The door behind them opened, and she motioned for him to offer his arm.
Obeying, Tristan said, “It is the other way around. I shall haveyouon my arm.”
“Are you certain about that?”
Verity looped her arm through his and immediately tugged him toward the door. Though he huffed, she merely giggled. The sound nearly bowled him over. He nearly smiled in return, barely able to resist.
Fortunately, she didn’t insist on dragging him all the way, as he had the landau brought around. He handed her in and joined her, picking up the reins to drive them the short blocks over to the Park.
“It’s a lovely day, don’t you think?” she commented.
“Quite. And I must say that you look lovely as well,” he added with a glance at her yellow frock.
He’d seen four new dresses and wondered if that was all of them. The thought of nothing else surprising him stirred a confusing pang of disappointment.
“Yes, you must say that to be polite. And I must say in turn that you look very well,” Verity said with a broad smile.
Tristan did a double take, catching her bright expression. She looked happy. Happier than usual. The way her eyes flitted from the sky to him made him wonder what brought her such joy. How he wished that it was him at that moment.
“Now that niceties are out of the way, as is mention of the weather, what else shall we discuss?”
Blinking, Tristan tried to focus. “What other topics are appropriate?”
“Oh, not much. I would rather discuss an inappropriate topic,” she declared.
He shot her a look but didn’t have time to respond. The smug smile on her face told him she’d done it on purpose. Which annoyed him. Intrigued him, too. Which further annoyed him.
What did she wish to discuss? Was she still in a good mood, or was she preparing to say something that would have him in anawfulmood?
As they came to a stop at the edge of the Park, they paused to climb out of the landau. He paid a young man to watch it during their stroll and then took his wife’s arm.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, before they resumed walking.
She kept a gentle grip on him, light but firm. He glanced down at her, studying the little glimpse he could see beneath the parasol she had opened to block out the sunlight.
Curls peeked from beneath her bonnet. She looked around casually, her eyes only settling on spots that caught her interest.
I could spend all day looking at Verity and still not know her. A week, perhaps a year. When will I understand every part of this woman? I wish I could open her pages and read her like a book to understand the depth of her character and every thought she’d ever had. Her boldness, her gentleness—everything.
“I suppose bees and honey,” she said suddenly.
He caught his step awkwardly before resuming their stroll, giving her an inquisitive look.
“Wouldn’t they be an inappropriate topic? It is labor they offer, after all.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he muttered in a flat tone.
She widened her eyes. “The bees? Or their labor?”
“In general, it is a ridiculous topic to bring up, for there is little to discuss beyond the act of flitting from flower to flower and returning pollen to the hives to produce honey. Or something like that,” he said mildly.
“But that is interesting,” she insisted, accepting his help to avoid a child racing with a hoop and stick in their way. “Besides, bees are not wasps. They’re so similar but different. I’m certain that a philosopher could expound on such a concept, wouldn’t you agree?”
Glancing around, he pointed out, “There are no philosophers here.”
“I don’t think you must go to university to become one. A philosopher is a thinker of ideas. Don’t you have ideas?” she prodded.
“Certainly. But I wouldn’t agree that my ideas make me a philosopher.”
