Page 35

V erity dried her damp cheek as she heard Tristan retreat down the hall, his boots clicking loudly on the floor before fading away.

The man was as devious as the sun in London, so very sharp and infrequent. She could barely bring herself to look up. When she did, it was lovely. But it always ended too soon, leaving her cold and wondering why she was so alone.

I’m always so alone. But I wasn’t with him. I felt something there, that connection between us. It felt so warm budding in my chest. And he felt it as well, didn’t he? I could have sworn I saw it in his eyes. I might have believed it readily if he hadn’t left so abruptly.

Was he scared? Embarrassed?

Verity sensed there was something more to it. She gazed down at the fire for a brief while before she heard footsteps coming in her direction.

“Your Grace?” Mrs. Heavensby hesitated a short distance away. She held a small silver platter in both hands as she cast her gaze about. “The hour is quite late. Is all well? Are you still cold? If your bedchamber isn’t warm enough, I would be happy to assist you.”

Verity forced a smile. “Thank you, but no. I came here in search of… something.”

She didn’t remember anymore. A book? Peace? Tristan? Perhaps it no longer mattered.

“It is quite late indeed, but might you put out the fire here? I suppose I’ll retire, after all.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Mrs. Heavensby bobbed a perfunctory curtsy and nodded. “A parcel has just arrived. Since I heard you up and about, I thought I would bring it. The messenger stated that it was of the utmost importance to the Duchess.”

Verity’s heart clenched. What could require her attention in the middle of the night, and in a storm?

Thinking of her aunt, she inhaled sharply before crossing the distance to scoop up the parcel. Topped with a letter, it looked like several papers bound neatly beneath a thin wrapper. But all of this was an unfamiliar weight, and the handwriting hardly looked familiar.

She studied the letter for a moment, noticing that it was in perfect condition. Not creased, hardly touched. She wondered what someone would want to send her. Who would travel at such an hour in such a storm? No correspondence would have made it from the countryside to the city looking like that.

If it’s not from or about Aunt Eugenia, who could it be?

“Your Grace?”

She looked back up to see the furrowed brow of her housekeeper.

While Verity appreciated the older woman’s attention and support, she was beginning to fear that she’d been putting permanent lines on the housekeeper’s brow. Everything she did seemed to worry everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

“Thank you. Good night.”

“Good night, Your Grace,” Mrs. Heavensby murmured as Verity took her leave.

Off Verity went to her bedchamber, clinging to the letter all the way. She had her candle with her again. It had been set on a side table upon her entry to the library. Usually, she would take it further into the room before she built up the fire and curled up on the chaise.

Tonight, however, Tristan had surprised her in several ways. She had a hard time believing that the jealous, sullen, careful, honest, and frightfully tender man had been one and the same.

What hardships has he encountered? I cannot begin to imagine what his first marriage had been like. What sort of woman would treat another person in such a way? Had Tristan hidden himself away because of her? Or has he always been so private?

Questions crowded her mind as they had the moment he had started talking. The explanation he had given her had been entirely unexpected. She’d forced herself to remain still and silent. How difficult that had been, when all she had wanted to do was embrace him and offer comfort.

“Surely even a duke requires the occasional comfort,” Verity murmured as she closed the door to her bedchamber.

Finally, she could slip into her bed, now warmed and waiting for her, to sleep away the excitement she’d had the previous hours. Her eyes ached at the thought of having to stay open any longer.

“Tomorrow,” she reassured the letter as she set it on her bedside table, next to the candle.

It couldn’t be so important as to warrant a review at this late hour.

Verity could control her curiosity. Most likely, it pertained to estate matters.

She still had her tenants to care for. Or perhaps someone thought she might appeal to her husband about some business if they shared their story with her.

Helena had warned her she would have to watch out for people who might want to take advantage of her, now that she had power, prestige, and money.

But none of that felt real to Verity.

She settled back into her bed, leaning against her pillows with a heavy sigh. The night felt interminable. However, it would eventually end. She would have to face the daylight. It would be ideal if she got some rest before encountering the sun or her husband again.

From her back she shifted onto her side to face the closed curtains, glimpsing a small gap that only led to further darkness. She squeezed her eyes shut.

How could she be tired but restless?

Onto her other side she turned, only to realize that she had left the candle lit.

Verity opened her eyes and immediately saw the small parcel.

What an unassuming parcel it was. There was no official seal nor mention of a sender. It was bendable, confirming it was only papers. Nothing about it felt familiar or recognizable. Perhaps if she took a peek?—

“No,” she said out loud.

After she blew out the candle, she fell back against her pillows in a huff. Her hands went over her eyes, which stung after the long day she had.

Burrowing further beneath her blankets, Verity promised herself she’d tend to the parcel first thing in the morning. All she required was a few hours of rest.

It felt as though she blinked and daylight appeared.

She squinted, wincing as more light shined on her face.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” her maid sang from the window as she drew the curtains open. “It’s a mite spotty out there, but perhaps we’ll have some warmth after the nasty evening. Your schedule is clear, so I thought you might appreciate some more time to rest this morning.”

Verity sat up and rubbed her eyes. “You didn’t wake me?”

“Not until now, Your Grace.” The maid hesitated. “There isn’t anything on your calendar, is there?”

“If you say there isn’t, then there isn’t.” Verity tried to smile as she scooted to the edge of the bed. “I can hardly tell which way is up. Thank the Lord I have no plans today. I will not be receiving, but I could use a hearty breakfast.”

“Your tray should be ready in a moment. Is there anything I can do before I retrieve it?”

Verity let her go, choosing to do her toilette and study the scenery outside her window for a long minute.

Last night felt like a blurry painting with details she couldn’t quite make out at the moment.

She hoped it would all come together soon; it felt important that she do something. That something had to happen.

After all, Tristan knows he cannot avoid me forever. We need to speak about last night. About his past and our future. I want a future with him.

She thought about their kiss. Her fingertips trailed over her lips, never having known what it could feel like. A quiet moment, hidden away from the rest of the world, just for her and him.

She liked the notion. But would Tristan use that as an excuse that nothing happened?

As she sorted out a plan, she ate her breakfast and then dressed in her favorite morning gown. As she brushed a curl from her face, her maid went to her bedside.

“Your Grace, should I leave your parcel here?”

“Hm?” Verity twisted around, confused, before remembering the package she had received last night. “Oh! Can you bring it here, please? I… I need to tend to a matter.”

“I’ll bring out your writing desk and leave you to it,” her maid promised and handed over the small package.

Verity studied her mail once more. She looked for any sign of familiarity but found nothing. She fiddled with the string that bound the package together, imagining she could somehow know from whence this all came.

I suppose I only will once I open it.

As she brought out her sharp letter opener, adorned with poppy flowers on the handle, Verity felt dread settle low in her stomach. The myth of Pandora and her box suddenly came to mind.

This package could very well bode ill for her. It felt too strange, too dangerous.

“Your Grace? Is there anything more I can do for you?”

Verity jerked her head up and flushed, realizing she was scaring herself over nothing. She managed to smile while telling her maid that all was well and that she needed some time alone.

And once she was alone, she cut the string.

Late morning light shone through the nearby windows as she set the letter opener down alongside the torn string.

She put the package on her lap. Telling herself that nothing awful would happen, Verity knew she should probably go back to bed and think this through.

A morning in the garden would surely help.

Someone brought this in the dead of night and the middle of a storm. Surely, its contents are very important. I shouldn’t have ignored them last night. I have a duty as a duchess, don’t I?

With a deep breath, she unfolded the binding paper to find what appeared to be several folded papers. She noted the slightly darker hue of all of them except for the top one—the least crinkled and touched. Frowning, she read the short message that no longer offered titles or niceties.

I thought that you, as his new wife, should see the truth for yourself. For your own sake.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Verity asked quietly, uncertain whether she wished to know an answer.

She stared at the message for a long moment, reading and rereading it for some clue.