Page 45 of Duke with a Deception
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?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Sendall said, pity in her voice. “I do believe His Grace will be arriving after luncheon, as is his customary schedule.”
He had a customary schedule? How kind of him to inform his wife. It would seem the domestics knew more about her husband than she did. Heavens, Mrs. Sendall even knew about Daphne. She was too circumspect to directly make a mentioning of the child, but it was more than plain that she had known, whilst Verity had been entirely in the dark.
“Excellent,” she forced out, her voice brittle. “I do think that shall be all for now, Mrs. Sendall. Thank you.”
“But what about the menu for dinner tonight, Your Grace?” the housekeeper asked. “Would you not prefer to review it?”
The last thing Verity wanted to think about was something as insignificant as the meal that would be laid before them this evening. The way she was presently feeling, she didn’t even want to eat again, let alone fret over courses.
But she didn’t want to embarrass herself before Mrs. Sendall either. It was humiliating enough to see the pity in the other woman’s eyes. Verity could almost hear the words that must be echoing in the housekeeper’s mind.Poor duchess, married for not even two full days, and the duke has already gone to see his mistress.
“Forgive me,” she managed tightly. “My mind is whirling with so many new tasks as I grow accustomed to this household. What is the menu for this evening?”
The housekeeper rattled off several different dishes—lamb, chicken, and beef. No fish, thankfully. At least her husband had cared enough to make a point that no furtherpoissonwould be served. There were several vegetables as well, along with an aspic.
The thought of the dishes made her vaguely ill, but she smiled just the same. “The menu sounds lovely, Mrs. Sendall.Now, if you will excuse me, I must go see to Miss Emma and the nursery.”
“Of course, Your Grace. If there is anything you need at all, please let one of the maids know to fetch me. And if you don’t mind my saying, it is lovely to have you here with us. We have been long overdue for a lady’s touch.”
It took a great deal of effort to keep her falsely bright smile firmly in place. “Thank you. That is most kind of you to say.”
It had been lovely to be here as well. Until her husband had abandoned her. But she kept that to herself and took her leave of the salon, determined to occupy herself until King decided to return.
King arrived backat his town house with an aching head and an endless supply of self-loathing. He had spent the night drinking himself into a stupor at the house he kept in St John’s Wood, thinking the distance and separation from Verity would do him good.
It hadn’t.
All ithadsuccessfully done was make him long for her in his bed, in his arms. All it had done was fill his sleep with fractured nightmares. All it had done was force him to cast up his accounts when he had arisen, alone and miserable in the rooms he’d once used for pleasure.
They’d been empty for some time now, those rooms that had witnessed so much mindless debauchery. Even before his marriage to Verity, King hadn’t had the endlessly voracious appetite for carnal sin that had been the hallmark of his wildyounger years. He was four-and-thirty now. Too bloody old for drinking himself to oblivion. His bloodshot eyes had warned him so from the mirror, as had his mussed hair, unshaven jaw, and the fact that he hadn’t a change of clothes.
“Good morning, Pierpont,” he greeted his butler, his voice rusty as he handed off his hat, coat, and gloves.
“Goodafternoon, Your Grace,” his loyal retainer responded with an unmistakable edge of chastisement.
Well, hell. He reckoned he deserved it, but this was his domain. He would come and go as it pleased him. And if he chose to return in wrinkled garments, stinking of stale gin and regret, then that was precisely what he would do, goddamn it.
“So it is,” he returned coolly. “Tell me, has Her Grace taken luncheon yet?”
“I shall inquire with Mrs. Sendall for Your Grace,” Pierpont said, unsmiling.
It was the frostiest reception he had ever received in his own home. Perhaps that was down to his current, admittedly abysmal state. He needed Hutchens, and he needed to soak in a bath of restorative hot water. He also needed some food, but his stomach still lurched in protest at the thought.
“No need,” he returned dismissively. “I shall see to it myself.”
