The Ghost and Jacob Moorhead by Jeanne Savery Page B

company, his conversation, his… Verity felt a blush rising up her chest and into her neck and blessed the fact she’d put on a dress that morning with a high collar and a ruffle of lace that framed her face. With any luck he’d not notice her blush…and, noticing, wonder why…
    “Come,” he said, offering his arm.
    Reluctantly, Verity laid the tips of her fingers on his wrist and walked beside him down the hall. Soon they approached the room where the family dined. She could think of nothing to say and the silence seemed overly loud to her. She glanced up and instantly faced forward. He was looking down at her, smiling at her, a look in his eyes she couldn’t interpret. It wasn’t the sort of look she’d occasionally seen in a man’s eyes. She wasn’t pretty enough or properly womanly enough to rouse lust in many men, but the occasional male had looked at her in a hot knowing way she disliked intensely—and that sort of heat wasn’t what she’d seen in that moment’s clash of glances.
    She’d seen warmth—a warmth she didn’t understand. A warmth that must mean something. Verity told herself she didn’t wish to know what. But knowing she lied to herself, she dropped her hand to her side and stepped forward at a slightly faster pace.
    Whatever that particular look meant, it was not relevant. She was Aunt Jenna’s niece and she must not forget it. Jacob Moorhead would never feel for her what she wanted a man to feel for her—or if he did, he’d suggest a relationship she would never accept for any reason at all. Even if she were starving, she’d not become a man’s mistress…
    “Aunt Mary, you asked to see me?” she said briskly as she entered the room.
    Jacob paused in the doorway, saw Mary shake her head at him and backed away. But, despicable as he knew it to be, wanting to hear what was said, he didn’t close the door. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a frown creasing his forehead. Eavesdropping was not something of which he approved. Still…
    “Sit down, Verity.”
    Verity obeyed, but on the edge of her chair with her hands folded in her lap and an air about her of one who would be off again at any moment.
    Mary motioned to the footman to fill a plate and bring it to her niece. Then she looked at the young woman. “Oh, do relax.” Mary’s mouth compressed. “There is nothing urgent calling for your attention and what I have to say will take more than an instant.”
    Verity grimaced, slid an inch back on the chair and refused to even look at the food set before her. She kept her eyes on her aunt.
    After a thoughtful moment, Mary dismissed the footman. When he’d gone, she said, “I very much dislike this pretense to servitude. You have adopted an attitude that is as false as it is absurd. It is more than time you stopped playing games.”
    Verity’s mouth thinned to match Mary’s. “I have no notion what you mean. Pretense?”
    “This pretense , my dear, that you are not your grandfather’s granddaughter.”
    “From his point of view, I’m no better than a by-blow,” muttered Verity.
    Mary’s mouth opened. She blinked and closed it and then tried again. “Did you say what I think you said?” she asked, a laugh trembling through the words.
    “Very likely. This is not a subject I wish to discuss.”
    The laughter faded instantly. “It is one we will nevertheless deal with and now. Sit properly .”
    Verity sat back but obviously unhappily, angrily and unwillingly.
    “You are a legitimate offspring of this house, Verity. Pretending you are not is insulting to everyone who knows you.”
    Verity blinked. “I am the legitimate offspring of a maid from this household .”
    Mary harrumphed. “True.” The two women glared at each other. Then, with a seeming change of subject, Mary asked, “Do you wish your Aunt Jenna’s death on your hands?”
    “You know I do not.” Verity, the change throwing her off guard, straightened her already rigid spine. “What can