Page 15

W hile Verity was not particularly thrilled to spend all day in a carriage, she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she waved farewell to their housekeeper as they drove away from the estate.

And off to London we go!

She rubbed her cheeks, but her smile still wouldn’t fade. They had ached over the last couple of days as she packed for London. While Tristan wanted to leave the day prior, she’d reminded him of the possibility of staying longer, and that had required further preparations.

“You don’t have a full staff at your townhouse, so we will need to take a few servants with us.

They will have to pack as well, and we need carriages for them and anything they will bring.

And what of other supplies? What might we need on the journey there?

It’s three days of riding, which means we’ll also need someone moving ahead to secure lodgings each evening,” she had argued.

It must have given Tristan a headache, the way he rubbed his forehead. “Very well, I will give you one more day. But I am taking my leave on Friday, whether you are ready or not,” he warned her.

How busy the days had been. Verity had scurried about the house to manage everything, the rush keeping her excited and eager.

Her aunt had visited the following evening for supper at her request. It had been a short meal, but Verity had been glad to see the woman before she left.

“I do hope you stay in London for the Season. You never belonged in the country, not like this,” Eugenia had told her, before clicking her tongue.

“I don’t care how well you manage a house or a garden.

You have always loved life too much to live in a corner.

But do remember to write, to keep your chin up, and to not take any man seriously. They’re fools with their tongues.”

Remembering her aunt and the recent chaos around her strange life kept Verity lost in thought much of the day.

Evening fell before she knew it, bringing the carriage to a slow roll in a quiet village.

She saw Tristan’s shadow on his steed—he had not stopped once to join her in the carriage, a mixed blessing—crossing to the front of what must have been a small inn.

A crooked sign hung above the door, though she couldn’t read it from this angle.

She climbed out of the carriage with the help of their driver, an eager young man who smiled a little too much. He seemed ready for the journey and London. She nodded to him before making her way to the front door, where Tristan just turned around to face her.

The wind blew suddenly, ruffling his hair. The sight of him disheveled contrasted sharply with the immaculate gentleman she knew. She appreciated it more than she cared to admit, nodding as he came to stand before her.

“We have rooms for the evening. Bathtubs shall be brought up. They’re at the top of the stairs. You and your maid will have the chamber to the right, and I the left,” he explained.

So succinct. He cares more for business than pleasure.

Choosing not to dwell on the fact that he offered no proper greeting, Verity started to nod. But then she realized what he meant. Separate chambers. Not just rooms, but chambers, so they wouldn’t have to interact.

Her shoulders stiffened after hours of being cooped up in the carriage. She wondered if the innkeeper noticed this. If he cared. If anyone else had overheard.

Rooms were not cheap, especially for a whole party, meaning Tristan was willing to pay extra simply not to be close to her.

She blinked several times and considered talking to him about this matter. But then she saw a flicker of something in his gaze. Was he waiting for her to react? Was he mocking her?

Good Lord, does anyone in this world understand this man? I cannot fathom a single thing about him. I hate it. How I wish to despise him. But hating my husband hardly seems a good way to spend my time. At least he is taking me to London, is he not?

Putting on a smile, Verity nodded. “How wonderful. I would very much enjoy a bath. Will a tray be brought up for me afterward? I fear I am famished.”

Something about him changed. Perhaps it was his shoulders, no longer tense and squared, or perhaps it was his jaw, no longer tight and clenched. A long line formed in his brow as he studied her. If she was any good at guessing, her husband seemed somewhat… irritated by her reaction.

“Yes, a tray has been ordered and shall be delivered after the bath. Good evening, Duchess.”

“Good evening,” she returned coolly.

Then, they parted ways, giving her the evening to mull over matters. She ate and chattered with her maid after bathing, then retired to spend half the night awake, replaying every interaction she had with Tristan.

By morning, she was rather cross with him. Or so she finally admitted to herself. She’d been grateful for the ball and relieved that he agreed to take her to London, and that was all the goodwill she decided to afford him. Anything else would be for naught.

Why should I do more for him if he does not care for me?

Ridiculous man. The only intimacy we allow is the occasional use of our Christian names.

Beyond that, he is hardly bound by any manners or constraints that I can make sense of in our limited time together.

He acts like a perfect gentleman but is always moody and terse.

He would do better as a surly captain or a grumpy professor, I wager.

But Verity didn’t mind. She knitted across from her maid in silence, watched the landscape, and ignored her husband as much as possible. After all, he was determined to do the same.

“Whatever are you doing?” he was forced to ask when she stopped the carriage on a steep hill on their last leg of the journey. “We should be in London before nightfall.”

“Yes, yes, I know that as well as you do,” she pointed out. Hands on her hips, she inhaled deeply to admire the hues across the sky. They merged into a dull gray the closer they moved to the city. “How lovely it is.”

The Duke glanced around, shifting atop his dark Arabian. “Lovelier if we could continue on our way. Unless you need to…?”

Verity waited for him to say that she wanted to relieve herself, but he couldn’t form the words. His face twisted just enough that she choked on a giggle.

He harrumphed then, shaking his head. “Well…?”

“I appreciate your consideration. At this time, I am doing quite well. But I am hungry, and we have quite a basket to eat, so I am stopping to have a picnic.”

Tristan blinked and fell silent.

Deciding to help, Verity explained, “A picnic is a lovely outdoor activity where we lay down a blanket and?—”

“I know what a picnic is. But I cannot fathom why we would bother with it when we are so close to the city. An hour’s delay will surely see us there after sunset,” he pointed out.

“That does align with my understanding, yes,” she said agreeably, just as her maid came around from the rear of the carriage. “Very good, Rachel, you did find a blanket! Why don’t we sit beside the large boulder just there?”

The maid glanced warily at a frustrated Tristan before bobbing a quick curtsey. “Yes, Your Grace, I’ll do just that.”

Tristan grunted. “Are you doing this to mock me?”

“Mock?” That surprised Verity. She glanced around and studied him.

He indeed looked frustrated. “Your Grace, please. I take mealtimes very seriously. We didn’t have time for tea, and I would like to sit where parts of my body will not be bruised and tossed about.

Surely, you are hungry enough to join us? ”

“There could be highwaymen about,” he warned.

“It’s a large field, and last night, the innkeeper’s wife reassured me that this was a lovely space we could use for a picnic.”

“Then you had planned this ahead.”

He wasn’t a fool, after all.

Verity raised an eyebrow. “It is mealtime, Tristan. And a beautiful view, before we enter a very busy and very loud city. If it truly matters that you reach London sooner, you may go ahead with your valet, and we’ll meet you at our residence this evening.”

“I can’t do that.” Tristan hesitated before sliding down from his horse. “I will not risk a highwayman.”

“Do you mean encountering one?”

“No,” Tristan muttered, grabbing the reins. “Someone has to be around to take pity on his soul.”

A laugh burst out of Verity. Possibly more in shock, she told herself, as she clamped a hand over her mouth. She looked at her husband, hardly able to believe he’d made a joke. Even now, he looked so serious. But perhaps he wasn’t too dreadful. Not today, at least.

Unable to keep the smile off her face, Verity nodded. “Shall we have our picnic? I have some fig jam that I believe you’ll enjoy.”

“I didn’t know you knew I enjoyed it.”

“I know many things,” she declared proudly. “Just like I know we deserve a lovely picnic on such a beautiful day. A duke should enjoy some leisure time, should he not? Come on, then, Your Grace, and let us feast.”

Tristan could do nothing but obey.

Gentle relief flooded through her then, and she relaxed as they went arm in arm to the blanket, where they enjoyed their meal.

Though Tristan spoke little after that, she savored the words and still thought of his jest—trite as it might have been but still an unexpected delight—when they were back on the road to London.