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Seeing Mr. Philipson’s lips twitch was answer enough. “I believe His Grace finds great satisfaction in everything he does, Your Grace.”

“Very well, thank you.”

After organizing the old silver and replacing a faded painting in the hall with the housekeeper’s help, Verity took herself to the dining room. A small oval table sat in the corner, already set up for an intimate supper. Candles were lit before her while she dined.

It was admittedly cozy, but she found herself lonely yet again. Usually, she would have had her aunt to keep her company.

Am I to dine alone every night for the rest of my life?

Verity thought about it. She studied the lone glass before her. The two candles. The silence. And the emptiness that pervaded any semblance of peace.

It was a marriage she had accepted out of necessity, she reminded herself. This was for the best.

Except I cannot fathom being a stranger to my own husband. To be married to a stranger. He asks for nothing, for which I am relieved. He is too cold and selfish and stubborn.

As she ate, she planned and plotted.

Verity thanked the staff in the kitchens personally like she so often did, before heading to the library to write once more that evening. A short letter—just a card—that warranted no address.

Mr. Philipson showed up when she tugged the bell pull in the library, and entered as she rose to her feet. “Your Grace, how may I be of assistance?”

Verity extended the card. “Deliver this to the Duke, if you please.”

“The Duke?” he echoed, his eyebrows shooting up. “Shall I deliver a verbal message as well?”

“Everything he needs to know is in the card, but thank you for your consideration,” she said to him.

Although Mr. Philipson was somewhat perplexed, looking between her and the card, he finally nodded. An amused smile crept onto his face before he bowed and took his leave.

Verity tidied up as she always did before stepping out of the room.

Exactly an hour later, she was seated in her favorite chair in the sunroom, now growing dark at the late hour. A few lit candles surrounded the furniture, like her two tables and the other chair she’d just received help moving about.

“What is this missive?” Tristan asked, the moment he spotted her. He walked in with confidence and perplexity, she thought.

He doesn’t look as willing as I had hoped.

“My apologies, Your Grace.” She offered him a smile. “I thought you could read. I should never have made such an assumption.”

His frown deepened. Though she had not meant to make a jab at him, it was too late. She pressed her lips tightly together, waiting for him to react.

“I can read. I’ve been able to read the English language since the age of three.

Latin since I was five. Spanish, French, and German.

Even some Russian at University, and Greek.

But none of them particularly explain why my wife has sent me an official invitation to join her for an evening of companionship.

” He paraphrased her note before setting it down.

“Very good, Your Grace. And you have decided to accept, which I thank you for most sincerely,” she said, a little sarcasm in her tone. “I thought you might enjoy some company this evening.”

“I had company earlier today. I had business to attend to,” he reminded her.

She nodded, wishing he would make their conversations easier. “Yes, but you didn’t have my company.”

She waited, wondering what he would say to that, but she was greeted with silence.

She peered up at him as he mulled over the notion. The way he hesitated told her that he was near a fine line of blatant rudeness.

She sucked in a breath. This wasn’t supposed to turn into an argument or even a battle. She couldn’t forget why she was doing this. They were married, after all, bound to each other for the rest of their lives. Surely they could learn to get along?

If I can simply manage a proper conversation with him this evening, then surely that would be enough. If I could make him smile or even laugh, I would count myself most satisfied.

She rose to her feet, showing off the tray of sherry and the table set up for the evening’s game. “You may not care one way or another, but I would like your company this evening. I ask for nothing but an hour to play dominos together.”

“I don’t gamble.”

“Not everyone gambles with every game they play. I’m not asking for anything but a simple game. No gambling,” she assured him.

Tristan mulled it over.

She could see the way his eyes studied the setup. None of this was accidental, after all. She’d intentionally set up everything in this order, with how the chairs, table, and trays were laid out for their needs. The candles flickered gently, highlighting the dark crease in his brow.

Inhaling deeply, Verity braced herself for his refusal.

He checked his timepiece and nodded. “One hour, then, Verity.”

“Truly?” She barely stopped her jaw from dropping open.

“I know how to play dominos,” he huffed.

“Which I assumed. Only I thought I might have to try harder to convince you,” Verity admitted slowly. She took a seat and watched him do the same. “Shall I pour you a glass of sherry?”

From there, the two of them started what had to be the longest game with the quietest partner she’d ever had. Games were great opportunities to watch and study her opponent. Except Tristan gave so little away.

Nothing. In truth, he gives me nothing to work with, to search, to understand.

How can he do this? The man is entirely closed up. If only I were Pandora’s box.

Perhaps that is not the best analogy. What if I open and learn how awful he can be?

“You’re thinking very hard,” she noted. “Is this particularly difficult for you?”

“Of course not. No, I only intend to be intentional with every move I make,” he explained. “Every move counts.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is this why we do not take walks together? Because it takes you hours to choose which step to take next?”

“No, because I have a direction in mind when I am walking, a goal to accomplish—just like I shall accomplish my goal here.” He made his move and clapped. “Do you see?”

Unable to help herself, she smiled. Tristan looked very proud of himself, though this wasn’t even a winning move.

“I see you . Perhaps I shall have to partner with you in my next card game. Between your perfection and my impatience, we will invariably cause a riot.”

It started as a cough, she thought, and then a chortle, before her husband burst into laughter. The sound was so unexpected that she leaned back in amazement. Though he stopped as soon as he started—looking somewhat mortified and dropping his gaze—she was amazed to have heard him laugh.

“My apologies,” he muttered.

“For what? You have a very nice laugh. I appreciate the proof that it’s possible,” she added teasingly while meeting his gaze steadily. “Perhaps I will even let you win if you laugh again. Proof that you’re human just like the rest of us is appreciated.”

Those dark eyes of his shined in the evening light. He always looked so serious. Just for a minute, she had been able to see beyond that shade of black.

Verity wondered what it would take to make him laugh again. Just one more time. One more time to see that side of him again.

But then he turned away, ducking his head. She watched him pull out his pocket watch. She felt the wild urge to throw the object aside. Too late, he was rising to his feet.

“It has been longer than an hour, I’m afraid, and I should take my leave. It’s growing late.”

Rising to her feet, Verity said, “We haven’t finished our game.”

“It’s unfortunate, but…” He put away his pocket watch neatly while glancing over the board as if this had grown serious all over again. “I see you are close to winning. I shall give it to you, then. But I must retire, as I must attend to Parliamentary business first thing in the morning.”

Just when Verity thought she’d caught a glimpse of the real man she had married, he was slipping through her fingers.

She almost followed him. A step forward, and then she stopped, forcing herself to stay put. If he didn’t wish to stay, she wouldn’t force him. If he wanted to run, then that was his decision.

Still, I cannot help but try a little harder.

“What is your schedule tomorrow evening?” she called after him, making him stop. He didn’t turn around, but she knew he heard her. “I know you prefer to have supper alone, but… perhaps we could dine together for once. What say you? That way, you won’t be up so late.”

Tristan turned his head slightly, so she could only see his profile. “I am grateful for the invitation,” he said in such a flat voice that she couldn’t help but doubt every word. “But I fear I am too busy at this time. You are welcome to amuse yourself.”

And then off he went, a quiet storm and absent husband.

Huffing, Verity fell back into her chair. “It is a union most women would dearly appreciate,” she mused. “So why do I want more?”

She sat there quietly for some time until Mr. Philipson came to check on her, urging her to retire for the evening.

As Verity readied for bed that night, she replayed her conversation with her husband. However, more than anything, she thought of his laughter.