Chapter 7
Verity waited alone for her husband to arrive at the breakfast table.
And waited as the food under domed lids on the sideboard cooled.
He hadn’t visited her chamber last night as she had hoped. She had waited for him then as well. But she had not seen King since she had left him alone at his request in his study. Had he drowned himself in liquor as she had feared he would do? And why had he sought solace in spirits instead of her?
Her heart ached at the knowledge that he hadn’t wanted her comfort.
That her love for him hadn’t been sufficient.
Although she told herself she shouldn’t be hurt, she had stayed awake for many hours, lying in the darkness, hoping he would come to her or at least knock, until she had finally succumbed to slumber, tears drying on her cheeks.
Perhaps the subject of his daughter was simply too painful for him to bear.
She could well understand how terrible the loss of a child would be.
The despair she had felt when she believed something ill had befallen Emma had been so strong and overwhelming it had hurt to breathe.
But to think of King with a baby daughter, of losing her when she was so small, of what he must have endured to have shut away the memories of the child along with the nursery…
Verity sniffled, trying to stifle a fresh onslaught of tears.
What a silly goose she was, sitting here alone, weeping for a man who didn’t want her tears or her comfort.
She loved him so, and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that King was holding himself apart from her.
Everett’s words of warning returned to her, and she unhappily found herself wondering, for the first time, if King truly did love her.
Now that she thought upon it, he hadn’t returned the words to her in as long as she could recall.
She frowned down at her cooling cup of hot chocolate, the only breakfast item she had allowed herself thus far in her determination to wait for her husband’s arrival.
The ticking of a mantel clock was her sole accompaniment, telling her that the hour was nearing ten o’clock.
The difference between yesterday morning and this one could not have been starker or more pointed.
It seemed a lifetime ago that she had floated in the sweetly scented bath with her husband, no cares on her mind, save whether she wanted him to handfeed her another ripe strawberry.
At least she had a purpose to distract her for today.
She had visited with Emma in the nursery as soon as she had arisen, reassuring herself that the girl was safe and where she belonged.
Emma had been happy, having her hair plaited into Grecian braids by Grace, and they had just finished their own breakfast. Verity had remained, pleased the girl was getting along so well with Grace and grateful for the distraction from her own troubles.
Finally, secured in the knowledge that Emma was getting well settled, she had descended for breakfast, expecting King would join her. Only, he hadn’t. And at this late hour, she was beginning to wonder whether he even intended to do so.
Deciding she had endured quite enough of waiting, Verity rose from her seat and left the dining room with its pleasant aroma of food she no longer had any desire to eat. Her stomach wasn’t hungry. It was knotted with worry. In the hall beyond, she spied Mrs. Sendall bustling about her daily duties.
She approached the housekeeper with purposeful strides, still painfully aware that she was an interloper in Castelyn House but determined to find her place. She was the Duchess of Kingham after all.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Sendall greeted pleasantly, dipping into a curtsy. “Good morning to you.”
“Good morning,” she returned with a forced smile, for it wasn’t the housekeeper’s fault she was so ill at ease. “I wondered if I might have a word with you?”
“Of course, Your Grace. Were you wanting to review the menu for this evening? His Grace informed me that you wouldn’t be leaving for Wingfield Hall until further notice, so I take that to mean you shall all have dinner here this evening.”
Verity hadn’t even begun to think of dinner. She was still worried about breakfast and the husband who had never deigned to emerge and join her.
“I am pleased to discuss the evening’s menu with you. However, there are a few other matters I wish to speak with you about first.”
Mrs. Sendall smiled patiently. “Where would you prefer to talk, Your Grace?”
Verity stared at her for a moment, suddenly struggling with her new role.
She must be more than familiar with the tasks of a wife running her husband’s household.
Indeed, she was born for it. But she couldn’t seem to remember what was expected of her.
Or what room would be appropriate for a tête-à-tête with one’s housekeeper.
“Might I recommend the gold salon?” Mrs. Sendall inquired helpfully when Verity continued to stare at her in stupefied silence.
She cleared her throat. “That seems an excellent place.”
They moved back down the hall to the small sitting room, which was hung in gold damask and matching window dressings. There was so much gilt within the chamber, she had no doubt that when the sun shone, the effect was almost blinding.
“An interesting chamber, to be sure,” she commented lightly as she took her seat on a gilded settee.
“It was the former duchess’s favorite chamber,” Mrs. Sendall explained.
King’s mother. He never spoke of her, at least not that she could remember.
She wondered what his relationship with her had been like.
Had they been close companions? Had his mother been beloved to him?
And why couldn’t she shake the feeling that he’d had a sibling he adored?
How confusing when he’d said he had no siblings at all.
“How recently did the duchess pass away, Mrs. Sendall?” she asked, giving in to some of her curiosity.
“You will forgive, I hope, that my memory is somewhat lacking. I suffered a blow to the head a few months ago that seems to have addled some of the things I am able to recall. It’s as if parts of my mind were swept away like a pile of ashes in the hearth. ”
“His Grace never spoke a word of your accident,” Mrs. Sendall said, shock coloring her voice. “What a miracle it is that you’ve survived and nary a scratch on you, other than your memory.”
She nodded. “I do have a few scratches, but I am fortunate indeed to be here with you. Now then, what of Her Grace?”
“Her Grace died many years ago,” the housekeeper answered. “About twelve, I should think.”
And yet King had kept this room of hers, precisely as she had left it.
“Was His Grace close to his mother?” she asked.
“I’m sure His Grace was as fond of his mother as any son would be,” Mrs. Sendall replied, her tone careful.
There was a story there. Yet another one Verity didn’t know. One she would have to examine on her own. Her husband possessed a great deal of mysterious facets she was sure she had no notion existed.
“Of course he would have been,” she agreed politely. “His Grace is an honorable man.”
“Indeed, he is, Your Grace,” Mrs. Sendall agreed. “The most honorable of all gentlemen, to be sure.”
“I was wondering if you might share His Grace’s daily schedule with me, Mrs. Sendall,” she said, changing the subject. “I am but a novice in this household, and I wish to learn all there is to know. Is he ordinarily a late riser?”
He had been yesterday, but then they both had been.
“My, no,” the housekeeper said. “His Grace keeps late hours, but he is also often awake at dawn. Many nights, however, are like last night. He leaves in the evening and then returns the following afternoon.”
Verity blinked, certain she had misheard Mrs. Sendall. “Surely not last night.”
“Yes, last night, Your Grace,” Mrs. Sendall said. “He had inquired after the child, Miss Emma, and then he had suggested that I oversee the packing up of the nursery so that the girl can be moved accordingly. He asked for it to be done before his return later today.”
Verity felt as if all the air had been stolen from her lungs.
It took her a moment of concerted effort to recover from the unexpected revelation that her husband had gone elsewhere last night instead of sleeping in his own room as she had supposed he would.
That he hadn’t informed her of his plans.
That he hadn’t even told her goodbye but instead had left her to wait for him this morning at the breakfast table like a fool.
Why had he disappeared? And where had he gone? For what purpose?
An ache bloomed in her chest and misgiving swirled through her.
“I’ve already had the maids pack away everything His Grace requested,” Mrs. Sendall was saying, perhaps unaware of the unease enveloping Verity.
“They are set to thoroughly beat the carpets and polish the furniture. Would Your Grace prefer for me to place a notice in The Times looking for a nursemaid, or are you wanting to try Grace?”
Verity hadn’t thought that far. And if she had, any thoughts she’d entertained had been thoroughly scattered by the knowledge that her husband had spent the night elsewhere without telling her.
It was the second day of their marriage.
“That would be lovely, Mrs. Sendall,” she said vaguely. “Tell me, have you any notion of where His Grace went? I do find that I need to speak to him quite urgently.”
“I’m afraid he didn’t share his destination with me, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said hesitantly.
Oh, dear God.
Did King have a mistress? Why had she never thought to ask? It was commonly done in their set, she knew. But Verity had somehow never imagined that the man she had married, the man she loved, would have a kept woman. Had he sought another’s solace and comfort last night instead of hers?
She forced herself to nod, hoping her countenance didn’t betray a hint of the turmoil she was feeling. “He did say he would be returning this afternoon, however?”