If she told him everything, then he would feel inclined to do the same. And speaking Cassandra’s name again made his stomach twist. The two of them would certainly understand each other better, and then what? Open themselves to hurt?
He couldn’t open himself to another wound.
Verity closed the distance between them. His breath stuttered. He smelled her floral perfume, tinted with spice, and feared the world was spinning around him.
Her watery gaze steadied him in the next moment. “Thank you.”
She spoke in a humbled tone he hadn’t heard before. He wasn’t certain how he felt about it. She usually sounded stronger, more assured.
“You could have said anything. You could have ignored him. It isn’t as though you would be the first husband to dislike his wife’s family, after all.”
“I wasn’t going to do such a thing.”
“No one dared speak up for me like that before. My aunt never ventured out of the country, and hardly anyone brought it up once I settled out there,” she continued. “That was so magnificent of you, Tristan. Hearing you defend my father, to defend me, it was as wonderful as a knight protecting a castle.”
A strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through Tristan, making him uneasy.
She was thanking him. She was happy about something he had done. Was that why he had done it? For her? But his mind was too muddled with her scent to think clearly.
She took a step closer and almost touched him. His breath caught, and he nearly choked.
“Thank you,” she repeated earnestly. “You don’t know what this means to me. All this time, I’ve been so anxious and afraid of what everyone might think of my family. Even you. But I shouldn’t have doubted you. No one has brought it up to me, and no one has cut me. Maybe it’s all because of you.”
He wasn’t used to this, especially from her.
“It was the right thing to do,” he offered.
There wasn’t much else to say. What sort of gentleman would let another speak ill of his wife or her family?
But he hadn’t done any of it to get this reaction.
She hastily wiped away a tear that had escaped. His fingers itched to wipe it all away for good, but he didn’t budge.
“My father was a good man,” she murmured. “His ideas were strange, but he was a kind father and a decent man. He was only trying to help in his own way. His belief that class didn’t matter, that we’re all born equal, isn’t that strange. He never hurt anyone. He never spoke ill of anyone. Really, Tristan, you must believe me. Oh, he would have loved you?—”
Tristan felt the itch in his skin and the heavy weight in his lungs. He could survive when Verity walked away from him. But when she came to him, grateful and glad, he didn’t know what to do. Should he take her in his arms or push her away?
“That’s fine,” he muttered, needing her to stop and take a breath. Sohecould take a breath. “It doesn’t matter.”
The past is the past, is it not? We cannot decide the truth from those who have left us. And whether he would have liked me or not, it doesn’t change anything. The two of us are still married, and our parents have all passed away. The past doesn’t matter. It…
Maybe he had said it wrong, judging by her reaction.
She jerked back to gape at him. “What?”
He shifted as well, taking a step back in the hopes of clearing his head. “The past doesn’t matter. It’s over.”
“But I…”
Another step back, even as something told him that he was making a mistake. “Is that all you came in here to say?”
Her hands fell to her sides. “I suppose so.”
“Very well. You must not let this affect your evening. Here.” He offered her a handkerchief. “The matter is settled. Unless you are ready to retire for the evening?”
“But we were… You aren’t…” Verity glanced at the handkerchief and took a turn putting more distance between them. She pinched her nose, taking a deep breath. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Should I say something else?”
