Page 37 of The Duke Who Dared Me
Verity kept her chin high, even though her chaperon might have been London’s oldest woman.At least that had been a small mercy.It was bad enough she was forced to endure the whispers and sly glances about her wager with the duke before dinner.It was no longer shock which rippled through London, but rather giddy expectations.It was clear that Lady Clara had landed herself a duke.
Or so they insisted.
But then Alistair had defended her.Right there at the dinner table, in front of everyone.When Lord Rackham tried to put her in her place, when the whole table went silent waiting for her to be properly shamed, Alistair had spoken up.
Maybe she should have been grateful.But honestly, she was more confused than ever.He’d spent the entire evening studiously avoiding her gaze, nodding along to Lady Clara’s endless chatter about horses and riding.Then he’d thrown propriety to the wind to defend her knowledge of agriculture.
What was she supposed to make of that?
Whatever it was between them now was larger and messier than one night.It was a whole host of unspoken truths and feelings, and she was beginning to suspect she loved the perfectly infuriating man.
Even if that were true, and she was suspecting it was, he hadn’t made any effort the rest of the week to assure her.But then again, it wasn’t as if she had any expectations.
What she needed was a bath and a brandy, and she would write to him and finally share everything.She couldn’t do whatever they were doing any longer.
As the carriage rumbled to a stop in front of Briggs Hall, she nudged her elderly chaperon and thanked her for a fine evening.The woman adjusted her feather headpiece and sighed, roughly patting the fat pug in her lap.“Every evening can’t be successful, dear.We can try again another night.Someone must want to marry you.”
Not likely, she thought to herself.
Verity stepped inside, peeled off her gloves, and waved the maid away.Her only thought was reaching her room without incident until she heard hushed male voices from the sitting room.
Curious, she followed the murmur of conversation, halting just outside the open doorway.
“Lord Brookhouse,” she said coolly, stepping into view.
He rose, smiling.“Good evening, Miss Baxter.”
Her brother stood near the hearth, glass in hand, jaw tight.
“Have I interrupted something?”Verity glanced between the two men, then at the clock on the mantel.Why did men always insist on making everything difficult?She only wanted her bed after a long evening out.
“How was the dinner?”Hugh cleared his throat.“I was hoping to speak with you.”
She arched her brow.“It’s past midnight.You could have called…”
He smiled again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.“You were out of town, and then I’ve been preoccupied with family matters.I needed to speak with you.”
Percy turned to her.“He insisted it was urgent.I thought it only fair to let him in.”
She ignored the prick of dread crawling over her skin.There was only ever one pressing matter with Hugh.Her brother, though?That was curious.Was he arranging a match or there to watch it unravel?
“I hardly find it appropriate to have any discussion after midnight.”She gripped the paste necklace at her chest, determined to remain composed, but it was beginning to feel like her favorite wool shawl with a thread loose.If she must endure one more pull, she too would unravel.
“I’ll give you two a moment.”Percy glanced toward Verity.“I’ll be right outside in the hallway.”
She opened her mouth to object, but she was met only with his back, and Hugh jumped to his feet to pace before the fire.
“I don’t know what couldn’t have waited,” she said with a small laugh.This all felt ridiculous.“I’m much more pleasant after a cup of tea rather than another stuffy dinner where I had to sit and nod and make small conversation, as though I matter in a room where I am the source of all their jaded jokes.”
“When have you ever cared about that?”He was trying for charming, but it only came off desperate.Her stomach soured.
“I’ve always cared, Lord Brookhouse.”She stressed his title to appease her brother lingering outside in the hallway, but what she wouldn’t give to be bitter for a moment and toss out a cold “Hugh.”Maybe then he could be a better judge of her mood this evening.“I’m not without feeling, not without wants or desires of my own.And I am certainly not about to stand here and pretend I don’t know what you’re doing here when my entire Season has felt…” She sighed.
Hopeless.
Alistair hadn’t arranged for her to meet any suitors as he originally instructed her he would.Maybe he couldn’t find anyone, or maybe it was more than one would consider after the scandal of their wager.Either way, she was left with little option since living with Aunt Francis no longer sounded like the escape to freedom she was once determined to achieve.
“I think you would make an excellent wife.”
