Just for a few minutes. Long enough to regain her composure before she ventured below again, as if she hadn’t just spent time hiding in an alcove, dashing miserably at tears that wouldn’t stop falling, no matter how hard she tried to keep them from doing so.
“Oh, Leo,” she whispered, sniffling.
Most days, she kept the memories and sadness at bay. She threw herself into her cause, the Children’s Foundling Hospital. She was so busy that her weary mind was distracted and she could carry on with each day.
“Handkerchief?”
With a squeak, Verity spun around, pressing a hand over her frantically beating heart as she discovered the Duke of Kingham standing in the alcove with her, an embroidered silk square held out in offering, as if this sort of thing were commonplace between the two of them. As if he regularly stole silently into her hiding place at balls and gave her the handkerchief from his own pocket to dry the tears no one else was meant to see.
“What are you doing here?” she asked warily.
Kingham was a close chum of her brother’s, but she didn’t know him particularly well, despite his close association with Riverdale.
“Did my brother send you to find me?” she added before he could answer, horrified at the prospect.
Her grief for Leo was private, something for her alone. Just like her memories of him were, along with the stack of everyletter he had ever written her, bound with a satin ribbon and kept in a wooden box on the table by her bed.
“Riverdale is too busy growling at every gentleman below who so much as glances in Her Grace’s direction to take note of anyone else,” Kingham said wryly. “Here. Take the handkerchief.”
She sniffled again. “That is quite kind of you to offer, Your Grace, but I don’t require one.”
His dark eyes traveled over her face. “Your nose is dripping.”
Embarrassment flooded her. Good heavens, what a picture she must present, red-nosed and puffy-eyed, no doubt, snot coming out of her nose.
She took the handkerchief, using it to dab discreetly at first her eyes, then the tip of her nose, keenly aware of him watching her as she did so.
“Thank you.”
“Give me a name, Lady Verity.”
She frowned, not understanding, her mind still mired in the mists of grief. “Do you mean you wish for me to grant you a nickname?”
“No, but you have my permission to do so should it amuse you. I was referring to the cad who is responsible for your current state. Only tell me who he is, and I’ll be more than happy to thrash him for making you weep.”
His countenance, like his tone, was grim. The Duke of Kingham was tall and powerfully built, his broad shoulders filling out his exquisitely tailored coat in a perfection that, on another gentleman, she might have suspected was aided by padding. Not so for him. She had once seen him in naught but shirtsleeves, punting on the lake at Riverdale Abbey. His well-muscled figure did not need any help.
“It is kind of you to offer,” she said gently when she realized that Kingham was looking at her expectantly, awaiting herresponse. “However, I do believe that the task of defending my honor is reserved for my brother, should it be required. It would be most unseemly for you to thrash anyone on my behalf.”
An imperious brow rose. “Are you defending him, my lady?”
“No.” Her voice wobbled. “I cannot, for he is dead.”
The duke stared at her for a moment. “How surprising, you’ve resorted to murder. I confess, I didn’t think you had it in you. What was your weapon? A blade? A pistol, perhaps?”
A hysterical laugh escaped her, and she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle it.
“No?” Kingham continued. “Something far more Machiavellian, then. Poison?”
She removed her hand. “He died ten years ago.”
“Ah.” The duke clasped his hands behind his back and considered her as if she were newly placed before him. “These are old tears.”
Verity swallowed hard, struggling to maintain her composure. “Yes.”
“The insult he paid you must have been tremendous, for you to be weeping all this time later—and at a ball, no less.”
She dabbed at her eyes with his handkerchief again, thinking that he was being deliberately obtuse. Whether it was an attempt to cheer her or he was merely amusing himself, she couldn’t be sure.
