An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) Read Free Page A

stone path beneath her feet, “Oh dear,” she murmured, automatically glancing down at her garb to see if she was fit to greet guests.  She had been so deeply engrossed in the cares of the day, she had not heard the sound of the housekeeper’s approach.
    “I’ve shown her into the drawing room,” added that formidable lady severely.  In her day a lady was never caught unawares.  The mistress of the house would never be found wandering about the garden with damp shoes and dress hem, clutching a piece of bread and honey like a ragamuffin child.
    “Pray tell Lady Hartley-Wells I shall be with her directly.  I must run and wash my hands.”
    “No need, dear child,” called Lady Hartley-Wells from the dim interior of the house, “I shall join you outside.  This is the one place in the world I can escape from
    Cromer’s disapproval and get my shoes wet.”
    She was as good as her word and stepped out of the house, her out-moded style of dress and enormous feathered turban looking horridly out of place in the wild, untidy garden.  Verity never knew how she stifled her laughter when a stray branch almost knocked the headdress flying and left it decidedly askew.  Lady Hartley-Wells was made of sterner stuff than to be defeated by nature.  With an impatient hand she grasped the offending article, tugged it from her grey locks and flung it back up the garden to be caught by the astounded Mrs. Threadgold.
    At this Verity quite forgot her position as mistress of the house and flew to give her elderly friend a warm embrace.  Lady Hartley-Wells pretended to be cross at the liberty taken and pushed her firmly away, though not before she had accepted the hug, “Good gracious, girl, you’ll have me over!  Those roses badly need deadheading; you will have no further blooms if it is not done directly.  Mrs. Threadgold, perhaps you would be good enough to find me some strong scissors – oh, and some tea, since
    Mrs. Underwood has so far forgotten herself as not to offer.”
    This was more Mrs. Threadgold’s notion of how a lady ought to behave and she went off quite happily to do her bidding.  Verity smiled, “How brave you are
    Serena.  I should never dare to order her about as you do.”
    “Nonsense!  She thrives on it.  Now what is all this I hear about Gil Underwood marrying the London chit?”
    It seemed it was going to be a very long afternoon.
                 
    *

CHAPTER TWO
     
    (Fabas Indulcet Fames” – Hunger makes everything taste good)
     
    “What gift are you to bestow upon the happy couple?” asked Lady Hartley-Wells, when she and Verity had finally seated themselves, the roses dead-headed and a pile of weeds heaped by the lawn-edge.
    “Underwood has chosen it.  I must say I was pleasantly surprised to find he had such good taste.  Nothing he owned before I met him had led me to believe he had the faintest idea of style.”
    Lady Hartley-Wells laughed, “I can well imagine it.”
    “It is the loveliest rosewood tea-caddy you ever saw.  The lock and insets are silver and the containers and mixing bowl inside are ebony and silver.  Gil will adore it – you know how he treasures his tea.”
    The older lady was indeed well acquainted with the reverend gentleman’s preoccupation with perfectly brewed tea and she smiled, “I can see that Gil will be delighted with that – but what of the young lady?  I know she does not share her future husband’s obsession with the tea-leaf.”
    “I thought I would be terribly predictable and offer to paint her portrait – or do you think that is too obvious?”  Verity asked anxiously.  This matter of presents had been another worry.  It was the age-old question – what did one give to the person who had everything?  Cara was the daughter of an earl and since childhood she had only to express a desire for something for it to be instantly gratified.  Those sorts of riches were beyond Verity’s comprehension and it made her feel