Page 59 of The Earl She Once Saved

This was something else. Sorrow had drawn the severity from her features. Weariness softened her mouth. She looked not defeated, but tired in a way sleep could not remedy.

Lonely.

The word came before he could prevent it.

Rafe had thought of her as many things since returning to Edgeworth: proud, difficult, capable beyond reason, infuriating. He had thought of her as his brother’s wife until the words became a barrier he was obliged to rebuild whenever she came too near.

He had not thought of her as lonely, perhaps because Verity seemed too self-contained to require anyone. She gave orders, settled disputes and moved through Edgeworth as though nothing in it could stand without her.

Now he wondered how long she had been standing because no one had offered to stand beside her.

Years, he thought.

The answer sat heavily in his chest.

Across from him, Verity lifted her eyes. He had been staring. Neither looked away.

The carriage swayed between them. Her aunt turned toward the window, either unaware or pretending to be.

Rafe could think of nothing to say that would not diminish what he had seen. He could not tell Verity not to mind the whispers. They mattered because they had been fashioned deliberately to hurt her. He could not tell her the county was wrong. She had known that for years and had still been made to bear its judgement. Words seemed insultingly small, so he said nothing.

Edgeworth appeared beyond the rain, its windows lit gold against the dark. The sight gave Rafe no comfort.

Roland’s letter lay folded inside his coat. He had felt it there throughout the ball, a thin weight against his chest. He could not risk a single person stumbling upon it, by accident or on purpose. With every polite conversation and every turn around the ballroom, his brother’s hand seemed to move across the page again.

The carriage drew to a halt before the steps. Before the footman could lower them, Sergeant appeared from around the side of the house, moving with startling speed for a dog of his age and size.

The old mastiff bounded through the rain with no consideration for age, dignity or the servant shouting after him. His paws struck the wet gravel. His ears flew. His tail swept dangerously behind him.

Verity’s face changed. It happened all at once. The sorrow vanished. Her eyes warmed. A laugh escaped her before the footman had fully opened the door.

“Sergeant.”

The dog attempted to climb into the carriage. Rafe caught him by the collar before he could flatten Verity’s aunt.

“Not your place, old boy,” he urged.

Sergeant twisted, recognized him, and licked his wrist. Verity was already descending. She did not wait for Rafe’s hand. She gathered her skirts and stepped directly into the rain.

“Come here, you dreadful creature,” she told the dog.

Sergeant went to her with such force that she stumbled. Rafe moved instinctively, but she had already dropped to her knees upon the gravel. Her fine blue gown spread around her. She did not seem to notice.

Sergeant pushed his great head against her shoulder. Verity wrapped both arms around his neck, laughing as he licked her cheek.

Rafe stopped. He had not heard her laugh before, at least not properly. There had been moments of dry amusement, brief softening around the mouth and once, perhaps, something close to laughter when Ezra had made a fool of himself over coffee.

This was different. This sound was warm and unguarded. It belonged to a woman untouched by ballrooms, whispers or the name she had been made to carry.

Sergeant knocked her backward. Verity caught herself upon one hand and laughed again. Rafe could not look away. He thought of the girl in the field hospital. He thought of every sketch he had made, trying to recall something in her face that time had blurred. He had never drawn her like this.

Cordelia descended behind him.

“Verity, for heaven’s sake.” She lifted her skirts away from the mud. “That animal will ruin your gown.”

Verity’s laughter faded.

Rafe spoke before he had thought. “I believe Sergeant has made his opinion of the evening quite clear.”