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O ff they continued on to London, the buildings and steam overhead growing larger with every clip-clop of the horses’ hooves.

Verity started the morning comfortable enough.

Eager to ride, she had the opportunity to wear her old riding habit.

It might not be the most recent fashion, but she thought she would still look well enough.

Riding an unfamiliar horse was easier than she had expected, too, so she started with high hopes.

Even when her husband had little patience for conversation, leaving her to enjoy the quiet of the journey, she was hardly put out. This was the city where she had been raised.

Somewhat, at least. My father’s grand estate included a private park and pond. I always had at least two servants at any given time to keep me company. There wasn’t much of London that I saw until I debuted. This should feel like home.

And yet Verity began to sense that it wasn’t quite home any longer.

Down they came into London, where the streets swamped them at once. Already she had noted the stench, breathing slowly through her nose. Then, there was the smoke. It made the sky so gray, not at all sunny and bright like it had been that morning. And with all of that came the noise.

A loud bang made her jump as a large door slammed shut. Someone cackled loudly, though she couldn’t see who it was. Three nut sellers were calling to the passersby, trying to shout over one another beside a small market where everyone was arguing and bartering for goods.

“I want three, Mummy!”

“Oi, don’t touch my goods!”

“Pecans to eat! Enjoy an afternoon treat!”

“Get out of my way!”

Verity swallowed hard as the noise began to overwhelm her. She didn’t recall how intimidating the city could be. Did London host half a million people yet? There were already so many of them here on the street.

When they turned right, she hoped they would escape the noise, but even as they lost the pedestrians, they soon found themselves stuck in the middle of countless horses and carriages.

“Stay close,” her husband said just loud enough for her to hear. “We’re not far from the house now.”

Inhaling deeply, Verity looked around anxiously as their carriage fell behind them. She started to move closer to Tristan, who gazed about with a dark scowl.

“What an adventurous place a city can be!” she remembered her father crying out one morning when he returned late with a jolly smile. “I saw miracles and magic all night long. Someday, little sparrow, I shall take you with me. We’ll see it all together.”

Her father loved London. He was a visionary with dreams of what a splendid metropolis it could be. The center of not just an empire, but the world. How she had adored listening to him and his ideas. His excitement had always been so infectious.

Although they rode together frequently to church on Sundays, he’d only joined her a handful of times once she debuted. His health was failing him, and he preferred lectures to ballrooms, cigar rooms to teahouses.

What would he say now, I wonder? How miraculous it is that so many people fit here like an odd-moving puzzle? That we could do away with the smoke for some odd improvement?

Taking a deep breath, Verity turned to Tristan. He might not live here frequently, but he knew where they were going, and he had to be more comfortable than her.

“It’s quite a crowded afternoon,” she told him, pulling her horse back when a landau whizzed by. “Goodness me. It’s all very… exciting.”

That earned her a scoff.

Tristan fixed the hat on his head before shaking his head. “Do mind the horse’s step. It’s a mess on these streets. What an awful place London becomes every year.”

“Indeed,” Verity muttered, forcing a smile as she tried to soothe her horse. It must have sensed her anxiety, for he shied from a passing wagon. “Lead on, then.”

Although she was tempted countless times to race right off the street and out of the mess, she forced herself to stay put. She kept her chin up, shoulders back, and hands steady.

Eventually, her horse calmed down and they reached a less crowded street. Then a smaller street. And finally, they rounded a corner to a large gate crowded by trees that opened for Tristan.

Verity relaxed her grip on the reins. The creature kept following after Tristan, or else she would have stayed put.

When he said ‘house,’ I thought it would be another townhouse. He doesn’t seem interested in staying here often. And yet this house… it’s practically a castle.

It took all of her energy not to leave her mouth hanging open as she eyed the tall iron fence peeking through the countless trees and shrubbery.

A grand roundabout sat before the front steps, with a fountain and flowers in the middle.

Off to the side, where they were headed, were the mews, also well-maintained, with flowers everywhere.

“Are you confident we have come to the right house?” Verity had to ask when they came to a stop.

Servants were already there, prompt and polite, as Tristan glanced over his shoulder at her. “I wouldn’t go anywhere else.”

“Yes, but…” She managed to keep from walking too stiffly as she went around the horses to speak with him.

“Do you have a question, or might we step inside?” he asked.

Verity shook her head. It was one matter to come to London. That was the sort of thing a proper lady would do for the Season. Especially a duchess. It had even sounded like an exciting idea to return to the spotlight and Society and excitement.

But already she had been here for over an hour, and nothing looked or sounded or smelled right to her any longer. It was all too bewildering.

What would a duchess do right now?

She forced a smile and nodded at him, the slight motion indicative of what he was supposed to do. “Very well. Let’s go inside.”

Much like outside, the house was filled with flowers and bright colors in the receiving areas.

Verity was tired from the journey, but the bright wallpaper lifted her spirits quickly.

After Tristan disappeared, promising he wouldn’t be leaving his chambers till the next day, she decided to enjoy herself.

Fortunately, the head housekeeper here was more than happy to give her a proper tour of the house. Mrs. Heavensby had a head full of white hair and a bright, toothy smile that charmed Verity at once.

“Right this way, Your Grace. If you enjoy this airy parlor, then you must see the sunroom. It’s not particularly meant for hosting, truth be told. It’s quite small for a salon or afternoon tea. Do you look forward to hosting?”

Verity stepped into the sunroom with a sigh.

The housekeeper was correct. It was a beautiful room filled with light.

Big windows occupied two walls, and there were even slanted lights overhead to let in the sunshine.

Part of her worried about storms, but surely there were plans to mitigate any damage.

Soft, buttery yellow walls welcomed them inside, along with the countless plants that drenched the room in their heady scent.

“This is wonderful,” she breathed. She rounded a corner when she thought she spotted something. “Goodness! Are these tomatoes?”

“Yes. We don’t eat them, but they are aesthetically pleasing, so the gardener, Mr. Daniels, still keeps them,” Mrs. Heavensby explained.

Verity nodded thoughtfully. “I actually heard that they might not be as poisonous as is generally assumed. Can you imagine? What an odd thing someone would want to eat.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“You asked me about hosting.” She dropped her hands, turning to the housekeeper as she wanted to gauge her reaction. “Do you think it would be a problem if I host sometime?”

Mrs. Heavensby patted her hair, looking everywhere but at her. “Well, I do believe this manor is more than befitting a proper hostess. You’ve not seen a quarter of the rooms yet. However, I do believe it would warrant a thorough discussion with His Grace, should you want to host.”

In other words, she wants the opportunity, just as I do. But she also knows that the Duke is not interested in such affairs. If he buys me a horse on a whim, then it cannot be about the cost. Is it because he doesn’t trust me?

“Mrs. Heavensby,” Verity asked after a moment, “can you tell me anything about the former Duchess?”

Dropping her hands to her sides, the housekeeper looked at her in astonishment. “Now, why would you want to know? Oh, there’s nothing good about dredging up the past, Your Grace. We don’t need ghosts on our shoulders. You do seem rather attuned to plants, however. Shall I show you the gardens?”

So they went outside to see the gardens.

There, they enjoyed the last of the sunshine. Rain started to fall on their way back, and Verity soon retired for a warm bath and a quiet dinner in her bedchamber with her maid. She wrote a letter to her friend and her aunt and then slipped into bed.

A new home required a new routine, Verity decided.

She took short morning rides to enjoy the empty streets while all were abed, broke her fast in the sunroom, helped tend to the plants before taking long walks, and then spent the rest of her day inside.

She wrote, read, and organized menus while learning about house management from Mrs. Heavensby, who was eager to teach her everything.

A week passed by, and the rest of the servants arrived. Her days were entertaining and educational, but eventually, she realized she had yet to see her husband anywhere.

“Philipson?” she asked when the butler came into the sunroom to clear away the tea tray. “Is the Duke at home?”

“Yes, I believe so. He returned…” He pulled out his pocket watch. It was a beautiful piece made of silver; Tristan had gifted it to him many years ago. “An hour ago. But I’m afraid I do not know his current location.”

She offered a wry smile. “Most likely, he is in his study. He really prefers working, it seems. Have you ever known him to try to enjoy himself?”