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Helena was the sort to jump before considering the consequences. But Verity had to see ahead. She knew scandal and loneliness. She knew the risks and the misfortune, the precariousness of friendship and security. There were limits to joy and opportunity.

So she asked, “Would you prefer I throw a cup against the wall?”

Tsking, Helena responded, “I’d settle for honesty.”

Honesty wasn’t a simple word or notion. It was a monstrous being, clinging to the shadows, as one never knew what might happen in the sunlight. She felt the weight on her shoulders, trying to decide what to do.

First, she took another sip of her tea. Darjeeling was her favorite. “You wish to know about my husband?”

“The honest truth. How is he?”

Exhaling, Verity kept her focus on her cup. She was afraid to spill the tea—literally. “He treats me as one might treat a polite guest. A little less than friendly. A little more than cold.”

Helena’s brow creased. “That sounds intolerable.”

Does she remember what it’s like to have a husband? How honest was she, when the Baron was alive? Sometimes I feared I was only guessing the truth. We’re the best of friends, and yet husbands… they rather complicate everything.

All Verity could do was force a smile. “You know how it was in the country for me. This isn’t any worse. Isn’t this what you did? It’s lonely, yes, but it is tolerable.”

Shaking her head, Helena took the cup from her. “I don’t like hearing you say that. Don’t you know? I didn’t marry to tolerate . I married to survive . That was my only option. Now, I’d like to live.”

She was quiet for a long minute, studying her friend.

It took all of Verity’s self-restraint not to react. She braced herself for more, only for her friend to murmur, “You wanted more, surely?”

Verity thought back to when she had first met Helena. They had been young and hopeful and dazzled by the glitter of the London Season. A lump formed in her throat. The two of them had changed. Not by choice, but out of necessity. She wondered if Helena was happy.

Am I happy? Of course, I wanted more. I wanted to marry someone who cared. Only I traded a supportive aunt for a husband who ignores me. Was my reputation worth it?

“I still do,” she found herself admitting. Helena took her hand, and she inhaled sharply. “Not love—not from him. I’m not that na?ve. But… I think that a marriage should have a purpose. Conversation. Something beyond empty silence and closed doors.”

Tristan was ignoring her again. They’d been married for nearly three months, and she could count the days they had spent together on one hand. They were strangers and little more.

The way he looks at me sometimes… It’s like I’m someone else.

“You deserve to have everything you desire. I wish you had it. I wish I could give it to you. Does he offer you anything else, Verity?”

A dry laugh escaped her lips. Her throat felt dry as she listed off, “A title. Safety. And a masterclass in solitude.”

Helena huffed. She shifted closer so their knees touched. Then, she gave her a serious look. “You’re letting him be in control. That will only hurt you, Verity. Don’t give him what he expects. Don’t fade. Make him see you. Speak. Laugh. Exist . Loudly, if you must.”

If only her friend had seen everything she had tried so far. Already Verity was running out of ideas. She tried to please her husband. To ignore him. To entertain him. To lure him to spend time with her. To entreat him. What more could she do? Bribe him? All of this was his.

Sometimes he hardly seems human. I know he is.

It’s silly to think otherwise. He is flawed.

Handsome and stern and stubborn and flawed with a rare laugh.

I know part of him must be decent. He could have treated me badly.

He could have refused to protect me. Did I really consider the price I would pay to take his name?

Marriage was an uncomfortable state to live in, she decided, and she only grew more uncertain every day. Though she knew the staff and nearly every room in the townhouse, she felt like she was losing part of herself lately.

Her lips quirked up; not quite a smile, but close. “I never needed permission for that.”

She promised such with a long look at her friend. It was enough for the other woman to nod.

“Good,” Helena responded, rising to her feet. “Because the moment you stop fighting is the moment he wins.”

Warmth flooded Verity’s chest as she was reminded of how strong Helena truly was. Though women didn’t fight on the battlefield, it didn’t mean they were never at war.

All her life, she had been fighting. She had thought of her father throughout the years, yearning for his attention and then protecting her name. Taking care of her home and the land and her tenants. She was always fighting. Sometimes she lost the battle, for no one was perfect.

But it doesn’t mean I have to give up. And I won’t. If Helena could survive her marriage, then certainly I can survive mine. I’ll find a way to have the life I want.

Verity stood up as well. “Oh, I don’t plan on letting anyone win but myself.”