Page 123 of The Earl She Once Saved

“Put it outside,” Roland ordered. “In the garden.”

The footman looked at Verity. That brief hesitation altered the room.

“Sergeant stays,” she spoke furiously.

The dog’s barking stopped. He remained in front of her, a low growl moving through his chest. No servant approached him.

Roland looked from Sergeant to Verity. Then his gaze traveled around the hall. The butler stood awaiting Verity’s direction. The housekeeper had placed herself beside her. Even the footman holding Roland’s hat looked to the countess rather than the earl.

Crote watched it all from the doorway. Roland had not come home to find the estate waiting for its master. He had come home to find it answering to his wife.

For one instant, the charm left his face and something cold showed beneath it. Verity knew that look. She remembered it from the early days of their marriage, when a creditor interrupted his dinner or when she asked one question too many. It was the look that came before punishment, before Roland found some tender place and pressed until she learned silence.

She would pay for this later. The knowledge moved coldly through her.

Rafe stirred at last.

“This discussion should continue privately in the study,” he said.

Roland looked toward him. “Should it?”

“Yes.”

The brothers faced one another. Their resemblance was stronger beneath the hall lamps, though Rafe’s expression contained none of Roland’s smooth amusement.

Rafe opened the study door. Roland’s gaze returned to Verity. His smile came back as easily as though the colder thing had never appeared.

“We shall speak later, my dear.”

Crote followed him into the study. Rafe remained behind for half a moment. His eyes dropped to the reddening marks upon Verity’s wrist. Verity hid her hand behind her back, hiding the marks. She did not want his concern. She wanted it too much.

Rafe said nothing. Then he went after his brother and closed the door.

The house did not settle after that. Roland’s servants carried trunks upstairs. Aunt Cordelia emerged from her room in a state of shock. Instructions multiplied. Fires were lit in unused chambers. Sheets were changed. Wine was brought up from the cellar because Roland declared the bottles already opened unfit to drink.

Every order he gave passed first through servants accustomed to looking toward Verity. Each hesitation made his smile thinner.

By dinner, rain had begun against the windows. Roland sat at the head of the table. Verity had occupied that place for years, not from vanity but because decisions had to come from somewhere. Now she sat upon his right, precisely where a wife ought to sit.

Rafe took the chair opposite her. Ezra sat beside him. Crote had been placed opposite Roland, while Aunt Cordelia occupied herself with drawing every neglected courtesy over the last five years into a single meal. Sergeant lay beneath Verity’s chair.

Roland lifted his wine. “We must host a party.”

Verity looked at him. “No.”

Aunt Cordelia nearly dropped her spoon.

Roland smiled. “You have not heard the proposal.”

“I heard enough.”

“A celebration,” he continued. “Something generous. The county must see that Edgeworth is restored.”

“The county will see that you have returned. Restoration is another matter.”

Crote concealed a smile behind his glass.

Roland’s gaze cooled. “There has been gossip. A party will silence it.”