Page 83 of Duke with a Deception
Her sister-in-law’s expression was somber as she reseated herself and extended the box toward Verity. “This is what I wanted to give you. It contains letters from Lord Leopold. The physician had asked that we remove them from your room to aidin your convalescence, but now I do wonder whether that was the right choice.”
Verity stared at the box, her heart beating fast. “Whose letters are they?”
“Do you not recall them at all, dearest?” Sybil asked. “They are yours, of course. You kept them close by your bedside before the fire.”
Something about that felt wrong. Like a betrayal.
She shook her head, still not taking the box from her sister-in-law’s hands. “I don’t understand. Why would I keep them so near?”
“Because they were precious to you,” Sybil said gently. “You should have them. Perhaps, if you read them, you will come to understand. I have no notion of whether they will restore any memories to you. But I cannot shake the feeling that keeping them from you is doing you far more harm than good.”
“Precious to me? How can they have been? I do not remember Lord Leopold, although Everett mentioned that he was once an important part of my life. I have tried, and I cannot recall him. Not even a hint. Surely if he were of such great import, I would have an inkling, some fragment of a memory, but there is nothing. King is the husband of my heart.”
“You need not read them now or ever,” Sybil told her. “The choice is yours. But these letters belong to you, and you should have them.”
Reluctantly, Verity accepted the box. The wood was cool and smooth and polished, the weight light in her hands. But she still looked upon it and felt nothing, save a distressing suspicion that she would betray her husband in reading them. What purpose would it serve to read the words of a long-lost suitor when she was happier than she had ever supposed she would be with King?
“Thank you,” she said, setting the box aside. “I do appreciate your concern, Sybil. And I am so glad to have you as a sister. It pleases me greatly to see the love you and Everett share for each other. I hope that, in time, you and my brother both will come to see what I do in King. He is a good man and an excellent husband, and I love him so very much.”
“You deserve nothing but the utmost happiness, my dear,” Sybil said fervently. “I am reassured to know you have it with Kingham.”
With the heaviness of the past somewhat lifted, Verity returned to the true reason for her call.
“Now then, let us turn to the details of the ball,” she suggested. “The sooner we have everything organized and set into motion, the sooner we shall be raising much-needed funds for the Children’s Foundling Hospital.”
“I see you have been reviewing your mother’s lists,” Sybil said with an arched brow, seemingly as eager for a lighter subject and change of topic as Verity was.
“I have indeed,” she said wryly.
They spent the rest of the afternoon finalizing the details and guest list, with the help ofMaman’s carefully penned lists. As Verity traveled home with the box of letters Sybil had given her, she decided it would be best if she left them unread. What was the point in wallowing in a past love she couldn’t remember when she had King?
King was in his study,the door kept intentionally open, when he heard a commotion in the hall that told him Verity had arrived.He had returned from his meeting at the Black Souls Club earlier than planned, eager to see his beautiful wife. She was like an elixir he needed to get through each day. Particularly after the bit of unpleasantness with Riverdale, King had been looking forward to spiriting her to his bedroom and losing himself in her arms.
But he’d been dismayed to learn she was still taking tea with the Duchess of Riverdale. Verity had told him that morning that she planned to call upon her sister-in-law to finalize the details of the charity ball the two were planning to benefit the Children’s Founding Hospital. Apparently, they required more time to plan a ball than all six members of the Wicked Dukes Society took to polish off three bottles of port.
Trying not to appear as if he were a desperate, green swain trotting at the heels of his first love, King rose from his chair and stalked across the Axminster. Verity was passing through the hall as he crossed the threshold, looking like a package he dearly longed to unwrap in an outmoded lavender day gown. He truly did need to urge her to commission a new wardrobe. She looked gorgeous in anything, but he wanted to spoil her. Verity deserved the finest, newest silks and nothing less.
In typical Verity fashion, she didn’t pay any notice to her wardrobe. She was far too consumed with caring for everyone else around her.
Her eyes widened when she spied him, a welcoming smile on her full, pretty pink lips. “Darling, you’re at home.”
He would never, for as long as he breathed, grow tired of the naked adoration she showed him. The love in her eyes, the devotion—sweet God. It was more potent and headier than any potion he’d ever created. And he didn’t give a damn if all that love had been meant for another. It was his now, and he was selfishly claiming it and her.
“Of course I am,” he said, meeting her halfway. “Where else should I be? This is where my goddess of a wife is.”
She chuckled at his flattery, a flush stealing over her cheeks. “All too mortal, I fear.”
“Never.” He reached for her hands, intending to take them in his, only to discover she held a small, wooden box in one. “What is this?”
He had been drinking in the sight of her, and he’d failed to notice the object until now.
She frowned. “It is something of mine that I apparently left behind at my brother’s town house when I left. Nothing of importance.”
The hackles rose on his neck. “What is inside it?”
Her expression shifted, indecision crossing her features. “Letters, according to Sybil.”
King felt as if he had been dealt a sudden, fierce blow to the gut. He knew at once the source of the letters.
