The man tsked. “It is clear to me that you are too good for him.”
It was difficult for her to decide whether that was meant as a compliment or something else. Fumbling with the small bouquet that her servants had made from the flowers in her garden, she took a step back and glanced at the doors.
“I should be on my way,” the man said. Then, he paused and executed what could only be called a graceful bow. His form wasperfect. “What a pleasure it is to meet you, My Lady. If I might ask for one favor?”
“Only a fool promises in ignorance,” she pointed out. “What might it be?”
He winked. “Clever lady. But I suggest you do not tell your husband-to-be about my presence today. He would not take kindly to it, I think. The man has a dreadful temper, and I should hate to put you in trouble.”
Loud music sounded from inside, drawing her attention. She swallowed, recalling that everyone was waiting. How long had she lingered out here?
Turning back to the man, she watched as he straightened up. She murmured a quick excuse and hastened to the door.
She glanced back out of curiosity to find him gone.
There was nothing else to do now but make her way inside the chapel. Her wedding was less intriguing than her conversation with the stranger.
Verity hastened down the aisle to meet the Duke, who took her hand and knelt at her side. Vows were recited, and rings were exchanged. The vicar soon pronounced them husband and wife. No one clapped or cheered, for which she was very grateful.
Everyone filed outside to talk for a few minutes. The weather was growing dreary. A small feast had been set up at her home, but her aunt wasn’t feeling well, and Helena mentioned that she would need to be on her way as well.
Learning there was no point now in returning to her home—heroldhome—Verity glanced around for the stranger and then made her way to her new husband, who was speaking with his friend.
She knew of him even before the Duke introduced them. All of London knew Julian Ashcombe, now a duke himself, since he had left his mark on the city. Every now and then, she would find his name in the papers. The man was terribly charming and wildly untrustworthy by all accounts.
Now, he was speaking to her new husband like an old friend—an unexpected picture. He was dressed all in gold, a smile on his lips, and yet somehow she married to the tall, dark, glowering man at his side.
“I must admit that I expected your second wedding to be smaller than the first, but not so gloomy,” Ashcombe was saying as he offered her husband a cigar.
“No,” Tristan uttered. He was studying the church with what could only be a frown. Or his usual expression. “You’re welcome to leave. Is the vicar gone? The roof is crooked.”
His friend paid him little mind, maintaining his smile. “I was tempted, I’ll admit. But someone had to be here to believe it.Northcott remarrying! What a miracle! Glad you didn’t run out the door. If Sebastian were here, I might have lost the bet to him.”
“There is no betting,” Tristan started, before realizing Verity was upon them.
He stiffened, and the wrinkle in his brow faded. Beyond that, however, she could not read a single thought in his mind.
“Duchess.”
She stumbled, realizing she had a new title now.
It was Ashcombe who caught her hand, putting it on his arm. She stared dumbly as he winked. “Careful, my dear. We can’t have you twisting your ankle on such a lovely and special day. Northcott, how could you? I’ve found another problem you have not fixed: this awful ground.”
“One cannot mend every hole in the ground, especially when there are gophers,” Tristan muttered, before clearing his throat and focusing on Verity. He gave her a steady look. “Yes?”
She pulled herself together. Fixing her cloak around her throat as the day continued to grow chillier, she gave him a small smile. “The day is over, and I’m afraid my party wishes to be on their way. I don’t believe you cared for the feast?”
“Not particularly.”
“I did,” Ashcombe protested.
Tristan had already stepped forward to separate them. He firmly clasped her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm, freeing her from his friend. “Your carriage is waiting for you, and I’m sure your aunt is dying to hear about today. You may go.”
“Oh, that’s not…” Verity started, feeling uncomfortable between them.
When she looked at Ashcombe, he winked. “You’ll learn to appreciate him as we do. And he’s not wrong. What rake interrupts a wedding party? I shall have my fun elsewhere beyond torturing my dear old friend. Should we meet again, Duchess, I do look forward to seeing your cheery smile and our ever-grumpy Duke. Good day and good luck.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, frowning as she watched him take his leave.
