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V erity jumped when someone knocked on her door. Moving away from the window where she had watched her husband make his way back to the house, she wondered why his friend had returned. But then he left again.

Thinking about the strangeness of her new home and her new life, she hastened to the door and pulled it open.

It wasn’t her husband.

She relaxed even as she scolded herself inwardly, knowing it wasn’t possible. Tristan couldn’t have made his way up here so quickly.

Before her stood an old maid in a neat uniform, a cap covering her graying hair, her hands clasped neatly at her waist.

“Your Grace.” She bobbed a neat curtsey and lowered her gaze, before offering a slight smile. “Mrs. Burns noted that you do not have a lady’s maid this evening and wished to offer our services. My name is Rachel Lingston. Might I be of service?”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, do come in.” Verity opened the door wide to reveal she was still in her wedding gown. “While my gowns are serviceable, I must admit that a little help now and then is most appreciated. Lovely to meet you, Miss Lingston. Or missus?”

The maid gave a slight shake of her head. “Never mind that. Miss Rachel will do. I can have my belongings moved to the room next door for your convenience. But now, is there anything I can do? Perhaps draw you a bath?”

Unable to hold back a smile, Verity nodded.

“You are already reading my mind, it seems. A bath would be lovely. I’ve already put away the rest of my belongings.

Don’t worry,” she added when the maid’s eyes widened in alarm.

“I was glad of the distraction. I don’t usually keep a lady’s maid.

Perhaps I will need one should I go to London. ”

“London! How exciting! Are you planning to go there for the Season?”

“Not particularly. But I’m assuming that the Duke will need to go for a spell, and…” Verity trailed off, noticing the maid’s hesitation. “How often does His Grace travel south?”

Miss Rachel clasped her hands again. “I’ve not been with the household for long, I must admit. But everyone says that he never ventures beyond Halewood. It’s this manor and Scotland. Perhaps you might change that,” she added eagerly.

Mixed feelings rose inside Verity as she nodded, wondering how that might be. A duke surely needed to go to Parliament.

Except she didn’t particularly mind whether he went to London or not. Nor did she expect to go with him.

So why did she say what she did?

Verity listened to her heartbeat and told herself that it didn’t matter if she never went to London again. They had not welcomed her in the end, not truly.

Simply because it was my home for a time, doesn’t mean I am meant to return. It will be for the best. Neither of us there. Nor together.

“Your Grace?”

Verity blinked and then mustered a smile. “Miss Rachel. You are quite right. Never mind London.”

“Still, a duchess deserves an unlimited number of beautiful gowns,” Miss Rachel insisted, leaning forward. “Mrs. Burns hinted that you may wish to begin making some purchases. We can help you find anything you like, whether here, in London, or elsewhere.”

“Thank you, that is much appreciated. For now, I should very much like a bath.”

Miss Rachel nodded with a warm smile. “Hot?”

It was too much work for anything more than a lukewarm bath in the kitchens for the past couple of years at Redcliff Manor.

Verity hesitated. She barely remembered what it was like to sink into a large tub and soak for a while. And yet the allure was too strong to ignore.

“Yes, please. As hot as you can make it,” she added impishly.

It would be easier to do it here, with plenty of servants to split the work. She’d seen and met them all. What a busy household it must be.

As she watched Rachel leave the room, Verity wondered how much work she would be needed for in the manor. After all, her husband had agreed to let her keep managing everything she had owned before their marriage. He wasn’t going to change anything, and she felt inclined to believe him. For now.

I shall keep my work. But what of his? What will I take on? We have not discussed the finer points of what he would like and request of a wife. The Duke was married before, I know that, but I know so little about his first wife. What did she do for him?

Verity thought on this for a long time as she sat down at her new vanity to brush her hair. She could wait here while the tub was filled.

The vanity was not new; it simply felt that way to her. She noted a few faded grooves and marks. Something had dug in there. A sort of weapon.

Her fingertips brushed over the grooves as she considered the possibilities, before setting the matter aside. Otherwise, the red oak vanity was lovely, with its gentle grooves and three large mirrors.

Several thoughts raced through her mind for the next quarter hour while the bath was prepared. Then, she tied her hair into a knot to enjoy a long soak in hot, lavender-scented water.

She nearly fell asleep in the tub. But eventually, the water grew cold, and she clambered out. Miss Rachel helped her into a simple gown and styled her hair. Verity did not want to take supper in her bedchamber as the maid proposed, so she went downstairs to find the dining room.

But it was empty, except for a single place setting at the end of the long table—just for her.

“Your Grace.” A young footman appeared with a tray. “Supper is ready.” He noticed her confusion and hesitated. “His Grace… He is meeting with his steward. He may not return this evening.”

I forgot. The Duke prefers private suppers, does he not? The less I see him, the less he sees me.

Putting on a thin, practiced smile, Verity nodded. “Of course he is busy. That is all right.”

It seemed she was going to spend her wedding night alone.

She eased herself into a very tall chair. Hardly comfortable, albeit quite ornate. She considered the hearty meal laid out before her. She wouldn’t be able to eat half of it. Her stomach churned as if it wished to say something. Perhaps to object.

Her aunt liked company during meals. What was she doing now?

Verity looked around as if she might find the older woman sitting in the corner, wondering why they hadn’t brought her here.

Her aunt had insisted that she wasn’t prepared to move out of Redcliff Manor. She had plans to visit Bath, as she did every year. Beyond that, she was content to stay where she was.

Does she miss me now? Does she even care?

Exhaling, Verity closed her eyes and tried not to think too much about her aunt, lest she cry. She did not want to cry about that now.

Behind her, she could hear the ticking of the clock. A beautiful piece she’d spotted before taking her seat. But now it was rather noisy. She wrinkled her nose and took a sip of her sherry.

The footman set down a tray and slid a bowl before her. She nodded her thanks as he moved away.

Empty seats crowded the table. The tallest of the lot was to her left, facing the entire room. It was where her husband was supposed to sit. She took a bite and considered what it would be like to dine together. Perhaps they never would, since he appeared to prefer being away from her.

The door behind her closed, and she let out a long sigh. She set down her cutlery before leaning back against her chair. Closing her eyes, she noted the exhaustion in her bones. Every muscle ached.

She hadn’t realized what a toll a day like this would take on her.

There are some things in life one cannot change. I am a duchess now. A wife. This marriage will protect my reputation. My name. And yet I doubt my husband knows it.

But she knew his. Tristan. She remembered hearing it during the exchange of vows. It had surprised her, but it made a world of sense. It fit his tall frame.

“Tristan,” she whispered, just before the door opened again.

Verity did her best to enjoy the rest of her meal.

Tired as she was, she intended to write a letter to Helena, as her friend had requested.

Nothing more would happen this evening, Tristan had told her while they finalized the terms of their arrangement.

He didn’t care for an heir. When he passed, he would ensure she was secure.

It will be a very dull letter, but she will appreciate it, nonetheless.

Eventually, she finished her supper and reassured the servants that she could find her way to her bedchamber. She accepted a candle for the late hour.

She climbed up the stairs to her quarters. But she paused when she looked right instead of left. It was the start of the east wing. She spotted light peeking from beneath the door of a room she didn’t recall seeing before.

Perhaps it’s his room.

The thought made her heart skip a beat before she pushed it away. What he was doing? Was it his bedchamber where he ate? His study where he met with the steward?

She didn’t have enough experience with lords to be confident in her guesses. There hadn’t been many in London during her short Season for her to learn much. Her tutors said little. Her best example had been her father, who had passed just short of her twentieth birthday.

Oh, Father. How I miss you. You shared so much with me and yet so little. I wish you had been there for me more than for your own interests. How much I might have learned from you. With you. You spoke more to your friends behind closed doors than you ever did to me.

Something damp trickled down her cheek. She flinched at the sudden sensation, scrubbing her skin dry.

There was a well of emotion struggling to rise to the surface.

Unwilling to let anyone see, she turned left to her bedchamber, where she could be alone.

Her wedding night passed uninterrupted, save for the tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to sleep through till morning.