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V erity couldn’t help but admit to being put out when Tristan sent his regrets.

“He must be busy after spending hours out of the house,” she tried to reason with herself. “Perhaps we’ll try again tomorrow.”

Except the next day, he refused to join her for supper yet again. Then, he stayed out of the house the entire day, claiming to be managing his affairs with the new steward.

It was true; she saw Mr. Sharper coming in and out of their home. The young man must have talked more with her husband in his first three days of employment than Tristan had ever talked to her.

There was no denying a hint of irritation.

A large hint of irritation, of course. Why could he not talk to me?

I helped him hire Mr. Sharper. I brought him those pastries.

But the confusing man does nothing. Why do I keep trying?

I’ve been making improvements to his house, and yet he said nothing.

I made him pastries that he barely complimented.

And I’m sending him invitations in his own house that go ignored.

There were some mornings where Verity felt very much like screaming. But living in London, with so many houses nearby, she didn’t think she could do that without causing a scandal.

“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” her maid inquired a few mornings later as she crawled out of bed. “Was it the late night?”

She huffed. “Late night, indeed. Why do people insist on such late-evening affairs? If it’s a private dinner party, I should think we could decide the time ourselves instead of what Society dictates. We didn’t get to the third course before midnight! And there were eighteen courses.”

“Eighteen courses!” Rachel set down the breakfast tray to stare at her. Then, she glanced down at it in wonder, slowly shaking her head. “One must wonder how much one can eat at such an affair.”

A sheepish smile spread across Verity’s lips. “Too much, apparently. I am still stuffed. And exhausted. Do help yourself to the food; I cannot stand to look at it. I’ll only enjoy some tea this morning.”

“Do you feel ill, Your Grace?”

“No, no, just a tad overfull. I think I shall enjoy a morning walk instead of a ride,” Verity decided. She glanced at her maid after a moment, watching her pick daintily at the tray. “I’ve been told green ribbons are all the rage. Do I have any?”

“Four, Your Grace.”

Verity bit her lip. “And do you subscribe to the notion that a lady must follow the trends in polite society?”

Rachel furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Should I wear the green ribbons?” Verity asked plainly.

“You would look well enough in green, Your Grace. But you positively glow in blue and purple, if I may say so.”

That was what Helena had told her as well last night while one of the guests had droned on about green ribbons.

Verity rubbed her cheek, trying to remember the conversation. She’d had too much to drink. And eat. But what else was she supposed to do at a dinner party? There were only twelve people, and she only knew Helena, who had been not just the hostess but also the life of the party.

They had talked about ribbons and how Tristan should have been there. Everyone else had their partners. Though Verity had asked her husband repeatedly to join her, he refused, only saying that she could go.

It had been an awkward dinner. The empty chair across from her had nearly ruined the entire evening. She worried that everyone else had seen this as an omen and decided collectively to speak to her as little as possible.

“Are you certain you are not ill?” her maid pressed.

“Not so ill that some fresh air would be the death of me,” Verity promised, before rising to her feet. “I would like to wear my blue morning dress, if you please. A stroll in the gardens would be very invigorating.”

The fresh air did wonders for her over the next hour. Her stomach settled more than it had throughout the night. She was able to clear her mind of the uncomfortable social affair, and she wondered what on earth she was supposed to do with herself.

Today, tomorrow, and forever. Will I always attend social events without a husband on my arm?

I don’t know how to be a wife or a duchess, but here I am, in London.

If Helena is right, my presence there last night will earn me some invitations.

I could go anywhere, I suppose. That is my right. My freedom. It’s what I want. And yet…

She couldn’t put her finger on what felt wrong. Only that it did.

Walking back to the front steps, Verity nodded to the footman who seemed to have been waiting for her. “Yes, Adam?”

“You have a guest, Your Grace.”

The knocker was not up at this hour.

She frowned. “Who might it be?”

“Lady Marsten.” He showed the card on his small platter, confirming that Helena had indeed come to visit.

I can hardly believe she is awake at this hour!

“Have tea brought to us. Scones, too,” Verity requested, before taking off in search of her friend. It didn’t take her long to spot the beautiful woman standing tall in the entrance hall, eyeing the decor intently. “Helena! Whatever are you doing here?”

Her friend tugged off her hat before they could reach each other, then opened her arms for a hug. “What else would I be doing? You’re here, and I’m here. What a bore last night was! We barely talked, so I thought I would come check on you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Verity led her into the nearest parlor. “Do sit. Tea is on the way. It’s still early, I see. Weren’t you spouting about the virtues of proper hours last night?”

“Was I? I hardly noticed. It doesn’t matter.

Society means nothing, and you, my dear, mean everything.

I hardly know half of the people who came last night.

They simply happen to be the people who know everyone else.

They couldn’t stop raving about you, you know.

I’ve already received three thank-you cards mentioning you. ”

Verity eyed her doubtfully, hardly able to believe a word. “That’s nonsense.”

“That is the ton,” Helena corrected. “Of course, one should never believe a word they say. Only in such a situation. I am confident you will receive many invitations today. Then, you can take your pick of hypocritical fools and their fripperies to do anything you like in London.”

“Anything?” Verity echoed with a short laugh. “You may be a widow, but I’m not.”

“You may be someday, so you should practice. Especially if your husband is going to refuse one of my invitations. How fortunate that it was only at my late husband’s townhouse.

It’s dreadful, isn’t it?” Helena chattered away as a maid brought a tea tray and Verity poured them each a cup.

“You will have to visit my estate sometime soon, now that you’re much closer.

The most wonderful people visit, you know. Artists and misfits.”

Verity started to nod, before she paused and wondered if Tristan would have anything to say about that.

‘Misfits’ was a polite word to describe some of the people Helena associated with.

She wasn’t as radical as Verity’s father, of course, but the wrong assumption could have Society turning against the merry widow.

“Are you being careful?” Verity asked cautiously.

“Not at all.” Helena tilted her head back with a brazen smile. “Don’t you worry, dear. I have money, and that is my security. Should the world turn against me, I will be all right. No one bothers a widow. I’m wealthy and allowed to be as dramatic as I want to be. Society hardly cares what I do.”

Nodding, Verity wondered if that would always be the case. She recalled how the papers had turned against her father.

Her stomach clenched. Helena deserved peace and joy after so much turmoil in her life. She could only hope her friend was right.

Helena set down her empty cup with a loud clink, turning to grin at her. “Enough about me, dear. I want to hear about you. Is it possible that my short marriage was happier than yours?”

“Is that why you came here?”

Helena merely smiled. “We’re friends, Verity. You cannot lie to my face like you might mislead me in a letter.”

A wave of guilt washed over Verity. She often tried to make her letters as entertaining as possible. It brought her joy to busy herself with the habit; perhaps she was writing too many fripperies if Helena could read between the lines.

“Fine, I shall ask you questions to assess the situation,” Helena announced with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve hardly purchased a new gown or anything for yourself since your wedding. I’ve seen your dress more times than I can count. Where are your new gowns? Is the Duke a miser?”

“No, certainly not. I’ve made purchases,” Verity insisted.

Helena raised an eyebrow. “For him or you?”

“For the house. That means it’s for both of us. Isn’t that what a wife is supposed to do?”

“Yes, to make her life her own. But you hardly had a wedding trousseau. I know you sold most of those things after your father passed,” Helena added in a gentle tone.

She leaned forward to look closely at Verity.

“Truly, dear friend. You are hesitant to go out, and I see you’re cautious about spending.

Are you afraid for yourself? For the servants? ”

Twisting away, Verity took a deep breath. It was kind of her friend to worry about her. But it was unnecessary.

Every woman must marry at some point, no matter the options available. She must. And that is what I did. I accepted whatever came my way. But it isn’t as though Tristan is awful. He is simply… well…

There weren’t many words to describe her husband. He was too much and too unknown for her to find the right words. How he could be an annoyed traveler and rider and also the man delicately brushing sugar off her cheek with that heated gaze of his, she didn’t understand.

She took a dainty sip of her tea while she pondered over him and his work, his laughter, and the way he kept trying to ignore her.

“You’re too calm,” Helena noted suddenly.

Slowly turning her head, Verity raised an eyebrow at her friend.