Suddenly, there was a chill in the room, as if she’d taken all the warmth with her. He felt the cold and lonely. Sticky. Uncertain. Frowning, he glanced down at the plate she had left behind like it might give him some answers.
Instead, he could only replay the moment he had been so close to his wife, with only crumbs of sugar between them. The memorywarmed him all over again. It did something funny to his racing heart.
Oh, bother. What am I doing?
Jarred by the strange feelings rising within him, Tristan sank down into his chair. This was a mistake. It had to be.
He could not be drawn to his wife, not again. He refused to be caught in this trap. She was hiding something. He was too distracted. The claws would come out eventually—most likely.
Cassandra had only waited until the day after their wedding. If Verity changed like that, Tristan didn’t think he could bear it.
He called for a footman and instructed him to inform the Duchess that he would not be able to join her for supper, after all.
CHAPTER 16
Verity couldn’t help but admit to being put out when Tristan sent his regrets.
“He must be busy after spending hours out of the house,” she tried to reason with herself. “Perhaps we’ll try again tomorrow.”
Except the next day, he refused to join her for supper yet again. Then, he stayed out of the house the entire day, claiming to be managing his affairs with the new steward.
It was true; she saw Mr. Sharper coming in and out of their home. The young man must have talked more with her husband in his first three days of employment than Tristan had ever talked to her.
There was no denying a hint of irritation.
A large hint of irritation, of course. Why could he not talk to me? I helped him hire Mr. Sharper. I brought him thosepastries. But the confusing man does nothing. Why do I keep trying? I’ve been making improvements to his house, and yet he said nothing. I made him pastries that he barely complimented. And I’m sending him invitations in his own house that go ignored.
There were some mornings where Verity felt very much like screaming. But living in London, with so many houses nearby, she didn’t think she could do that without causing a scandal.
“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” her maid inquired a few mornings later as she crawled out of bed. “Was it the late night?”
She huffed. “Late night, indeed. Why do people insist on such late-evening affairs? If it’s a private dinner party, I should think we could decide the time ourselves instead of what Society dictates. We didn’t get to the third course before midnight! And there wereeighteencourses.”
“Eighteen courses!” Rachel set down the breakfast tray to stare at her. Then, she glanced down at it in wonder, slowly shaking her head. “One must wonder how much one can eat at such an affair.”
A sheepish smile spread across Verity’s lips. “Too much, apparently. I am still stuffed. And exhausted. Do help yourself to the food; I cannot stand to look at it. I’ll only enjoy some tea this morning.”
“Do you feel ill, Your Grace?”
“No, no, just a tad overfull. I think I shall enjoy a morning walk instead of a ride,” Verity decided. She glanced at her maid after a moment, watching her pick daintily at the tray. “I’ve been told green ribbons are all the rage. Do I have any?”
“Four, Your Grace.”
Verity bit her lip. “And do you subscribe to the notion that a lady must follow the trends in polite society?”
Rachel furrowed her brow in confusion.
“Should I wear the green ribbons?” Verity asked plainly.
“You would look well enough in green, Your Grace. But you positively glow in blue and purple, if I may say so.”
That was what Helena had told her as well last night while one of the guests had droned on about green ribbons.
Verity rubbed her cheek, trying to remember the conversation. She’d had too much to drink. And eat. But what else was she supposed to do at a dinner party? There were only twelve people, and she only knew Helena, who had been not just the hostess but also the life of the party.
They had talked about ribbons and how Tristan should have been there. Everyone else had their partners. Though Verity had asked her husband repeatedly to join her, he refused, only saying that she could go.
It had been an awkward dinner. The empty chair across from her had nearly ruined the entire evening. She worried that everyone else had seen this as an omen and decided collectively to speak to her as little as possible.
