Helena raised an eyebrow. “For him or you?”
“For the house. That means it’s for both of us. Isn’t that what a wife is supposed to do?”
“Yes, to make her life her own. But you hardly had a wedding trousseau. I know you sold most of those things after your father passed,” Helena added in a gentle tone. She leaned forward to look closely at Verity. “Truly, dear friend. You are hesitant to go out, and I see you’re cautious about spending. Are you afraid for yourself? For the servants?”
Twisting away, Verity took a deep breath. It was kind of her friend to worry about her. But it was unnecessary.
Every woman must marry at some point, no matter the options available. She must. And that is what I did. I accepted whatever came my way. But it isn’t as though Tristan is awful. He is simply… well…
There weren’t many words to describe her husband. He was too much and too unknown for her to find the right words. How he could be an annoyed traveler and rider and also the man delicately brushing sugar off her cheek with that heated gaze of his, she didn’t understand.
She took a dainty sip of her tea while she pondered over him and his work, his laughter, and the way he kept trying to ignore her.
“You’re too calm,” Helena noted suddenly.
Slowly turning her head, Verity raised an eyebrow at her friend.
Helena was the sort to jump before considering the consequences. But Verity had to see ahead. She knew scandal and loneliness. She knew the risks and the misfortune, the precariousness of friendship and security. There were limits to joy and opportunity.
So she asked, “Would you prefer I throw a cup against the wall?”
Tsking, Helena responded, “I’d settle for honesty.”
Honesty wasn’t a simple word or notion. It was a monstrous being, clinging to the shadows, as one never knew what might happen in the sunlight. She felt the weight on her shoulders, trying to decide what to do.
First, she took another sip of her tea. Darjeeling was her favorite. “You wish to know about my husband?”
“The honest truth. How is he?”
Exhaling, Verity kept her focus on her cup. She was afraid to spill the tea—literally. “He treats me as one might treat a polite guest. A little less than friendly. A little more than cold.”
Helena’s brow creased. “That sounds intolerable.”
Does she remember what it’s like to have a husband? How honest was she, when the Baron was alive? Sometimes I feared I was only guessing the truth. We’re the best of friends, and yet husbands… they rather complicate everything.
All Verity could do was force a smile. “You know how it was in the country for me. This isn’t any worse. Isn’t this what you did? It’s lonely, yes, but it is tolerable.”
Shaking her head, Helena took the cup from her. “I don’t like hearing you say that. Don’t you know? I didn’t marry totolerate. I married tosurvive. That was my only option. Now, I’d like to live.”
She was quiet for a long minute, studying her friend.
It took all of Verity’s self-restraint not to react. She braced herself for more, only for her friend to murmur, “You wanted more, surely?”
Verity thought back to when she had first met Helena. They had been young and hopeful and dazzled by the glitter of the London Season. A lump formed in her throat. The two of them had changed. Not by choice, but out of necessity. She wondered if Helena was happy.
Am I happy?Of course, I wanted more. I wanted to marry someone who cared. Only I traded a supportive aunt for a husband who ignores me. Was my reputation worth it?
“I still do,” she found herself admitting. Helena took her hand, and she inhaled sharply. “Not love—not from him. I’m not that naïve. But… I think that a marriage should have a purpose. Conversation. Something beyond empty silence and closed doors.”
Tristan was ignoring her again. They’d been married for nearly three months, and she could count the days they had spent together on one hand. They were strangers and little more.
The way he looks at me sometimes… It’s like I’m someone else.
“You deserve to have everything you desire. I wish you had it. I wish I could give it to you. Does he offer you anything else, Verity?”
A dry laugh escaped her lips. Her throat felt dry as she listed off, “A title. Safety. And a masterclass in solitude.”
Helena huffed. She shifted closer so their knees touched. Then, she gave her a serious look. “You’re letting him be in control. That will only hurt you, Verity. Don’t give him what he expects. Don’t fade. Make him see you. Speak. Laugh.Exist. Loudly, if you must.”
