Gemma nodded faintly. “All right.”
Veronica took her arm again and led her back in the direction of Mayfair. “I know of the most gorgeous new tea shop,” she told Gemma. “My friend Sarah showed it to me last week. I know you will just love it.”
Gemma trailed her sister through the narrow lanes—a route neatly chosen to avoid re-emerging onto Bond Street—and into a small corner tea shop.
“Oh look!” said Veronica. “There's an outdoor table free! They are ever so difficult to get!” She hurried toward it, but Gemma held her back.
“Please can we sit inside?” She nodded to a small table at the back of the shop. “Away from the window?”
A look of disappointment fell over Veronica's face, but she acquiesced without a word, and they were soon settled into their table in the dingy back corner of the shop, with tea and scones laid out before them. Gemma sipped her tea slowly. Though the cream-laden scone in front of her looked divine, she could barely muster a scrap of an appetite.
“Is it true what they said about Father?” she asked Veronica finally. “That he got into a fight at White's?”
Veronica put down her scone and sighed. Her disconsolate expression was all the answer Gemma needed. “His old friend Lord Huntingdon brought him home that night,” she told Gemma sadly. “He ran into Papa at the Whist tables. Saw the whole thing, apparently. In the morning, Papa denied it, but I saw the state he was in when he arrived home. Besides, what reason would Lord Huntingdon have to lie?”
Absentmindedly, Gemma dragged a spoon through the pot of cream. The thought of her father misbehaving so publicly made her stomach roll. How much shame could one family take? “Why did you not tell me earlier?”
Veronica sighed. “I did not want to worry you. I know you have had so much to deal with of late. Besides, you have your own life to live now.”
Gemma reached out to cover her sister's hand with her own. “You and Father will always be a part of my life. Grandmotherand Jane too. You do not have to keep all this to yourself, Veronica.”
Her sister nodded faintly.
Gemma squeezed her hand. “Promise you will come to me if anything like this happens again. I want to know about it. And I want to help you all as best I can.”
Veronica nodded. “All right. I promise.” She sipped her tea with a faraway expression. “He has been getting worse,” she admitted sadly. “He is out drinking and gambling most nights these days. Honestly, I do not know how we would survive if it weren't for the money your husband has been giving us.”
Gemma blinked. “What? Wyatt has been giving you money?”
“Oh yes. Once a week, ever since your wedding. He has been most generous.” Veronica frowned. “He did not tell you?”
“No… I…” Gemma closed her eyes, suddenly overcome by a great rush of affection. No doubt Wyatt knew such a thing would only embarrass her, so he had sought to keep it a secret. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and never let go.
Where on earth did that thought come from?
She shook it away hurriedly and gulped at her tea, muttering under her breath as the hot liquid scalded her tongue. “I will be sure to thank him when I see him this evening,” she said instead.
But she caught the faintest hint of a smile on Veronica's lips and knew that for a second, she had let her buried affection for her husband escape to the surface.
Chapter Twenty-One
The moment she returned home from her shopping expedition, Gemma went in search of her husband. Fielding, the butler, directed her toward Wyatt's office, and she found herself knocking tentatively on the door. She realized her heart was racing.
“Come in,” he called.
Gemma stepped inside and saw Wyatt's face break into a smile at the sight of her. “Gemma. You're home.” He stood up from his desk chair and made his way toward her.
Gemma clasped her hands nervously in front of her. All the way home from Bond Street, she had been unable to stop thinking about Wyatt's generosity. Surely having the Earl of Volk as a father-in-law was a source of shame for him, and yet he was going out of his way to ensure Gemma's family were as safe and secure as possible. And the warmth she felt toward her husband at this realization was more than a little frightening.
What would he do if she admitted she had begun to grow feelings for him? The cold, rational part of her mind told her she wouldbe rebuffed; reminded that Wyatt planned to send her away once she had provided him with a son. But that irrational part of her brain—the part that seemed to be in control more often than not these days—was churning through his kind words, his fiery kisses, and the passion shared between them when he visited her bed. Was it possible that he felt the same? Or was she just being foolish?
Of course you are being foolish. You know he only ever wanted to marry so he could secure an heir. He told you as much from his own lips.
And then Gemma reminded herself thatshehad never wanted to marry either. And she had to admit that it had not turned out quite as horribly as she had once believed it might.
“I am sorry to interrupt your work,” she said.
“Don't apologize. I am pleased to see you.” Wyatt came toward her, his large hand cupping her elbow. “Did you have a pleasant afternoon? How is your sister?” His fingers moved absentmindedly against her arm.
