She huffed. “That’s the longest string of words you’ve given me since the ball, and I cannot keep doing this with you.”
Slowly setting down his silverware, Dominic glanced her over warily. He took his time in asking, “What can you not do with me, duchess?”
“This! Why do you keep calling me this? Why don’t you use my name? Why are we strangers?” Even asking these questions made Verity feel as though she had gone mad. She huffed out a breath and shook her head in frustration. “I thought we were…”
“What? We are married in the eyes of the law,” he offered.
Another long sentence, she supposed, but provided her nothing she didn’t already know. It made her body want to scream. Rising to her feet, unable to sit still another moment, she crossed her arms.
“What happened?” She demanded.
“I don’t know what’s wrong.”
She leaned forward and then back, uncertain if she wanted to be closer to him. Parts of her wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to strangle him. “Then call me by my name, at least.”
“Verity,” Dominic said in a measured tone. “You’re acting irrationally. Would you like to lie down and rest?”
“No, I want to have this conversation with you before you run away from me,” she accused him. “Do not act as though I have gone mad. I know I am sane. I know I am capable of mistakes. And I also know I’m perfectly able to learn from my actions. But you have to give me something! What has changed between us?”
His brow furrowed like he was confused. The way his eyes remained downcast, however, left her floundering as he replied, “Nothing has changed.”
“Nothing?”
“Verity,” he said her name again.
It was usually such a lovely sensation. She liked the way he drew out her name like it meant something. Only tonight it was clipped and polite like a stranger was saying it to her.
“Verity,” he said again, his words careful and intentional. “There is nothing between us for you to worry about. We are married. We have committed to this marriage. This was an agreement we made to the law, to the Lord, and to one another.”
“Yes, yes, but…” She trailed off, losing steam. For her passions in writing, words failed her now. She flung a hand out as though to showcase that it wasn’t enough.
He leaned back. “We committed to this union and agreed to this marriage. Nothing more.” He looked steadily in her eyes as if he were a stranger. It left her uncomfortable and bewildered. Didn’t they know each other? Didn’t he know her a little bit? “I apologize, Verity, if I have given you any impression of anything different, such as what I did the night in the library. I assure you it will not happen again.”
Him, as if he made the mistake. As if it was his fault kissing me instead of my tears… Good lord, is that what he means?
Although Verity attempted to say something, to try to make sense of him, she couldn’t. Her lips parted and closed repeatedly.
Finally, Dominic rose. “I’m afraid I have lost my appetite,” he murmured whilst setting his cloth napkin to the side. “I have work to attend to. Good night… Verity.”
“Good night,” she responded automatically.
And there he left her, standing at the table with two courses still to go. Verity stood there for a long spell before informing the household they could enjoy the rest of the meal before she too retired for the evening.
Their short conversation tormented Verity for the next two days while she paced about and tried to make sense of it.
But what else is there to understand? I don’t know how I shall trust him or ever convince him to trust me.
It hurt more than Verity anticipated.
Desperate for distraction, she threw herself into her gossip journal. If she wasn’t writing or editing her journal, then she was out in Society to gather more gossip and hear the reviews of her work.
She attended two or more events almost every day, ensuring the late mornings were spent visiting or having visitors as well. When she wasn’t gathering secrets and writing, she was listening carefully to see what others thought of her journal.
“I don’t know,” sighed Lady Hemphill at a ladies’ soiree one early evening to Lady Hamhearst. “The London Grey Truthhas grown trite. And hardly useful. Shipping magnates and wharf troubles?”
“Nobody cares about that,” her friend agreed.
Verity frowned whilst sitting at a table behind the small chaise the older women shared. The others by her seats had since risen to attend the guest of honor that evening, a lady poet. But she lingered to do some thinking.
