Part of her had thought this evening out, and perhaps that was the problem.
Just when she had been saying farewell to Helena in the doorway, her friend being determined to walk to her next appointment regardless of the weather, she had glimpsed a tall rider leaving the grounds. It could be no one else but her husband—which meant he had been home.
“Well?” Helena prompted.
“I’ll let you know how matters go,” Verity promised.
The doors had closed, she’d called over her housekeeper and butler, and had started planning. Her husband would return in time for supper if he was going out for a ride at this hour, she assumed, which meant she could finally share a meal with him.
This is still my life. My choices. He has given me free rein in this house and enough money to keep myself occupied. As selfish as this might sound, it’s not enough. I want more of a relationship than what he expects.
Although Tristan could avoid the meals she had previously invited him to, he couldn’t easily do it again if he didn’t receive the invitation until he was walking into the room.
Or so she had hoped.
It was close to ten already. There was a storm out there. She would see nothing beyond the tall thin windows if she glanced down the hall. Every now and again, a sliver of light flashed through it. Shadows and ghosts appeared in those moments, so she looked away, focusing back on the butler.
Even Mr. Philipson’s mustache seemed to be drooping.
She tried not to care. But with every passing minute, the bands around her heart grew tighter. No matter how she scolded her heart for caring, it didn’t seem to stop. She didn’t want to care for a man who was determined not to care for her.
“If he returns within the hour, then I believe this evening could be salvaged,” the butler offered supportively. “The food is being kept warm, the violinists are secured for the evening, and you look lovely.”
“Thank you so very much for all of your help today. Even if the Duke doesn’t return soon, then at least we’ve had fun trying, haven’t we?” Verity rubbed her hands together.
What a waste of effort this all was. I must have gone mad, haven’t I? I should have stayed hidden away in the country instead of trying to do anything more. No one cared for my reputation before Tristan visited Redcliff Manor.
She must have done something wrong, since even the butler regarded her with pity. Here she was, dressed in her best gown, having spent the afternoon planning out a wonderful evening for a man who had yet to make an appearance.
Perhaps her husband never meant to come home. She would never have a real marriage or friendship with anyone.
“Why don’t you take a seat and enjoy yourself?” Mr. Philipson suggested with a hopeful smile.
“Oh, if I take a seat, then?—”
She was interrupted by the low squeak of the front door opening. Immediately, she closed her mouth. She and the butler stared at each other for a moment, before they took a few steps to the left to look into the entrance hall.
Beyond the stairs were the double doors. One of them was pushed wide open to reveal a tall figure with broad shoulders. The hat came sweeping off. It was set aside, as was a heavy coat dripping with water.
Everything was dripping.
“Your Grace,” murmured a footman who moved forward with haste, closing the door.
Lightning flashed outside, highlighting the man walking in her direction. The footman collected his belongings and lingered behind as Tristan drew closer to her.
The man was forever imposing. She didn’t understand it. Bold and domineering in a quiet manner, though she couldn’t ignore him. No one could.
Verity couldn’t take her eyes off him. In the back of her mind, she begged him to look at her. The two of them were tethered. How it happened, she didn’t know. But they were connected. Bound together forever. Now, all he had to do was look at her.
He turned slightly toward the stairs and then paused. His hand settled on the banister, before he twisted slightly to face her.
Cast in shadow with the light behind him, Tristan looked at her, though she didn’t know what her face said. Her heart pounded in her chest.
Finally, her husband had come home. He was all darkness, and she hoped he would come to her.
“Wife.” Her heart leaped when he stepped away from the stairs and walked toward her. His gaze locked onto hers, never leaving even as he greeted the butler. “Philipson. Good evening.”
“Your Grace,” Verity said more breathily than she had intended. Swallowing, she tried to focus on her words. Didn’t she have aplan? Straightening her spine, she lifted her chin and told him, “You’re late for supper.”
