It was admittedly cozy, but she found herself lonely yet again. Usually, she would have had her aunt to keep her company.
Am I to dine alone every night for the rest of my life?
Verity thought about it. She studied the lone glass before her. The two candles. The silence. And the emptiness that pervaded any semblance of peace.
It was a marriage she had accepted out of necessity, she reminded herself. This was for the best.
Except I cannot fathom being a stranger to my own husband. To be married to a stranger. He asks for nothing, for which I am relieved. He is too cold and selfish and stubborn.
As she ate, she planned and plotted.
Verity thanked the staff in the kitchens personally like she so often did, before heading to the library to write once more that evening. A short letter—just a card—that warranted no address.
Mr. Philipson showed up when she tugged the bell pull in the library, and entered as she rose to her feet. “Your Grace, how may I be of assistance?”
Verity extended the card. “Deliver this to the Duke, if you please.”
“The Duke?” he echoed, his eyebrows shooting up. “Shall I deliver a verbal message as well?”
“Everything he needs to know is in the card, but thank you for your consideration,” she said to him.
Although Mr. Philipson was somewhat perplexed, looking between her and the card, he finally nodded. An amused smile crept onto his face before he bowed and took his leave.
Verity tidied up as she always did before stepping out of the room.
Exactly an hour later, she was seated in her favorite chair in the sunroom, now growing dark at the late hour. A few lit candles surrounded the furniture, like her two tables and the other chair she’d just received help moving about.
“What is this missive?” Tristan asked, the moment he spotted her. He walked in with confidence and perplexity, she thought.
He doesn’t look as willing as I had hoped.
“My apologies, Your Grace.” She offered him a smile. “I thought you could read. I should never have made such an assumption.”
His frown deepened. Though she had not meant to make a jab at him, it was too late. She pressed her lips tightly together, waiting for him to react.
“I can read. I’ve been able to read the English language since the age of three. Latin since I was five. Spanish, French, and German. Even some Russian at University, and Greek. But none of them particularly explain why my wife has sent me an official invitation to join her for an evening of companionship.” He paraphrased her note before setting it down.
“Very good, Your Grace. And you have decided to accept, which I thank you for most sincerely,” she said, a little sarcasm in her tone. “I thought you might enjoy some company this evening.”
“I had company earlier today. I had business to attend to,” he reminded her.
She nodded, wishing he would make their conversations easier. “Yes, but you didn’t havemycompany.”
She waited, wondering what he would say to that, but she was greeted with silence.
She peered up at him as he mulled over the notion. The way he hesitated told her that he was near a fine line of blatant rudeness.
She sucked in a breath. This wasn’t supposed to turn into an argument or even a battle. She couldn’t forget why she was doing this. They were married, after all, bound to each other for the rest of their lives. Surely they could learn to get along?
If I can simply manage a proper conversation with him this evening, then surely that would be enough. If I could make him smile or even laugh, I would count myself most satisfied.
She rose to her feet, showing off the tray of sherry and the table set up for the evening’s game. “You may not care one way or another, but I would like your company this evening. I ask for nothing but an hour to play dominos together.”
“I don’t gamble.”
“Not everyone gambles with every game they play. I’m not asking for anything but a simple game. No gambling,” she assured him.
Tristan mulled it over.
