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“This may sound childish. I understand I am young and inexperienced, but the people I spoke to seemed genuine. There was mention of other such events taking place throughout the country, you know. Do you suppose there might be another ball soon? Not too frequently, I’m sure, but something to enjoy in the warm evenings.

Oh! Perhaps I shall host something festive.

I have always wished to, and I think the household would?—”

Tristan jerked his head up to stare at her. Letting her wander off to enjoy herself was a simple matter. But a party under his roof?

“That will not be necessary,” he told her.

She blinked at him several times. “Well, certainly not necessary. Very little in this world would be considered necessary. However, I do believe that we would do well to host an event while we are out here together.”

“No, it would not do well or be well,” Tristan insisted, restraining himself from shaking his head. The world spun for a moment. “I will not host any public or private event.”

“It doesn’t have to be a ball, Tristan.”

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t care what it is you desire, but it will not happen. We will not host in this house.”

“Then we could host something out on the grounds. No one would step inside the house. Would that assuage your concern? I cannot understand your objection, especially since you are a duke,” she pointed out.

“A duke with responsibilities of land management and such. There is nothing in the description about hosting events.”

She frowned in protest. “That’s hogwash.”

“Call it what you like, but we’re not hosting. That is the end of the discussion, Verity,” he added. He couldn’t resist trying out her name as she had his.

While it brought him a certain measure of satisfaction, it only deepened her frown.

She crossed her arms and looked away. As silence settled between them, he began to relax, relieved that she had given up. Perhaps the rest of their ride would be silent.

Not that we have much further to go. We’re nearly at the drive already. Thank the Lord, I need some peace and quiet.

For a short while, there was peace and quiet.

Just as they were approaching the mews, where stable hands milled about, Verity twisted to face him. She fiddled with her skirts and cleared her throat, clearly wishing to speak.

Tristan had expected her confidence from earlier, but her voice came out as a mere whisper. Uncertain, she asked him, “Will we ever go to London?”

There wasn’t enough light for him to be certain whether or not she wished to go to the city. He frowned, wishing the moonlight was back on her face. But it was too late; the carriage had come to a stop.

Nor does it matter. Never again will I take a wife of mine to the city, where she can cause mischief.

“No,” Tristan uttered. “I have no intention to go to London.”

It was with that answer that his wife withdrew from him that evening, giving him the silence he craved. Yet, as he stepped into his room, he found it too large and empty. He paced for a good while before finally settling down just as dawn broke.

A week passed by seamlessly. No more migraines or smoke or cigars for Tristan. He enjoyed his daily rides, paperwork, and regular visits to his tenants to confirm that all was well.

But then a letter arrived, saying that his steward had a bad fall.

Mr. Henry needed time to recover, his wife wrote in the letter. She sent along a sheaf of papers regarding three deals that were in the works. Only, one of them seemed unrelated. A will, from the looks of it.

Tristan took one glance at the papers and set them aside in frustration.

Though he stewed over the matter for the evening and into the morning, there was only one option. Mr. Henry was on the mend, so he could not help clean up this mess. His wife could not be trusted either. Hiring another steward blindly in the middle of this chaos would only bring further ruin.

I have to go to London.

“Blast it all.” He scowled at the window before bolting from his chair and stomping down the hall.

That third deal, the missing files, was important to manage a tenement. A very particular situation he couldn’t risk being handled by the wrong hands. He worried it was already done, the files lost somewhere in London. This was not a risk he cared for and knew would have to be eliminated quickly.

Isn’t this why I have a steward? Perhaps I need more of them. If I hire another, I might as well hire another dozen. Then perhaps I should enjoy that life of lounging about the other lords always mention.

Tristan knew in the back of his mind that was unlikely, since he didn’t particularly care for leisure time.

A morning ride was refreshing. A daily walk was important for clarity.

And he enjoyed reading the newspaper or essays and assorted books to broaden his knowledge.

Anything beyond that tended to bore him. It was all a waste of time.

“Philipson,” he called, spotting his butler at the end of the hall. The older man dismissed a footman before turning to him. “We must speak at once.”

“I am all ears, of course. What can I do for you, Your Grace?”

He gestured back toward his study. “The package delivered this morning is an absolute mess. I need my papers, and they’re back in London.”

“Shall I send a messenger to fetch them?”

“It would be a waste of time. Alert the servants and my valet to begin packing. I would like to leave tomorrow. There isn’t time for more mistakes, so I will have to attend to the matter in person,” he added grimly.

He chose to ignore the way Mr. Philipson’s face brightened as if this was exciting news instead of an irritating chore.

“What a wonder! You will attend the Season, then.”

“I don’t believe so, no. The deal shouldn’t require the entire Parliamentary session.”

But even as he said that, Tristan hesitated. Any delay could very well create more problems. Purchasing and selling estates required so many solicitors and money in people’s hands.

“No, it shouldn’t.”

“But it could. Why don’t we pack you up at least until Michaelmas? Perhaps you’ll enjoy yourself. It’s been years since you attended a proper London Season,” Mr. Philipson pointed out.

There is no need because I’m a married man, of course. The last time I attended a London Season was when I was looking for a wife. I’ve been married and widowed and married again. The London Season offers nothing for me but a waste of time and migraines.

Tristan shook his head in distaste. “It’s a noisy city.

Filthy and completed wasted space. You cannot breathe there, nor sleep in the quiet.

I have no use for London. It will be a slim enough hope that no one is informed of my presence so I will not have to attend Parliament. Or else I will never escape.”

“Isn’t it an honor to sit in the House of Lords?”

Someone had decided to join their conversation. Someone who had not been invited to speak with them or eavesdrop. Someone who looked rather chipper in her yellow morning dress.

Verity stepped up to him with a composed smile and a clear gaze. “Isn’t it?” she asked as she looked right at him.

“That is what they tell me,” Tristan said.

Dread settled heavily on his shoulders. It felt like he was being walked into a trap, the way his wife descended to the final step so she was tall enough to meet his gaze.

“Indeed, an honor and a privilege,” she asserted. “It sounds like you have very important matters to attend to in London, dear husband. If you waste time worrying that you will be spotted, then you will not be able to focus on your business, I should think.”

When she puts it that way…

Tristan cleared his throat. “I can attend to business whether I am there or away. The post grows more reliable every year, I believe.”

“True, but if you already need to attend to matters in person in London, it seems rather preferable to spend some time there so you are not on the move yet again in the opposite direction. What a long journey that would be, to leave so soon. Don’t you think?”

He wanted to disagree. He did. But again, she was right.

“I suppose.”

Verity eyed him for a moment as if she expected him to say anything more. He didn’t. So she leaned forward, speaking more honestly than he could have anticipated. “And I should like to keep you company in London.”

“I…” Tristan paused when he noticed his butler shift out of the corner of his eye.

He looked at Mr. Philipson, who was beaming at Verity. Yet she didn’t seem to notice the man as she continued staring at him. So Tristan focused on her, searching for lies and secrets in her eyes.

Women were surely all the same. What was her plan? To prove him a cuckold once again? To mock him in public? To rob him blind in new gowns and jewelry?

Taking a step back, Tristan found his thoughts jumbled up. He blamed it on Verity’s sweet perfume. A voice in the back of his mind wondered if she wore it on purpose to confuse him.

But how would she know? Why would she care?

She said she wanted to keep me company. Me.

It was with great reluctance that he finally asked, “Do you wish to accompany me to London? However long I am forced to attend to business?”

He braced himself for a shrill sound of victory. Some excitement or even clapping. Something to make it clear that he had not won this conversation with his wife.

Instead, Verity straightened up. Her lips curled slightly but not into a smile. She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “I should like very much to join you, Your Grace, so long as I won’t be a bother.”

His response tumbled from his mouth before he could consider it. “You won’t be.”

I think.