“Yes, yes, I know that as well as you do,” she pointed out. Hands on her hips, she inhaled deeply to admire the hues across the sky. They merged into a dull gray the closer they moved to the city. “How lovely it is.”
The Duke glanced around, shifting atop his dark Arabian. “Lovelier if we could continue on our way. Unless you need to…?”
Verity waited for him to say that she wanted to relieve herself, but he couldn’t form the words. His face twisted just enough that she choked on a giggle.
He harrumphed then, shaking his head. “Well…?”
“I appreciate your consideration. At this time, I am doing quite well. But I am hungry, and we have quite a basket to eat, so I am stopping to have a picnic.”
Tristan blinked and fell silent.
Deciding to help, Verity explained, “A picnic is a lovely outdoor activity where we lay down a blanket and?—”
“I know what a picnic is. But I cannot fathom why we would bother with it when we are so close to the city. An hour’s delay will surely see us there after sunset,” he pointed out.
“That does align with my understanding, yes,” she said agreeably, just as her maid came around from the rear of the carriage. “Very good, Rachel, you did find a blanket! Why don’t we sit beside the large boulder just there?”
The maid glanced warily at a frustrated Tristan before bobbing a quick curtsey. “Yes, Your Grace, I’ll do just that.”
Tristan grunted. “Are you doing this to mock me?”
“Mock?” That surprised Verity. She glanced around and studied him. He indeed looked frustrated. “Your Grace, please. I take mealtimes very seriously. We didn’t have time for tea, and I would like to sit where parts of my body will not be bruised and tossed about. Surely, you are hungry enough to join us?”
“There could be highwaymen about,” he warned.
“It’s a large field, and last night, the innkeeper’s wife reassured me that this was a lovely space we could use for a picnic.”
“Then you had planned this ahead.”
He wasn’t a fool, after all.
Verity raised an eyebrow. “It is mealtime, Tristan. And a beautiful view, before we enter a very busy and very loud city. If it truly matters that you reach London sooner, you may go ahead with your valet, and we’ll meet you at our residence this evening.”
“I can’t do that.” Tristan hesitated before sliding down from his horse. “I will not risk a highwayman.”
“Do you mean encountering one?”
“No,” Tristan muttered, grabbing the reins. “Someone has to be around to take pity on his soul.”
A laugh burst out of Verity. Possibly more in shock, she told herself, as she clamped a hand over her mouth. She looked at her husband, hardly able to believe he’d made a joke. Even now, he looked so serious. But perhaps he wasn’t too dreadful. Not today, at least.
Unable to keep the smile off her face, Verity nodded. “Shall we have our picnic? I have some fig jam that I believe you’ll enjoy.”
“I didn’t know you knew I enjoyed it.”
“I know many things,” she declared proudly. “Just like I know we deserve a lovely picnic on such a beautiful day. A duke should enjoy some leisure time, should he not? Come on, then, Your Grace, and let us feast.”
Tristan could do nothing but obey.
Gentle relief flooded through her then, and she relaxed as they went arm in arm to the blanket, where they enjoyed their meal.
Though Tristan spoke little after that, she savored the words and still thought of his jest—trite as it might have been but still an unexpected delight—when they were back on the road to London.
CHAPTER 13
Tristan tried to ignore the gray clouds to the best of his abilities once he was back on his horse, headed toward London.
If only they would hold themselves together until he was in the city. All they needed to do was make it to his townhouse. He even sent up a short prayer in an admittedly annoyed tone in the hopes that no storm would delay them further.
