Deciding he would leave a note in his study for his gardener on the morrow, he walked away from the window.
Voices murmuring in the hall reminded him that he was never alone in this estate. They’d all moved further down to the entrance hall, and he looked.
And saw her.
Verity was fixing a straw hat on her head. She’d changed into something plainer but still looked beautiful. Caught in a ray of sunshine, she appeared immortally golden.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t blink. And then she looked at him.
“I’ll rest assured that you have your maid’s company,” Mrs. Heavensby was saying. “One shouldn’t journey alone. Are you certain about leaving now?”
“Yes,” Verity responded while looking at him.
Tristan couldn’t read her expression from this far away. Normally, it felt like she was trying to tell him something. That she wanted his attention or didn’t care to be near him. Now, it felt like she had shut him out.
“I must take my leave at once.”
She’s leaving?
Tristan stiffened. He felt his body turn to lead as he realized what was happening. Verity wasn’t just leaving the house. She was leavinghim. That was what she was saying with those stunning blue eyes of hers.
Beyond that, she said nothing to him. She wasn’t one to weep or cry over too much excitement. The woman had nearly made herself ill just from wandering in the rain last night.
Tristan stared, feeling the distance between them grow. A lump formed in his throat.
So she is leaving, after all. Like Cassandra. What was I thinking? Of course, she would believe those papers, wherever they came from. She never believed me. She never wanted me.
And he, Tristan told himself, wasn’t meant to have her.
Verity turned away. She lifted her chin and strode out of the hall, out of his sight. He heard footsteps and the front door closing. The moment that happened, he stormed back into his study and closed the door with all his might.
Something might have splintered. He didn’t care. He paced, stewing over this for some time before drowning his despair with brandy.
Eventually, he managed to slow his heartbeat. He slowed his breathing and sank into his chair. He attempted to focus his attention on important matters that weren’t buried inside hismind or the depths of his chest. Except even the silence was too much.
The door opened, and he jerked his head up before realizing that he had been expecting to see Verity there with his supper tray. Instead, Mrs. Heavensby offered a tentative smile.
“Good evening, Your Grace. I know you didn’t ask, but I thought we might…” She gingerly crossed the threshold to bring a familiar tray over to the edge of his desk. “We have your favorites. In case you’re hungry.”
He wasn’t. But he accepted the meal and nodded to the woman as she exited the room.
Though Tristan attempted to take a bite, he couldn’t seem to taste anything. He couldn’t focus on his work either. He’d scribbled nonsense in the ledger, so he gave up, stalking out of the room.
It was quiet in the manor. He liked the absence of people, but it felt too empty. And that didn’t feel right. Every time he glanced around, he thought he might glimpse Verity in her bright colors and her cheery smile. Or her smirk. Or her hair bouncing whenever she skipped.
He didn’t even know if she knew how often she skipped. Whenever she thought she was alone, she often did so in the hall, like she still wished for those childhood moments that brought one a surety of delight.
Not that she would have found it here. With me.
Moving to the library, Tristan knew his actions were in vain, even as he walked around the room before ending up before the fireplace. He stared at the emptiness, and it haunted him in return. Everything was too dark or too bright. Too still. Too quiet.
Her absence filled every corner of the house, as well as his heart. Tristan attempted to squash it but couldn’t. He thought of her laughter while easing himself onto the chaise. Was that her perfume still lingering in the air?
“You absolute miscreant,” he muttered to himself, before dropping his head in his hands. “What have you done?”
There were so many things Tristan had done wrong in his life. He’d survived it all. Losing his parents, his brother, his friends in the war, and a wife he had never loved. Surely losing Verity couldn’t hurt.
Yet there was an ache in his heart he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t recall anything else hurting like this.
