Was there anything else to say?
It seemed that Henry thought there was. “I recently took Verity to an exhibition featuring the works of Thomas Gainsborough. She liked his landscapes…”
He cocked a knowing eyebrow at Verity, like he thought this might actually work.
Of course, it did not.
Ambrose shrugged, clearly uninterested. “Gainsborough, yes. His work is adequate, though I find it rather lacking in comparison to more contemporary pieces. But as I said, art is not a primary concern of mine.”
Feeling increasingly invisible, Verity struggled to maintain her composure. Why were they bothering with this?
She cast a glance at her mother, who offered her a sympathetic smile.
Henry, meanwhile, continued to dominate the conversation with Ambrose, oblivious to Verity’s discomfort. “So, tell me about these practical pursuits…”
Verity’s scowl went unnoticed by Ambrose but not by her brother, who chose to ignore it.
She felt like an object, a means to an end rather than a person with her own desires and dreams.
As the dinner dragged on, Verity felt increasingly suffocated. The food on her plate remained mostly untouched, her appetite completely vanished. The idle chatter and pointed looks from Ambrose’s daughters only added to her misery.
At one point, Ambrose turned to Verity with a forced smile, seemingly remembering that he was supposed to be getting to know her, not just her brother. It was the first time he had addressed her directly, and she truly wished he had not bothered.
“Tell me, Lady Verity, what do you envision for your future?”
The question, while seemingly innocuous, felt like a trap.
Verity took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “I envision a future where I can pursue my passions and contribute to society in a meaningful way. Art is one of those passions, and I hope to continue exploring it.”
Ambrose’s smile faded, replaced by a look of thinly veiled disapproval.
“A noble sentiment,” he said coolly, “but one must also consider practicalities. A lady’s primary duty is to her family and household.”
Verity forced a polite nod, though inwardly she seethed.
She felt trapped, cornered in to a role she had no desire to play.
Henry had to see that this wasn’t a good idea, right? Surely he could understand Verity’s sadness. Just because they were not as close as they used to be, did not mean he had no idea what was happening within her heart. Surely there was a part of him that still cared.
She endured an hour of stilted conversation with her mother and the other ladies, but she couldn’t hide her relief when the butler came to announce that the carriage was readied. Verity stood up, relieved that the evening was finally ending.
She forced a polite smile as she made her farewells, curtsying to Lord Ambrose and his daughters.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Lord Aldford,” Verity said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.
Ambrose nodded, his expression unreadable. “It was a pleasure to have you and your family here, Lady Verity. I hope we can do this again soon.”
Verity doubted she could endure another evening like this one, but of course she wasn’t going to say as much.
Once inside the carriage, Verity felt the tension begin to ease. Her mother sat beside her, offering a comforting presence, while Henry settled across from them. The carriage started to move, and Verity stared out of the window, her thoughts a tangled mess.
As the carriage rolled through the quiet streets, Henry leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face.
“I believe the evening went quite well. Lord Aldford seems very interested. This match would be advantageous for our family, Verity. You must see that.”
Verity continued to stare out the window, her heart heavy with the weight of his words. She understood her brother’s ambitions, his desire to secure a prosperous future for their family. Yet, the thought of her own desires and dreams being sacrificed filled her with a profound sense of despair.
“Henry,” she began softly, her voice almost lost in the rumble of the carriage wheels, “I understand your intentions, but I would rather be alone and forgotten than bound to a man who does not love me.
