He chose to ignore the way Mr. Philipson’s face brightened as if this was exciting news instead of an irritating chore.
“What a wonder! You will attend the Season, then.”
“I don’t believe so, no. The deal shouldn’t require the entire Parliamentary session.”
But even as he said that, Tristan hesitated. Any delay could very well create more problems. Purchasing and selling estates required so many solicitors and money in people’s hands.
“No, it shouldn’t.”
“But it could. Why don’t we pack you up at least until Michaelmas? Perhaps you’ll enjoy yourself. It’s been years since you attended a proper London Season,” Mr. Philipson pointed out.
There is no need because I’m a married man, of course. The last time I attended a London Season was when I was looking for a wife. I’ve been married and widowed and married again. The London Season offers nothing for me but a waste of time and migraines.
Tristan shook his head in distaste. “It’s a noisy city. Filthy and completed wasted space. You cannot breathe there, nor sleep inthe quiet. I have no use for London. It will be a slim enough hope that no one is informed of my presence so I will not have to attend Parliament. Or else I will never escape.”
“Isn’t it an honor to sit in the House of Lords?”
Someone had decided to join their conversation. Someone who had not been invited to speak with them or eavesdrop. Someone who looked rather chipper in her yellow morning dress.
Verity stepped up to him with a composed smile and a clear gaze. “Isn’t it?” she asked as she looked right at him.
“That is what they tell me,” Tristan said.
Dread settled heavily on his shoulders. It felt like he was being walked into a trap, the way his wife descended to the final step so she was tall enough to meet his gaze.
“Indeed, an honor and a privilege,” she asserted. “It sounds like you have very important matters to attend to in London, dear husband. If you waste time worrying that you will be spotted, then you will not be able to focus on your business, I should think.”
When she puts it that way…
Tristan cleared his throat. “I can attend to business whether I am there or away. The post grows more reliable every year, I believe.”
“True, but if you already need to attend to matters in person in London, it seems rather preferable to spend some time there so you are not on the move yet again in the opposite direction. What a long journey that would be, to leave so soon. Don’t you think?”
He wanted to disagree. He did. But again, she was right.
“I suppose.”
Verity eyed him for a moment as if she expected him to say anything more. He didn’t. So she leaned forward, speaking more honestly than he could have anticipated. “And I should like to keep you company in London.”
“I…” Tristan paused when he noticed his butler shift out of the corner of his eye.
He looked at Mr. Philipson, who was beaming at Verity. Yet she didn’t seem to notice the man as she continued staring at him. So Tristan focused on her, searching for lies and secrets in her eyes.
Women were surely all the same. What was her plan? To prove him a cuckold once again? To mock him in public? To rob him blind in new gowns and jewelry?
Taking a step back, Tristan found his thoughts jumbled up. He blamed it on Verity’s sweet perfume. A voice in the back of his mind wondered if she wore it on purpose to confuse him.
But how would she know? Why would she care?
She said she wanted to keep me company. Me.
It was with great reluctance that he finally asked, “Do you wish to accompany me to London? However long I am forced to attend to business?”
He braced himself for a shrill sound of victory. Some excitement or even clapping. Something to make it clear that he had not won this conversation with his wife.
Instead, Verity straightened up. Her lips curled slightly but not into a smile. She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “I should like very much to join you, Your Grace, so long as I won’t be a bother.”
His response tumbled from his mouth before he could consider it. “You won’t be.”
