Page 57 of Married to a Wicked Duke
“Of course, yes, yes. Thank you, Your Grace.” He covered the canvas in the cloth again and tied the cord around it in a messy bow. “My card is on the back on the canvas,” he told her. “Or would you rather I call on you again to hear your decision? Or I could…”
Veronica held up a hand to stop his dithering and gave him a gentle smile. “We shall get word to you as soon as we have made our decision,” she said warmly.
Mr. Roland nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace. From the bottom of my heart. This means…” He shook his head. “Well, the opportunity would mean everything to me. And my family.”
Veronica leaned the canvas up against the leg of the desk at the front of the classroom, out of reach of the children’s mess. “May I ask why you chose to come here to the school rather than calling on my husband at Brownwood Manor?”
Mr. Roland smiled sheepishly. “Well, I have heard my fellow artists speak of you both, Your Grace,” he admitted. “And if you do not mind me speaking so openly… I felt I would have better chance of success with the kind and gentle Duchess who teaches art to orphans than with the Duke who they say can be a little...”
“Ill-tempered?” Veronica finished. “Surly?”
Mr. Roland lowered his eyes. “Well, yes.”
She laughed slightly. “Indeed.”
Mr. Roland lowered his eyes in shame. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not mean to speak badly of your husband. I am more than grateful for the opportunity the two of you are providing.”
Veronica shook her head dismissively. “There is no need to apologize. I understand.”
I understand more than you could ever know…
ChapterTwenty-Three
By the time Veronica returned to Brownwood Manor, dusk was beginning to fall over the city. Long shadows lay over the garden and the house was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat. Her stomach grumbled noisily as she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, sending up a silent thanks that no one was around to hear it.
She had Sarah help her into a fresh gown for dinner, then made her way down to the dining room with the canvas in hand, excited to show Mr. Roland’s painting to her husband. But when she stepped into the dining room, she found the Dowager Duchess already seated—and just one other place set at the table.
Veronica’s face fell. “Frederick will not be joining us tonight?” she asked the Dowager Duchess as the footman pulled out her chair for her. “Again?”
Because this was the second night in a row that her husband had decided not to grace the dinner table with his presence.
“I am afraid not, my dear,” said the Dowager Duchess. “He has not yet returned from his meeting with his accountant. Perhaps matters are taking longer to resolve than he had hoped.”
Veronica pursed her lips. “I see.” She knew well that the Duke’s absence had nothing to do with accounting matters and everything to do with how much they had shared in the gallery two days ago. She handed Mr. Roland’s canvas to the footman, instructing him to take it to the parlor.
She thanked the server as he filled her wine glass, then lifted it to her lips and took a sip that was entirely too large. It seared her throat on the way down and she narrowly avoided breaking into a coughing fit.
Veronica could feel the Dowager Duchess’s eyes on her. “Is everything all right, my dear?” she asked. “Are things well between you and the Duke?”
Veronica hesitated. Carla Barnes was a shrewd and observant woman, and she knew her grandson better than anybody. Veronica knew she had been keeping a close eye on how things were progressing in the marriage—after all, she and the Dowager Marchioness had been entirely responsible for the thing. But she had also been conscious of keeping her distance, and not asking too many questions.
No doubt that was a skill she had learned from years of navigating her grandson’s surliness.
Tonight, Veronica felt the need to share. Her thoughts were circling so ceaselessly that she felt she might explode if she did not let a few of them out. “Frederick told me what happened to his mother,” she said.
The Dowager Duchess’s eyebrows rose. “He did?” The surprise was more than a little evident in her voice.
Veronica nodded, turning her wine glass around by the stem. “I think he regrets doing so.”
The Dowager Duchess smiled gently. “It may seem that way,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And perhaps there is even a part of him that does think he regrets it. But Veronica, dear, he has kept that information to himself for so many years, it can only do him good to share it.” Her eyes glistened in the lamplight. “And I am so glad he chose to share it with you.”
“I am glad he did too,” Veronica said softly. “Although I am not sure it has helped him at all.” She sighed. “I know he blames himself for what happened to his mother. And I cannot fathom what it must be like to carry such a burden.” Her voice wavered as a sudden wave of emotion swelled up inside her. “I wish I could ease it for him somewhat. I wish I could help him.”
“You are, my dear,” said the Dowager Duchess. “Believe me, you are helping him more than you could know.” Bowls of soup landed in front of them, and she picked up her spoon. “I know you cannot see it like I can because you have only known him a short time, but believe me, he is changing. Before he married you, it was enough of a challenge to get him just to leave his studio, let alone to get him out of the house. Honestly, I was beginning to give up hope that I would ever see him married.”
Veronica smiled crookedly. She blew on a spoonful of soup then brought it to her lips. “How did you get him to come to Cambridge in the first place?”
The Dowager Duchess chuckled. “Through a tirade of endless badgering, my dear. A skill I have perfected over many years. And I am ever so glad that badgering worked. I am so grateful he found you.”
