Chapter 14
Verity allowed Dominic to lead her along the next afternoon during a promenade, a very public walk in the park where they were constantly stopped by familiar faces.
Usually, she enjoyed it.
But today it felt different. Just a little out of the ordinary. She glanced up at Dominic who was rather quiet after the last two conversations they’d had upon seeing her friends.
Lady Isabel was with her parents and they were doing very well.
Then she’d talked with Lady Hemphill, who frequently clued her into useful materials for her journal.
The older woman had much to share as Hamhearst was a particular topic of late based on some recent wealth he had come into.
It was a reoccurring topic for the last year, actually, and no one knew anything close to the truth.
Perhaps he simply doesn’t care for gossip, for guessing. He’s only discussed the topic because I have.
“Aren’t you curious about Hamhearst?” Verity couldn’t resist asking a moment later. “It’s strange is it not?”
“Hm?” He was eyeing a duck near them, fluttering its wings and looking like it might cross their path. But then he jerked his head up. “Hamhearst?”
She nodded. “The lord we were talking about. His wife and daughter merely say his investments paid off over the last year after a lot of unfortunate luck. What do you suppose?”
After opening his mouth, he closed it less than a breath later. Her brow furrowed. “Perhaps. If we are hosting Lady Isabel and her parents for supper tomorrow, what menu were you considering? I believe one of them has a fish allergy?”
“Oh, they all do,” she told him, surprised he had caught that in a rare mention by Isabel’s father. “Strange, isn’t it? I suppose that’s why the earl married his latest wife. She’s very sweet, though. We’ll need to avoid anything with fish, of course. I suppose we can do lamb, what do you think?”
“A fine choice.”
“But not the onion base we used last week,” she said and paused, realizing two things. Firstly, she had been married eight days now. Over a week.
And secondly, Dominic had very neatly changed the subject from her question without her realizing it.
As they started discussing a few food options for the following evening, Verity realized that her husband did this on occasion. Their walk continued. Twice she carefully attempted to maneuver the topic back to something that intrigued her.
Both times, he politely diverted the topic away.
Instead of continuing the topic of Isabel’s cousin by her second stepmother who had recently gone bankrupt and left for the Americas, Dominic noted something about ships and they spoke for a turn about international commerce.
When she mentioned something about her father and suggested he might search his father’s files for answers in some of his accounting books, Dominic pointed out a child losing his kite.
Three days passed. Verity noted this during the small supper she hosted for Isabel and her parents, plus a few other friends, and then when he took her out for a ride and even brought her sisters along. There were several topics her husband took care to avoid.
She was making a list of them.
Is it because of something I did? Something he did? He always redirects when I talk about someone’s finances. There are at least five names of families amongst the Ton whom he wishes to avoid. While it may not be obvious, it is certainly consistent.
Such a topic left Verity up several nights in a row.
She wrote out the items, wondering if they made sense. If they connected at all. Why didn’t Dominic like talking about some of these people? How could he talk about markets and investments but not a few events from the past that affected many people but not him?
Pacing about with her list in her bed chamber, Verity tried to see what she didn’t already know. She wondered about asking Dominic about all of this. About any of this.
“What does he know?” she asked her reflection. It was a bad habit she had started to develop here.
Then she paused as something came to mind.
The secret. All this time, she thought it had to do with Cassian. But what about Dominic? What if he held the secret?
“Whatever they are hiding, it’s connected to Dominic. Just as much or more to him than to Cassian,” Verity murmured with a slow nod.
They both had secrets. She didn’t like this, and resolved further to continue her quest for the truth.
Within the second week of their marriage, Verity and Dominic attended a garden party. It was a large affair hosted by Lady Hemphill, a perfect opportunity to gather secrets and overhear as much as possible.
Dominic agreed to a game that needed another player, a strange version of bowls that Verity didn’t follow. But she let him go with a promise to keep herself entertained.
“How good of you to escape for a moment,” Isabel teased her as they linked arms. “I have been beginning to wonder if you are obsessed with your duke.”
“Obsessed?” Verity glanced back toward her husband. “He is a good man, a good lord. I am appreciative. Is this your way of telling me that you miss your own husband?”
Chuckling, her friend attempted to hide her blush. “Perhaps. He comes next month to take me home. Strange, isn’t it, how home can become some place new?”
“It is,” Verity admitted.
They retrieved punch and moved to stand in the shade on the sunny day. London weather was unpredictable as ever. Yesterday it rained so hard she thought it might hail. And now, it was practically summer. She was glad she had worn a wide-brimmed bonnet and light blue dress.
Fixing the hat, she considered the nearby parties. It was she who had led them to this spot. Isabel had such a soft voice she hoped to overhear anyone else who might be talking at any of the nearby tables or blankets.
“I’m very happy abroad now. It’s so different, Verity, and yet so familiar. But sometimes I am worried I am not taken seriously. They rarely smile, you see. Can you imagine being around people who think smiling is a weakness?” Isabel whispered.
Her thoughts turned to her father. Tightening her jaw, Verity murmured, “I can hardly imagine. How are you handling the house?”
“Firstly, it’s a castle. I always thought it would be lovely to be a princess but I’m still getting lost almost daily,” her friend admitted.
She went on to explain the five floors and eight towers of her new home. It sounded beautiful by all accounts.
But Verity couldn’t help but grow distracted when she heard Lord and Lady Hemphill coming together to a nearby round table. Lady Hemphill was fanning herself, leaning forward to speak in a staged whisper to two matrons.
“Did you hear the news? Dear Alfred’s cousin from the country works down at the morgue now. Poor man. But he just sent word to confirm. Not even the crown knows this yet. But Hampstead is dead!”
She stopped breathing.
“What?” Cried one of her friends. She fanned herself. “How tragic. However did it happen?”
“His heart gave out! Isn’t that tragic?”
As she listened on, Verity felt a cold trickle of dread trailing down her spine. It worked its way through her bloodstream. Soon her toes curled inside her boots, numb. She couldn’t feel the bonnet or the curls pressing against her brow on the hot day.
“There won’t be a wake, either,” Lord Hemphill joined in this time. The man preferred the countryside to the city, often leaving his wife joyfully on her own. But it seemed he had returned for a short spell. “They don’t want to show the body.”
Another person trailed over, hearing the chatter.
Verity watched the movement and nodded when Isabel asked her if she liked barn cats, and then commenced into a story about a fluffy kitten she’d taken in.
The new person said something she couldn’t quite hear. Something odd about the body. The family wanted privacy. They were already selling some of his belongings, whether or not they were tied to the poor gentleman’s death.
“I think it was murder,” said one of the ladies. “He’s not the only lord to die in the last year so suddenly!”
“No, I think he did it himself.”
Lady Hemphill gasped. “But that’s a sin!”
“It hasn’t stopped a lord before. Why are they selling anything? Think about it, friends. What if the money was a lie? What if there never was any money?”
“That’s happened before.”
Swallowing, Verity ducked her head down just as she felt eyes falling upon her. Because she knew of something like that.
As she sensed her hands starting to shake, Verity clutched them into fists. She tried to hide them. Maybe she shouldn’t have listened. But it was too late now… Too late to turn back her thoughts.
Her uncle. Born the second son, the spare, William Ashbourne had sought to make a name for himself as a banker. He had done very well for himself through the years.
But it hadn’t stopped him falling into debt. When he suddenly passed, debtors came out of nowhere to her home.
They’d been scared off by Cassian. Every one of them. But Verity didn’t know, she realized now, what exactly he had done. Were any of them paid off to keep their silence? Surely not, or else no one here would have known about it.
But they did know. They were looking at her.
“No matter what happens, I do hope the family is prepared to act accordingly,” said someone with a sniff. She managed not to flinch, knowing it was directed at her.
But the heat of embarrassment climbed up her cheeks all the same.
“Act in what way?”
The familiar voice of her husband surprised her. Jerking her head up so quickly it almost hurt, she spotted Dominic there with two glasses in hand. His gaze was set on the seated woman who stared back in bewilderment. She watched him with her mouth hanging open.
“Because I believe people are accountable for their own actions. We cannot control what another does, no matter if they are family or familiar,” he carried on. “Wouldn’t you agree? Especially when we have no proof?”
“I… Yes, I suppose so,” the lady finally agreed faintly.
“It is particularly unfortunate to hear about unfortunate circumstances from parties without the correct information. It would be a shame for anyone to be hurt through false truths and lies. Society is stronger when we stand up for one another. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Hemphill?”
Even the hostess managed to look pink with shame. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you are right, Your Grace. How wise you are.”
“Not at all. Only considerate.”
Onward, Dominic went from the crowded table, bringing himself over to Verity. “I have brought punch for the two of you as I saw your glasses are empty.”
“Thank you,” said Isabel with a smile. “That was very thoughtful. How was your bowls game?”
“A rather poor attempt stemmed with valiant trials,” he said. “And how does the shade treat you? It is a very warm day here.”
Isabel nodded, sipping her punch. The two of them discussed the weather freely before Verity while she silently recovered from the awkward situation moments ago.
Though she kept waiting for Dominic to bring it up, he didn’t. It was as though nothing had happened. He’d had a few words to say and then carried on. It confused her. Didn’t he do it for a reason?
But he didn’t say a word. He didn’t point it out or ask her if she had noticed and heard him. It was like he didn’t want to talk about it. Did he even know she had been listening? Wasn’t that why he spoke up?
Because if he didn’t… Why did he do it?
For me, the words came to mind. He could have done it for her.
A lump formed in her throat as emotion swept over.
The pain of losing her uncle––for all those that laid suspicions on him had never known how kind he could be––still ached.
It hadn’t quite been a year. She missed him.
He had been wise and helpful and humorous.
And there were people who thought ill of him.
And because of him, her family. How it hurt.
It was a deep throbbing in her heart. Though she’d attempted to write a piece that removed suspicion about her uncle to dissuade people, no one had believed it.
She’d sworn to improve her skills from then on.
To make sure people understood and believed what she knew the truth to be.
But right now, it hurt.
“I beg your pardon.” Verity moved back a step. Her heart thumped and she couldn’t bring herself to look at her friend or husband. Setting the glass down, she looked for an escape. “I… I will be back in a moment.”
All she needed was a minute to herself. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Hastening down the nearest lane, leading into a small walled garden where she could be alone, Verity leaned against the wall to catch her breath.
She teared up for her uncle. For Dominic. For the heart that she continued to convince herself was healed, not broken.
Why did he do that? He didn’t have to. Why would he do that for me? He didn’t… He couldn’t know… What did he know about my uncle? Why do I care what he does? Is this him telling me he trusts me? Can I trust him? There are too many questions… Too much I don’t understand.