Chapter 2
“You could sound more grateful. Welcoming, at least,” Cassian pointed out as Verity stared at the tall gentleman.
She couldn’t help it. Sometimes she sounded rude when she was nervous. Verity had been expecting to hide in the drawing room with her writing desk for the morning.
Never would I expect Cassian to be in here, let alone speaking with him. I don’t even know who Wycliffe is!
“Grateful for a match made without my involvement?” Verity wished she had her heavy writing desk in hand to throw it at someone. “I didn’t particular desire to marry a stranger, Cassian.”
“But you did wish to marry.”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “Eventually.”
“You’re two-and-twenty. Next year, you’ll be on the shelf, and I won’t have that,” Cassian carried on like the lord he was born to be.
While he had always been fairly high-and-mighty knowing what he would inherit and become in time, the last three years had turned him into someone she hardly recognized.
It’s so annoying.
“I wasn’t aware you were in such a rush to have me married off,” she noted drily.
“Why wait and why dawdle when I have found you a match?” Her brother pointed out. “We can discuss this later, Verity. I was just seeing His Grace out. Do you mind?”
“Yes, actually, very much. Thank you so much for asking.”
Her brother rolled her eyes. As for the duke… Verity had put off looking at him once he let go of her. It wasn’t often someone touched her like that. But that touch had felt different. It almost felt special.
Maybe it’s simply because he’s handsome. And I well know that looks are not enough to build a marriage off of. That would nonsense.
But then Verity looked and couldn’t stop looking.
She was a tall lady and she liked finding someone taller outside of her family.
His broad shoulders reminded her of day laborers, but he wore it well in his dark blue suit.
The coloring worked well for his stormy gray eyes that pierced her to the bone.
He even had a charming cleft chin that would be admirable if he didn’t look so serious.
“Verity?”
“I’m thinking.” She blinked and finally looked away. “Why now?”
He frowned. “We can speak later. And you’re still blocking the door, Verity.”
Biting her tongue, Verity moved out of the way to allow the two gentlemen past her into the hall.
Then she walked at her brother’s side. “You cannot expect me to trust your opinion when you set no trust in me. Why now? Why him? I’ve never even danced with His Grace. Have I, Your Grace?”
“Not that I can recall,” he confirmed as they reached the front door.
“Precisely. You would at least think to marry me to someone I am familiar with already. But you didn’t, Cassian. And you seem to think that I could be forced to accept a marriage against my will, which I assure you, is not the case. I am better friends with the magistrate.”
There was Johnson arriving to open the door with a flourish. The Duke of Wycliffe stepped outside. His dark hair was curling and unruly, she noted. He wore it well while the rest of him was extremely neat and orderly. She’d never seen such a neat cravat.
“Your Grace, I will look forward to your correspondence,” Cassian said whilst ignoring her.
The duke glanced between the two of them. “Very well. Good day, my lady.”
He ignored Cassian, which Verity pondered. Maybe he didn’t care for this match either. So that confused her. A duke, especially so young, was a fine catch. The debutants this season were rabid for the titles and blue blood, including her two brothers.
So how did Cassian convince the duke to take me without our ever meeting? And why would he decide on such a union without my knowledge, let alone my approval? Has he gone mad?
The moment the door closed, she crossed her arms. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I think it’s not relevant.” Then her brother had the gall to turn away.
Verity huffed. “Cassian! You cannot get rid of me. A marriage cannot take place without the consent of both parties. What does this mean?”
But he was practically running now to escape her, and she had already spent her morning at the bookshop and she was tired. Clearly, she wasn’t going to get a word out of him. So what else could she do? Go after the duke?
She smirked and hastened back to the door.
Sunshine nearly blinded her. Verity hastened down the steps and past the gate. Pushing it free, she quickly spotted the duke who was nearly to a carriage that was slowly working its way toward him.
“Wait!” Verity called.
The tall duke stiffened, and turned. His baraouche rolled up beside him before she arrived. His lingering gave her an ounce of hope.
“My lady,” Wycliffe said with a nod when she reached him.
Gasping for breath, she fanned herself. “So you knew he wanted to match us. What did you say?”
“I agreed to the match. I need a wife and you need a husband.”
That tells me nothing. Why is it that men can speak so much about pointless matters and then are locked vaults with the information I actually need? It makes me want to yank out his hair. Or do something with it.
She pulled her thoughts together. “Why would you agree if you didn’t know me? How could you know if we would suit?”
“A marriage doesn’t always require two people to suit.”
It was a frustrating exchange. “Fine. Perhaps it doesn’t. But it requires more than two random parties deciding to bind themselves to each other for the rest of their natural lives. If suiting one another doesn’t matter in this match for you, what does?”
His chin lifted. “Simply that I need a wife.”
“But you didn’t marry your housekeeper so you aren’t that desperate.”
“My housekeeper is married to my stablemaster so it would hardly be appropriate.”
“Then you won’t tell me why you picked me?”
He mulled over his words. “Is it so wrong to be chosen?” He asked at last.
So many riddles. Negotiations, too. It annoyed Verity. He had limited expressions. Those eyes of his though were telling her something. What, she couldn’t understand.
“Can you answer a question practically? Without another question?” She asked in frustration.
“I’m a practical gentleman.”
“Then give me reason to agree to this match as well. Tell me what happened in that drawing room,” she added.
His eyes trailed over her face for a minute, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. She was about to give up when he finally spoke.
“Are you attending the Hampstead ball tomorrow?”
“Of course I am.” It was the best place to gather gossip. She was behind on her writing and that couldn’t be allowed to happen again. Then she raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”
“I shall join you there immediately after the receiving line so we might have a more appropriate opportunity for conversation.” He eyed the street for emphasis before focusing back on her.
“This is about necessity, my lady. As I said, I’m a practical fellow.
This is not meant for a romantic engagement. I would have no expectations for you.”
No expectations? What am I, a doll? A signature on a contract so soon ignored?
There were many things that Verity could do.
Their mother had passed when she was eight, so she had taken on the role as the lady of the house for her two older brothers and two younger sisters.
She ran the house and supported her siblings.
She couldn’t paint much, but she could embroider and was a fine archer and rider.
In fact, to no one’s knowledge but two other women, Verity was the proud writer and owner of London’s most notorious gossip journal.
If only that was something I could list in my acknowledgements.
“No expectations?” She repeated, crossing her arms. “If you have no expectations and no care, then you don’t need me! Purchase yourself a doll and paint a smile on her face to call her yours. Simply because you don’t have expectations for a spouse, doesn’t mean that I don’t,” she added heatedly.
Because there were many things in this world that Verity believed in. Strength and family and patient, for starters. Innovation and the power of the pen, too.
And Verity believed in love. Though her parents lacked a happy union, Verity believed it possible. She wanted an adoring husband and children she could love as well.
Her plan was threatened with her brother and the duke taking lead on her life, and Verity wasn’t ready to go down without a fight.
Blinking, the duke took a step back at her impassioned words. He offered no other reaction to her huffing besides him saying, “Thank you for your clarity. That is preferred above all else.”
She waited. And waited.
The tension between them grew until her heart ached from beating.
Finally, she asked, “And?”
“And I shall see you at the Hampstead ball tomorrow evening,” he reassured her. “We may talk then.”
Her mouth dropped open, cheeks flushing, as she watched him climb onto the barouche. The duke offered her a nod before disappearing down the lane like nothing had happened.
“He left,” Verity said with a scowl. She started back toward her house, needing to move and do something with herself. “I cannot believe he left! That is unacceptable. It was like he didn’t even hear what I said.”
Reaching the front door step, she paused. Fix her hair and her dress and her smile. The less she gave away, the better it was for everyone. The more honest she was, the more risks she created.
I shouldn’t have let myself talk to the duke this way. Or Cassian, for that matter. I should have been calmer and better composed. But how was I to know this was what they would bring to my attention?
Verity snorted at her memory of his parting words. A ball? There wasn’t a chance in high heaven that would remedy this odd situation.
This matter was not settled. A wedding couldn’t come out of nowhere. She would get to the bottom of this, Verity reassured herself. This was her life and she would not live her days out as a pawn.