Mr. Cole.

His training would be done soon. He would be sent abroad—William Cole, and thousands of young men just like him.

It felt like yesterday when the war with America had ended and her heart had sagged with relief.

Now it clamped tight like a fist as peace was undone once more.

She clasped her hands and drew them to her lips. “How can this be? Napoleon abdicated! It hasn’t even be a year since he was banished to Elba. How can we be at war again?”

Her mother shook her head, her eyes sad. “It seems we are to be forever sacrificing our sons on the altar of some tyrant’s cause.”

Her husband placed a protective arm about her. “Hush now, dearest. They are but serving their king.”

Dorothy Lockhart pulled away from his embrace. Her eyes flashed defiantly. “Would you say that if our own Joseph were in uniform? And what’s to stop them from press-ganging him into naval service?”

“He is in the employ of Sir Walter. They will not touch him.”

“And all the other simple folk whom we have served and befriended here in Fernbridge? What of their husbands, brothers, sons? You would think it merely their duty to step into the breach?”

“It is a blessing to live in times of peace. But a man knows to answer his country’s call in times of danger.” He nodded his head with the cadence of his words as though he were delivering a sermon from his Sunday pulpit.

“So it’s that simple, is it?”

“Yes, my dear.” He closed his eyes and opened them again as one who must see the truth even though it pained him. “But that does not mean it is not hard to bear.”

Verity watched silently as her mother leaned against her father, hiding her face and her fears in his warm shirt. She had no one upon whom to lean like that. Verity stood alone, with only her worried thoughts to cling to.

Perhaps Mr. Cole had made a match in Munro.

Even now, he might be comforting some maiden as the terrible news spread across England.

She truly hoped there was someone for him.

Someone for him to come back to. She smiled wryly.

If there was a woman in his life, he would be able to strut about, showing her his brave colors.

If he had a special lady, he would put on a front of fearlessness to ease her concerns—and his own.

Reality was too much for playful Mr. Cole.

He needed a disguise, a role to play. He was not at home with stark truths.

For the briefest of moments, she wished she could be that person for him. It was but a fleeting thought, quickly discarded. No, she had made her decision. And his absence from their home told her he had made his.

Still, she wished they had at least parted as friends.

If he was to… She gulped down the horrific image that surfaced.

Mr. Cole was so vibrant, so very much alive .

Such an image must not be allowed to fester in her mind.

But the thought lingered. If William Cole was lost in battle, and they had not made their peace, it would haunt her forever.

“Why, Verity, you look quite ill!” Her mother moved quickly to her side.

“How these dreadful tidings have affected you!” Her mouth widened suddenly into a bright smile, which gave Verity more pause than reassurance.

“It is well that we have further news for you. It will take your mind off such melancholy thoughts at once.”

Verity’s doubts must have shown on her face because her mother cocked her head and said, “See how she scowls, Mr. Lockhart. But we shall soon fix that. There will be no more skulking about the house, or lonely days with paint and easel.”

“I am not lonely,” Verity protested.

Her mother’s expression clouded. “I know you try to make the best of things. But a mother sees what you would not have her see. You are afraid to take a chance. You have convinced yourself being alone is safer than the risk of an imperfect match. But that does not mean you like being alone.”

When Verity did not answer, her mother turned to her husband and he nodded for her to continue.

“Your father and I understand that the gentlemen of our acquaintance lack the qualities you seek to draw you from your solitude. So, we have decided it is time to cast the net wider.” She threw up a hand to stem the outcry that was already in Verity’s throat.

“It is done. We have arranged for you to visit with your sister in Munro. There, you will have a better introduction into society. You can visit the theater and museums, attend dances, and meet the families in Hope’s social circle.

The opportunity for finding a match more suitable to your tastes is multiplied tenfold in Munro.

Our country town can offer little in comparison to such a great city.

Besides, your nephews and nieces adore you and miss you.

They have said as much to their mother. And Hope is eager for your company. ”

So, her mother’s brilliant idea was finally revealed. And it carried her father’s approval. There was no way to wriggle out of it.

“When do I leave?”

“As soon as you are packed. Let us say, two days? Your father and I will accompany you by coach and return the next day. As long as he is home in time to deliver the homily on Sunday, we can go at any time.”

“I see.”

“ Really , Verity, one would think you might show a modicum of excitement.” Her mother threw out an open palm. “It is a wonderful opportunity. You should not be stuck at home with just your aging parents for company.”

“I have never complained.”

Her mother sighed. “No, you do not complain. But you do not thrive, either. Oh, Mr. Lockhart, do talk some sense into her!”

Verity stared equally helplessly at her father. To her surprise, he reached out his hands and cupped her face in them, his eyes warm and soft.

“Your mother and I have had a good and happy life together. And our children have been blessed to follow suit. All but you. The time has come for you to find your own happy future, my child. It is time you stepped out from beneath our shadow and shone forth your own light.” He tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear and smiled wistfully.

“Shine forth just like the starlight in your hair.”

It was a term he had not used since she’d been a little girl.

Verity remembered the years when she had been free of care and infused with the wonder of life.

As the years had passed, her world had shrunk, layers of rules and expectations winding tighter and tighter about her.

Her dreams had become suffocated by the weight of reality.

Not her reality, she corrected herself silently, but the one that had been foisted upon her.

Would Munro offer anything new? Her parents’ optimism in this regard was endearing.

They truly wanted her to find happiness in a match that did not compromise her hopes.

Or at least, not compromise them too much.

But Verity was skeptical. What if Munro was just a larger version of Fernbridge?

A greater variety of gentlemen did not guarantee a greater range in their thinking.

When all was said and done, regardless of their interests and idiosyncrasies, didn’t all men want a wife who fell in with her husband’s wants and needs?

At least, in Fernbridge, she knew everyone, knew their strengths and flaws.

Munro would lay open a bountiful array of choice—all strangers—whose chaperones would suggest they could be trusted.

But was that enough? How often would she have to open her heart and hopes before she found someone who did not disappoint?

Because they always did. Oh, they would be charming at first. But sooner or later, her own desires would be discovered and discarded.

That had been her experience during conversations with their many neighbors and fellow church attendees.

Now that she was out in society, it would be worse.

Her oddness would not simply entice a bemused smile.

No, there would be outright rejection. She would be labeled unsuitable.

Mothers would keep their sons from her. Friends would whisper warnings in the ears of keen suitors.

She would be that woman. The one they whispered about behind fans.

The one their eyes followed knowingly, eliciting a sad tutting from mothers who pitied hers.

Verity released a deep sigh. “I suppose I should begin packing. Could Nellie fetch me the trunk from the attic?”

Her mother, who had been wearing a worried frown while she waited for Verity’s response, now lit up with inspiration.

“Oh, I had quite forgot! Hope says you shall have your very own lady’s maid when you are with them in Munro.

And she has convinced her dear Daniel to provide funds for you to have a new wardrobe.

No more country clothes for you. You will be a proper lady of Munro. Isn’t it exciting?”

Verity pictured her own frequently muddy hemlines, reminders of her happiest hours. The last thing she wanted was to primp and preen in unnecessary finery. It would be a lie. Such garb would draw exactly the wrong sort of interest. Who would accept her as she was if she did not dress as herself?

Ugh! It was yet another battle she would have to fight against good intentions.

As always, though, Verity forced herself to smile and say, “That is very generous of them. I will thank them in person.”