But Henry cocked a knowing eyebrow at Verity, as if he did blame her for what had happened four years ago.
He knew that Cedric had abandoned her in favor of her best friend.
He knew how much that had been like a dagger to Verity’s heart.
He had seen her hurt and crying, he had witnessed her falling apart, yet still thought it was acceptable to throw it in her face.
Verity was honestly left speechless by her brother’s heartlessness. Who was Henry these days? What had happened to the boy that she had so much fun with?
“Verity, you would be very unwise not to take this seriously,” he continued as if he could not see her heart cracking in her chest all over again. “You will regret this if you make a mess of things with Ambrose. I don’t see any other opportunity coming your way. If you don’t secure a match this Season, then I don’t know what I will do with you.”
A thick lump of emotion formed in Verity’s throat.
She did not want to be constantly considered a burden, but if she’d had her way, she would have been married years ago. Of course, she was a little bit grateful that she had not married Cedric now. She certainly did not wish to commit to someone who could be so heartless and cruel, and to someone who could leave her for her friend, but she had to admit that life would have been a whole lot easier if everything had worked out differently. She would be settled in to being a wife now and would likely have a family of her own. There would be no more societal expectations pressing down on her shoulders. She would be able to relax at last.
But that wasn’t her reality. Instead, she was faced with the relentless pressure from her brother and society to make a match she did not want. The weight of it was suffocating.
Her mother’s soft hand on her shoulder was a small comfort. “Henry, please, there must be another way. Verity deserves happiness as much as anyone else.”
Henry’s jaw tightened; his frustration evident. “Mother, we must be pragmatic. The luxury of waiting for true love is not one we can afford. Verity must understand that. I don’t understand why I have to keep repeating myself. It’s thoroughly frustrating that none of you will listen to me.”
Verity felt a surge of defiance rise within her.
She could not simply accept this fate. She had to find a way to carve out her own path, to find a life that would bring her true contentment, not one dictated by societal expectations andher brother’s ambitions. She just had to find a way to make him understand that…
But he wasn’t about to listen to her now. Henry was done. Leaving.
After Henry stormed out of the room, her mother turned to her, eyes filled with sorrow and determination. “Don’t lose hope, my dear. We will find a way. You are not alone in this. I am going to assist you in any way that I can.”
Verity nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at her. “Thank you, Mother.”
Her mother nodded just the once, before leaving the room, seemingly sensing that Verity needed some more time alone.
Which she most definitely did.
As she returned to her painting, she allowed herself to think once more of Lord Philip Easton. Perhaps, if she saw him again, there might be a chance to explore the connection she felt. Maybe he could offer a different path, one not dictated by her brother’s ambitions.
Verity realized that convincing her brother to see her perspective would be an uphill battle, especially when he wasn’t entirely wrong.
But the idea of resigning herself to a life devoid of love and companionship wasn’t something that she could really fathom. It all made her feel sick to her stomach. Especially as she thought of marrying Ambrose.
He horrified her most of all.
Verity sighed and left her painting behind. All the creativity and inspiration had been sucked out of her. She knew that she could not remain in this room any longer, it was all becoming too much for her. Her whole body was itching for something else.
Verity walked through the house, her foot steps echoing in the empty halls, each step heavier than the last, like a dark cloud was now settling over her. Eventually, Verity found herself in thegarden, her sanctuary. The sweet scent of roses and the gentle rustling of leaves provided a temporary solace from the storm brewing in her life, the one that seemed to be intensifying with every passing moment.
She sat on the wrought iron bench, her thoughts racing. Could she truly defy her brother’s wishes? Could she risk the ire of her family and society to seek her own happiness? What sort of life did she really want for herself?
Her mind wandered back to the Marquess of Eilensdale. He had been a glimmer of something different, something genuine in a world that felt increasingly like a cage. He was the sort of man that she might really want… but as a spinster, and a jilted one at that, she knew that a Marquess was far out of her reach.
Plus, it was just one short conversation. Perhaps she needed to put much less stock in to it.
As Verity sat in the garden, she fought to hold back the tears threatening to spill.
The vision of a future with Lord Aldford loomed large in her mind, suffocating her with its bleakness. She imagined living in his grand, cold estate, surrounded by his daughters’ disdainful glances and biting remarks. She pictured herself at the dining table, trying to engage in polite conversation while they made it clear she was an unwelcome intruder. She envisioned holidays and social events, where she would be a mere shadow, overshadowed by Ambrose’s arrogance and his daughters’ cruelty.
The thought of enduring a loveless marriage, of lying beside a man who saw her as nothing more than a convenience, filled her with dread. Her heart ached at the prospect of never experiencing true affection, of being denied the warmth of a loving partner and the joy of a harmonious family.
