“Very well,” Verity had said.
Her last words to him. The conclusion she needed with those letters in hand.
He winced at the memory of Cassandra’s words, glad he would never see them again. But Verity was another matter.
It was for the best, surely. She never wanted this. Never wanted me. I closed out one wife, so of course I could do another. Except… Verity was never like her. Why didn’t I see that in time? Could I have stopped her if I had known?
A lump formed in his throat. Tristan liked being alone. But loneliness was an uncomfortable cloak that weighed heavily on him at the moment, leaving him feeling more raw and vulnerable than he wished to admit.
Maybe he should have stopped her. Maybe he could have said something to dissuade her about the letters.
I have always chosen silence. People can think what they like about me. I am a duke, and my name, my title, carries me far enough. For so long, I have refused to care what anyone thinks of me. After losing Oliver, it hardly seemed to matter. But in the moments I spent with Verity, it felt like she could care. Until I showed her otherwise.
Most likely, she would have cared. She would have listened and cared, and she might have even done more, had he let her.
It was an unbearable thought.
Tristan huffed as he felt the war within him growing. He couldn’t bear this forever. When would this torture end? He couldn’thave told Verity. Already he had said enough. A bright woman like her didn’t deserve to be dragged down into the darkness of his past.
Cassandra made me give up everything I cared for to protect the memory of my younger brother. When will her hold on me cease? Is my soul not ruined enough?
If only that woman could stay buried. If he could pick a ghost, he would have chosen Verity, for she had never meant him ill will.
She had tried, doing more in three months than Cassandra did in all the years they were married. Though Tristan saw every mistake he had made clearly, he knew there was no going back in time to make amends.
He didn’t want Verity to be tortured as he was, which meant this was where he belonged.
He grabbed a pillow in a fit of agitation, throwing it into the fireplace. Standing, he moved away to begin pacing again.
Discomfort slithered through his veins. He hated feeling like this. He hated this part of himself, so determined to be callous and absent and alone.
If only he had realized this sooner.
CHAPTER 28
“There she is! Our darling Duchess.”
Squinting in the daylight, Verity gratefully accepted a lace parasol from a servant before turning to look across the terrace, where a small party was gathered.
“Come join us,” Helena called with a winsome smile. “We’re enjoying our tea before we enjoy a game of bowls.”
Verity didn’t have any other choice. She put on a smile and forced herself to keep her hand at her side instead of picking at the fabric of her dress. It was one of her older, worn ones with blue flowers—terribly simple for a duchess.
She’d forgone all the beautiful gowns she had purchased since her marriage, not wanting any reminder of what she was leaving behind. It felt easier this way. Safer.
Only now, Verity found herself somewhat regretting it, as she recognized several faces of London’s beau monde studying her curiously from under the awning. Raised eyebrows and pursed lips and side glances told her that rumors would spread around the country by nightfall.
“I trust you know everyone here,” Helena said lazily as she shifted in her seat, purposefully bumping knees with one of the younger gentlemen, who blushed furiously. “Do introduce yourself if you don’t. It’s only a small house party. Come, have some tea.”
“You mean champagne?” Verity asked, coaxing airy laughter from most of the party. “Thank you. I indeed would like some tea. My apologies for my late arrival.”
I didn’t even know she was entertaining. Why didn’t Helena say something last night upon my arrival? Of course, she would welcome me; she has promised her doors are always open. I never realized she told everyone this as well. Perhaps she is lonelier than I realized. Can she bear to be alone, I wonder?
The conversation picked up about a count crossing the seas and happening upon a dowager duchess. Names were tossed around and mockery brought out, causing laughter that pained Verity’s head.
She smiled along, content to be quiet and a mere fly on the wall. It had seemed a wise idea to move about after her late arrival. But spending most of the night silently weeping had done her no favors.
“Oh, yes, please do!”
