Page 25

“Oh, I…” Verity faltered. He was being very reasonable.

She was not used to being accommodated so readily.

His company would not be loathsome. And he seemed the sort of man who might forgive her stepping on his toes.

If she could get through a dance with him, it might give her courage for the next. One step at a time.

She lowered her lashes. “Thank you, sir. I would be honored to have my first dance with you, if you are certain it will not be a disappointment.”

His eyes widened. “Your ‘first’ dance? No one else has asked you yet? How can that be? To be sure, I shall have to check the eyesight of every man in this room.”

Verity felt the color rush into her cheeks.

With the help of her borrowed lady’s maid, she had made an effort to look her best. Her hair had been curled and the top half twisted into a loose knot at the back of her neck.

The rest of her white-blonde locks cascaded down her back.

Hope’s butterfly brooch added a touch of class.

And yet, Verity had never considered herself a beauty.

Certainly not in the traditional sense. Her looks had never really mattered.

Certainly not to frogs and grasshoppers and beetles.

Hearing a gentleman decry the fact that he was alone in admiring her came as something of a surprise.

“You are very kind,” she murmured. “But I assure you, I do not thrive on the attentions of men. The absence thereof consequently does not disturb me.”

“I think you’ll find, Miss Lockhart,” said Dr. Westbridge, “that the current situation will not last. Expect to quite wear your shoes out tonight, for your dance card shall soon fill up.” Before Verity could protest, he held out his hand and asked, “Shall we? I see the dancers are lining up.”

Verity placed her gloved fingers onto his palm. She looked to Hope to make sure she was coming too, as promised.

Daniel Sinclair took his wife’s hand lightly, as if for the first time. Hope fanned herself with the other hand like a flattered young maiden, gave a deep curtsey, and followed him to the center of the room. Verity and Arthur Westbridge took their positions beside them.

“Well, here we are at last.” Dr. Westbridge grinned. “We have made it to the dance floor without tripping over our feet. I think this is a most encouraging development, wouldn’t you say, Miss Lockhart?”

Verity stifled a giggle. “And we continue to stand without falling over,” she added, joining in the game.

“Hurrah! It bodes well for us. Do you think the other couples dare to feel such confidence as ours?”

Verity laughed aloud. She quickly threw open her fan to hide her embarrassment at doing so. She caught Hope’s eye and saw her nod almost imperceptibly.

Approval. Never before had Verity’s impropriety received approval. Yet she knew what Hope was thinking—that her little sister had relaxed in the company of this gentleman. And that was a very good sign indeed.

It was true. Dr. Westbridge was an easy sort of fellow.

He might not have been as handsome as Mr. Cole, but she would rather give up looks than kindness when it came to a potential match.

Besides, he wasn’t unappealing. His features might have been uninspiring on the whole, but his mouth was full and gentle and his eyes sparkled with good humor.

Verity lowered her fan as the chamber ensemble started to play their first notes. She began to count the rhythm, imagining her first step. It would be some time before it was their turn. Her nerves began to twitch once more.

But Dr. Westbridge had not abandoned her to her building apprehension. He had nodded to his neighbors to the left and right of him and then returned his focus squarely to Verity. A moment later, he squinted at her bosom and remarked, “Is that a butterfly?”

Verity reached for the brooch instinctively. “Er, yes. It was a gift from my sister.”

“It is a very curious design. The artist has chosen to bend the antennae toward the wing. Perhaps the fully extended filament was too fragile.”

“Yes!” Verity cried. “I noticed that too. And the wings have no pattern at all. Even the very plain wood whites have fine speckles. Perhaps the artist did not study his model closely enough or lacked the skill to emulate its design.”

Dr. Westbridge’s head drew back and his mouth opened.

“Why, Miss Lockhart, you are very knowledgeable on the topic! That is refreshing. I had quite expected you to change the subject or comment on the bejeweled eyes instead. It is rare to meet a young woman who shares my interest in the natural sciences. My compliments to your tutor.”

It took Verity several seconds to find her tongue again.

She had expected Dr. Westbridge would have a detailed understanding of human anatomy, certainly, as well as a dedicated interest in the sciences.

But the fact that this extended to the study of nature was a startling discovery.

Moreover, he did not denounce her own desire to discuss such matters.

Could this be a sign?

Don’t jump to conclusions, Verity. He believes you to have studied in a formal manner, not with your skirts hitched up to your knees.

Still, he had received her answer with excitement.

There had not been the usual frown or condescending air.

Verity tentatively ventured deeper into the previously forbidden discourse.

“I confess my tutor to have been myself, much to my mother’s dismay.

As you can imagine, the study of insects is not the usual fare for young ladies.

She would be mortified that I have mentioned it at all. ”

“How delightful!” Dr. Westbridge clapped his hands together, then, just as quickly, held up his palms. “My apologies. I did not mean that your mother’s disapproval was delightful.

I was merely celebrating the exception that you are, Miss Lockhart.

Insects, no less! That is my particular fascination also.

In fact, I am a member in good standing with the Entomological Society here in Munro. ”

Now that was a sign Verity could not ignore. There was just one more test to pass before Dr. Westbridge had her full approval.

“An acquaintance of mine recently obtained a mounted butterfly for display from the Entomological Society,” she said. “A Maculinea arion. Or ‘large blue,’ as it is commonly called. Do you know it?”

“Ah,” he replied, “a rare species. And a privilege to see one in the wild. Not, if you’ll forgive my bluntness, to be pinned to a board, but rather to observe in its natural habitat.

But there are many who would consider it a valuable addition to their collection.

No offense to your acquaintance, but they seemed to have missed the point of the lovely creatures. ”

With those words, Verity was undone. How could she resist a man who so utterly understood her?

Not once had he judged her unfit for her views, nor did he share the colonial approach of nature as possession.

This was a man to whom she might safely lose her heart. She felt warm and safe and understood.

And then, all at once, it was their turn to dance.

Arthur Westbridge reached his hands across the space between them and stepped forward on his toes.

He was not especially nimble, but then neither was she.

They joined hands and skipped lightly in a circle or, at least, as lightly as their mutual dance impediment would allow.

Skip to the left. Skip to the right. Verity called out the steps to herself.

Dr. Westbridge was not encumbered by the same need to recite the pattern of movement, possibly because he had danced such figures many times before.

Instead, he smiled encouragement, even calling out, “Well done, Miss Lockhart!” when she corrected herself on a misstep, recovering in time to pick up the rhythm once more.

Soon Verity had built up a similar confidence to his, the constant repetition imbedding the progression of the dance into her mind.

The conversation, such as it was between the pointing of toes and much bouncing about, flowed comfortably, and time passed all too quickly.

A half hour later, they finally took their leave of the dance floor—exhilarated and rather out of breath—and made their way back to Mrs. Trenton.

Hope, perhaps seeing that Verity was tended by a chaperone in the form of their mutual friend, left on her husband’s arm to greet a family of their acquaintance on the other side of the room.

“That was very prettily done, Miss Lockhart,” Mrs. Trenton said.

“Dr. Westbridge is a most accommodating partner,” Verity replied. “I must thank him for an enjoyable initiation to the country dance.”

The good doctor shook his head emphatically. “I had nothing to do with it. Miss Lockhart is fearless. She threw herself into the movements with great gusto.”

“Ha!” Verity laughed. “Certainly more gusto than talent, but I thank you for the kind words nevertheless.”

He opened his lips to respond, when a pale gentleman with noticeably fiery curls approached, bearing two cups of punch. “Ah, Mr. Trenton,” said Dr. Westbridge. “I wondered where you were this evening. I assumed you must be unwell, for you have never been known to miss a good party.”

“Dr. Westbridge.” The red-haired man nodded, handing his wife her drink. “I must have just missed you earlier. Sadly, even at events such as these, I run into acquaintances who wish to discuss matters of business instead of sampling the music and excellent fare.”

“It is good to see Mrs. Trenton out and about,” commented Dr. Westbridge. “She has recovered well from your daughter’s birth.”

Mr. Trenton grimaced. “I would see her venturing out more often, but she is determined to stay home with the children. I don’t know why we bother employing a nurse.”

At that, a voice, deep and sensual, spoke up behind Verity. She froze at the hauntingly familiar sound of Mr. William Cole.