“Then perhaps you need better ideas.”
Tristan shot her an incredulous look. “You don’t even know what my ideas are and yet you criticize them.”
She lowered her parasol and closed it. As she played with it, it shifted from her shoulder to lean against her lips for a moment. He struggled to look away from her then.
“Fine. Tell me some of your ideas.”
“About what?”
“Anything. You said you have ideas.” She let out a short, throaty chuckle. “This is not an inquisition, Tristan. You do know this, don’t you? I only wish to hear from you. Why don’t you tell me about the business that brought you down here to London? Have you thought of ways to fix whatever problems arose?”
Tristan hedged, certain he would bore her to tears. “Nearly. It’s hardly conversation for a lady’s ears.”
“Then it’s inappropriate?”
He swore her eyes twinkled like moonlight in the middle of the day as they rose to his. Something in the back of his mind told him that women didn’t talk to him like this. But Verity was there, looking and listening, warm on his arm. He couldn’t think clearly enough to dissuade her from anything she might desire.
“Do tell.”
So he told her everything. He explained the contract and the errors, the legal risks and the consequences of incorrect signatures. To his surprise, she asked thoughtful questions.
Time passed until he realized they’d already reached the other end of Hyde Park. As they slowly made their way back to the landau, however, he noticed how much more crowded their stroll had become. Verity waved to someone before he neatly nudged her to the side so another group could pass by.
Many people managed to accost them. Everyone wanted to greet them. Or Verity, to be more specific. Tristan grew antsy, holding her hand on his arm with his other hand while he felt sweat dripping down his neck.
Good Lord, all of London must be here. And of course, they insist on conversation. And smiles. And waves. I hate nothing more than waving.
“How noisy it has grown,” Verity announced. She shifted her parasol to her shoulder and nodded ahead. “Why don’t we see where that path leads?”
“Thank heavens,” Tristan muttered under his breath, before hastily leading her over. “What is everyone doing here?”
She patted his arm. “Everyone merely wants to have an enjoyable afternoon. They don’t mean anything by it. I do believe we can take this quieter trail back to the landau.”
Tristan opened his mouth to point out that they might still run into people, but then he clamped his lips shut, realizing what she was saying.
His gaze flitted down to her again and again as he considered her clever move to escape the crowd. And she had done it for him, noticing his discomfort.
Thinking back, he couldn’t recall Cassandra ever doing such a thing for him. All she wanted was for him to stay out of her way or to be there, parading her around.
“Oh dear,” Verity murmured in a rush, tugging him closer. “That’s the Countess of Rensfield. She’s wed to the Earl of Rensfield, who is a distant relation of Aunt Eugenia. The woman she walks with is her daughter, but Lady Emily hardly ever speaks aloud. However, we did just receive an invitation for a ball they’re hosting. Lady Rensfield may try to remind us to attend, but I’ll tell her we have other plans.”
Tristan barely had time to nod before the Countess and her daughter were upon them. Three little white dogs stood amongst the party as well, yipping while introductions were made.
After Lady Rensfield chattered on about her last letter from Eugenia, she touched Verity’s arm. “You’re fortunate to have such an aunt. I do wish she would come to London for part of the Season, but she hinted at traveling to Bath. Still, we would very much love to have her at our Harvest Ball. Invitations were sent out just a few days ago. I trust you have received yours?” she added hopefully.
Glancing up at her husband, Verity nodded. He could feel her hesitate. Clearly, she didn’t wish to disappoint the woman. “Yes, thank you. It was very generous of you to invite us.”
“Oh, it would be an honor to have you there. Please tell me that you will both attend?”
“I’m afraid we?—”
Tristan found himself interrupting in the hope of putting a smile on his wife’s face again. “We’ve lost the invitation, so we could not respond. But do send us another one and we shall be there.”
Tightening her grip on his arm in surprise, Verity twisted to look up at him again through her big, curious eyes. “We shall?”
Her surprise made him frown, wondering if his good deed was a mistake. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I…” She turned away without answering, making his stomach lurch.
