And she supposed the best way would be to pretend she wasn’t going quickly. The less Dominic knew, the better.
“What do you like to read?” Her husband took her hand in his, tucking it in at his side, as he guided them back the way she had come.
“Everything. I’ve been exploring the history of the Ottoman Empire recently,” she admitted. Then she bit her lip, waiting for him to scold her.
“That sounds fascinating. I have a few books in the library about that time period, I believe. Have you explored them?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I haven’t. I wasn’t… That is, I hoped to. I’ve been writing more of late. But…”
“You grow hesitant around me?”
“No. Not exactly. I suppose I haven’t had much opportunity to discuss reading or history with anyone. My brothers paid it little mind and my sisters prefer other activities or literature that I know of these days. No one wants to discuss history with me.”
He tsked as he brought them to the doors of a shop. “You shall have to read the books. I’ll find them for you. Ignoring history means we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes.”
Excitement trickled through her. “That’s what I say!”
“Do you write about history then?”
“No, I… I write…” She couldn’t find the words. Even as he pulled open the door for her, Verity found herself speechless. “I’m not sure what I write is appropriate.”
“For whom?”
She quirked a partial smile. “For anyone.”
“Nonsense. Anything worth writing is surely worth reading. Besides,” he said with a slight pause as though he waited for her to meet his gaze, “I should like to read something of yours some day, should you allow it.”
“Really?” Verity didn’t know how she could keep the words tumbling about him. It was as though Dominic had a way of making her speak her mind. Sometimes it was terribly difficult to be careful around him. “Why? Most gentlemen don’t want a well-read wife. Thinking…”
He set a hand on the small of her back to nudge her into the bookshop all of the way. Warmth flooded her cheeks at the touch.
Then he murmured quietly, “We should all be allowed to be who we are. Different. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would, yes.”
Everyone can be different. I suppose they are. But I never thought about how different Dominic could be. His frank manner is… refreshing as it is puzzling.
She trailed after her husband as he reached the front counter. There, Dominic greeted the shopkeeper, Mr. Allan like they knew each other well. A package was offered, almost flat for a small book.
“I’ve got a few other deliveries that I think you might like as well,” Mr. Allan commented as he brought out a small box. “Here, take a look.”
Then he went off to attend to his assistant who was struggling with a ladder in the corner.
After glancing at them, Verity eyed Dominic with his new book. “What sort of book is it that you ordered?”
“History. It’s about keeping record of families, the philosophy of one’s life and name,” he commented mildly. “You’re welcome to explore it once I’m done.”
“Thank you.” She eyed the box curiously whilst finding herself asking, “Do you wish to make a record of your family?”
“No. I prefer the future and its opportunities. But to know the future is to know the past, so I find myself in need of study on this topic,” he explained.
She paused from touching the box when she considered the tone of voice he used. It wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t exactly friendly. “Why don’t you wish to write about your family?”
A pause before he admitted, “Because I’ve written enough about them. I don’t wish to reflect on harder days. My father was a relentless force of strength who knew no kindness, and my mother lost herself in frailty and fear. It was… an uncomfortable upbringing.”
Hearing this left her amazed. She too had known a harsh father and tender mother. But at least she’d had four siblings to find love and friendship in during those years. How had Dominic endured them all alone?
“It sounds very lonely. I’m sorry,” she whispered.
