Page 13

“ N o horse can race that fast, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I swear it on my life!”

“He’s only jesting. Barty, do be honest, old fellow.”

“No, no, I’ve seen the creature. Half-mad and genuinely fast. I’ve been to Tattersall’s twice now just to see the horse. I wouldn’t have believed it otherwise!”

On and on the men talked about nothing serious or halfway interesting. No matter the time of day, they could waste every minute without using their brains. It was embarrassing. It was terribly annoying. And more than anything, it was painful.

Tristan rubbed his brow for the third time, unable to help himself. One hardly managed good manners touching their face. And yet it couldn’t be helped, not when he was in the cigar room with cards in his hand and inane conversations ringing on every side.

I don’t even know what game I’m playing any longer, I cannot focus. Though I could read four different ledgers and eat my supper all at the same time, I cannot fathom how gentlemen enjoy themselves here.

As the gentlemen continued conversing about some fast dog or other creature, Tristan eyed them warily. He twisted slightly to glance around the room. Then, he subtly pulled out his pocketwatch to see how much time had passed since he had last checked.

Three minutes. He swore aloud without thinking.

To his misfortune, the conversation died down. Eyes swiveled to him, making his neck itch. He looked up to see the other four men peering at him curiously, almost like they had forgotten he was even there.

“Is it my turn?” He attempted to distract them.

“Zounds, old boy, I thought you were dead.” Barty offered a toothy smile on uneven lips. He was the son of a wealthy baron who…. “Welcome back. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He also didn’t know when to keep quiet. The words were barely out of his mouth before his friend, a non-titled but clearly smarter fellow, began hushing and urging him to behave himself. As for the other two at their table, they looked uncomfortable and uncertain about how to proceed.

Tristan couldn’t blame them. He didn’t know how to react either.

Social events such as these were always uncomfortable.

He didn’t manage small talk well; it was a pointless drivel.

Already he’d had the two conversations he meant to have this evening: one with their host about a drainage concern and another with a visiting German graf who had written an intriguing essay on the importance of fossils.

Pulling out his pocket watch one more time, Tristan decided it was past time for manners. And it was past time he was on his way. His wife had already had three hours to socialize. It would have to be enough.

“I beg your pardon, but I must take my leave. I trust you can finish the game without me,” he said as he rose to his feet.

“Oh, certainly, yes. Thank you, Your Grace,” said Barty’s friend. He elbowed Barty when the young man opened his mouth.

The eldest of the lot, gray-haired and uncomfortably red, rose from his chair. “What an honor it was to host you at our table. An absolute delight. Thank you, Your Grace.”

Down went the cards and away went the pocket watch. Tristan nodded to each of them and left the cigar room at once.

Hopefully, my head will stop aching now.

He glanced into the main hall that led to the ballroom and adjacent dining room, retiring soon, and so on. There were people everywhere. An absolute pestilence.

He wrinkled his nose, ignoring the tightness in his chest. Turning away, he found a nearby footman. He described his wife and gave the man his card so she would know that it was truly him and that it was time they took their leave.

It wasn’t long before he had donned his coat and stood alongside another footman bearing his wife’s cape and a few guards while his carriage was brought around. The horses came to a stop just as he heard her voice.

“My Lord! I mean, Your Grace.” A breathless, smiling Verity appeared at his side.

He’d started to take a step toward the carriage in his eagerness to hasten them home when he saw the starry brightness of her eyes. He stumbled, unable to look away. His wife looked absolutely radiant .

“Your Grace?”

“Don’t,” he said when a guard leaned toward him. Straightening up, he swallowed his shame to offer a half bow to his wife. The carriage door was already open for them, so he reached out a hand to her. “My lady wife, shall we be on our way?”

It wasn’t a question, but she didn’t seem to mind. She nodded, then thanked and beamed at the footman handing her cape as though he had done her a huge favor.

Tristan glared at the fellow until Verity’s hands gently clasped his. Warmth seared his skin like a sunburn. He felt the heat all the way down his spine and to his toes. When she was inside the carriage, she had to pull her hand back so he would release her.

Her cheerfulness had certainly bewildered him. Forcing himself to accept this fact, Tristan managed to take a deep breath and gather his thoughts as he joined his wife in the carriage.

My head. It’s all in my head. Once I retire for the evening, I will surely feel all right. No more cigars, no more nonsensical chatter, and no more strawberry sweet cheeks.

Though he expected quiet as they had thus far enjoyed in their marriage, she proved him wrong. Verity started it all with a loud and heavy sigh while falling back against the cushions.

“Well! Wasn’t that an absolutely incandescent evening?” she gushed.

She beamed at him, before peering out of the half-open curtains. She drew them further, tilting her face toward the cool evening air. Her hair fluttered in the breeze and brushed her cheeks. Tristan could only stare.

“I’m so warm now. And my feet ache. It’s like I’ve been walking all day instead of dancing for the last hour or so. But it was lovely. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

She glanced at him, and he nodded once.

Too late, he realized he had just urged her to continue.

He stiffened and held back a wince as she opened her mouth. Trying to close his eyes—and keep them closed—he still couldn’t block out her chatter.

Though tossing myself out of the carriage grows more tempting by the second, I believe I can make it home. Somehow. At least she has a pleasant voice. Not what one might call melodic, but it’s soft and comforting. Nearly. For someone else, perhaps.

“It was such a pleasure. I didn’t expect to enjoy the evening so much; perhaps that is why it was such a delight. The lower my expectations, the more opportunity I have to enjoy myself. And I do believe I made it enjoyable for others, as well. One of my dance partners laughed over one of my jests.”

He stiffened with irritation. “He did?”

But Verity didn’t notice. One hand fanned herself while she smoothed the folds of her dress with the other hand. “Indeed. It was quite clever, a pun about the composer whose music we danced to. He repeated it to some new acquaintances, and everyone adored it—and thus me.”

Something about her words made him wince. They made him think of Cassandra, of her bravado and eagerness to always be the center of attention. Now, she would surely be coy and playfully humble.

Looking at Verity, however, Tristan was surprised to her looking at him without ire. Her eyes were dancing with mirth and joy. He could make out her slight nose and big eyes in the moonlight shining on her.

She doesn’t look a thing like Cassandra.

“It is difficult work to smile and dance and jest,” she admitted. “I had forgotten. Or rather, I hadn’t much opportunity before this evening to even make an attempt. It was a very pleasant education I received, especially as a new duchess.”

The words rolled off his sharp tongue before he could stop himself. “Did you not have a proper Season in London?”

Leaning back, Verity glanced away, a flush on her cheeks. Or so he assumed. They did appear a shade darker. Normally, one might even find it charming. But the way her gaze darted away and her smile faltered made him wonder how harsh he had sounded.

“I did, for a short time,” she mumbled, her earlier confidence seemingly sucked out of her. “I very much enjoyed coming out. While we didn’t have the funds to host a proper ball, I was blessed to attend two such affairs.”

His head was starting to ache more. A sharp jab and a raw twist inside his skull. Rubbing it as though it might help, Tristan tried to understand what she was saying because it hardly sounded right. “Two?”

Verity peered out the carriage window, still averting her gaze. It put her face right beneath the moonlight, which he didn’t think she noticed.

She is ageless as the sea and just as strange and beautiful.

“No. My father passed during the first month of my Season. There was no place for me in London after that.”

Stranger was how the words came out of her mouth, strained and defensive. He thought he saw her shoulders curve inward. He recalled how she had defended her father.

What had gone on with the former Marquess? It seemed that an inquiry was necessary. Perhaps she had saved old articles about his estate that might answer some questions.

Or I could ask her, I suppose.

Verity cleared her throat then, cracking a smile that almost felt genuine.

“I missed the dancing. Living in the countryside doesn’t leave much opportunity for one to dance.

It is very much a waste of my time, of course, but one should enjoy what pleasures they can.

Don’t you think? Besides, I’m fairly certain that a duchess should dance. ”

All he could do was offer a slow nod. The pounding in his skull kept him from forming words, so he relied on his wife’s chatter to fill the space between them.

“If there is anything more I should consider as a duchess, I suppose you shall inform me. One is meant to be somewhat sociable. Already, there is a stack of calling cards at the house. I didn’t expect so much so quickly if I am being honest. And nearly everyone I met this evening mentioned calling on us rather soon. Isn’t that generous of them?