“Yes, please. As hot as you can make it,” she added impishly.
It would be easier to do it here, with plenty of servants to split the work. She’d seen and met them all. What a busy household it must be.
As she watched Rachel leave the room, Verity wondered how much work she would be needed for in the manor. After all, her husband had agreed to let her keep managing everything she had owned before their marriage. He wasn’t going to change anything, and she felt inclined to believe him. For now.
I shall keep my work. But what of his? What will I take on? We have not discussed the finer points of what he would like and request of a wife. The Duke was married before, I know that, but I know so little about his first wife. What did she do for him?
Verity thought on this for a long time as she sat down at her new vanity to brush her hair. She could wait here while the tub was filled.
The vanity was not new; it simply felt that way to her. She noted a few faded grooves and marks. Something had dug in there. A sort of weapon.
Her fingertips brushed over the grooves as she considered the possibilities, before setting the matter aside. Otherwise, the red oak vanity was lovely, with its gentle grooves and three large mirrors.
Several thoughts raced through her mind for the next quarter hour while the bath was prepared. Then, she tied her hair into a knot to enjoy a long soak in hot, lavender-scented water.
She nearly fell asleep in the tub. But eventually, the water grew cold, and she clambered out. Miss Rachel helped her into a simple gown and styled her hair. Verity did not want to take supper in her bedchamber as the maid proposed, so she went downstairs to find the dining room.
But it was empty, except for a single place setting at the end of the long table—just for her.
“Your Grace.” A young footman appeared with a tray. “Supper is ready.” He noticed her confusion and hesitated. “His Grace… He is meeting with his steward. He may not return this evening.”
I forgot. The Duke prefers private suppers, does he not? The less I see him,the less he sees me.
Putting on a thin, practiced smile, Verity nodded. “Of course he is busy. That is all right.”
It seemed she was going to spend her wedding night alone.
She eased herself into a very tall chair. Hardly comfortable, albeit quite ornate. She considered the hearty meal laid out before her. She wouldn’t be able to eat half of it. Her stomach churned as if it wished to say something. Perhaps to object.
Her aunt liked company during meals. What was she doing now?
Verity looked around as if she might find the older woman sitting in the corner, wondering why they hadn’t brought her here.
Her aunt had insisted that she wasn’t prepared to move out of Redcliff Manor. She had plans to visit Bath, as she did every year. Beyond that, she was content to stay where she was.
Does she miss me now? Does she even care?
Exhaling, Verity closed her eyes and tried not to think too much about her aunt, lest she cry. She did not want to cry aboutthatnow.
Behind her, she could hear the ticking of the clock. A beautiful piece she’d spotted before taking her seat. But now it was rather noisy. She wrinkled her nose and took a sip of her sherry.
The footman set down a tray and slid a bowl before her. She nodded her thanks as he moved away.
Empty seats crowded the table. The tallest of the lot was to her left, facing the entire room. It was where her husband was supposed to sit. She took a bite and considered what it would be like to dine together. Perhaps they never would, since he appeared to prefer being away from her.
The door behind her closed, and she let out a long sigh. She set down her cutlery before leaning back against her chair. Closing her eyes, she noted the exhaustion in her bones. Every muscle ached.
She hadn’t realized what a toll a day like this would take on her.
There are some things in life one cannot change. I am a duchess now. A wife. This marriage will protect my reputation. My name. And yet I doubt my husband knows it.
But she knew his. Tristan. She remembered hearing it during the exchange of vows. It had surprised her, but it made a world of sense. It fit his tall frame.
“Tristan,” she whispered, just before the door opened again.
Verity did her best to enjoy the rest of her meal. Tired as she was, she intended to write a letter to Helena, as her friend had requested. Nothing more would happen this evening, Tristan had told her while they finalized the terms of their arrangement.He didn’t care for an heir. When he passed, he would ensure she was secure.
It will be a very dull letter, but she will appreciate it, nonetheless.
