CHAPTER 11

Don't look, Verity warned herself as her trembling fingers reached out for the scandal sheets. It's better to ignore what is being said…

But she already knew she wouldn't be able to avoid hearing the gossip about herself. If something had been written about her, then she absolutely had to know what it was and how it would affect her.

Her hands shook as she unfolded the paper, her eyes scanning the headlines instinctively. The bold headlines sent chills down her spine, especially the one speculating about the dance between the spinster and the widowed marquess.

Herself and Philip…

Verity's cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger, knowing that the ton would stop at nothing to fuel the flames of gossip, which would of course turn this in to something dramatic and out of control.

Verity glanced up to see her mother shooting her a sympathetic look.

"Don't let the rumours get you down, Verity. This will pass…"

But Verity already had tears brimming in her eyes. She hated being spoken about, especially after everything that had happened with Cedric. How had this happened when she had tried so hard to stay out of the public eye as much as she possibly could?

But Lord Easton's presence was just too captivating for her to ignore…

Verity startled when Henry slammed his hand on the table, reminding her that he was in the room with them. Fury danced in his eyes as he glared at her.

"A scandal like this could be enough to absolutely ruin your chances with Ambrose, Verity, do you understand that? Do you see what you have done here?"

"I… I…" Verity desperately wanted to defend herself but could not think of the words. She had not meant for this to happen.

"There is no way the marquess would truly pursue a courtship with you, as everyone knows the hushed rumors that he is still not over his late wife." Henry rolled his eyes. "He is only showing his face in society due to his sister's debut."

Verity felt like she had been slapped in the face. She could not stand the vitriol being flung her way. But it seemed like Henry wasn't yet done.

"The marquess was also seen dancing with Lady Rosalind Fitzwilliam anyway. I overheard Cedric saying that he is set on making a match between them, so I would back off now before you absolutely humiliate yourself once more."

Sickness swirled in Verity's stomach. She so desperately needed her brother to stop talking, but that was clearly not going to happen.

"You are not a striking young debutante, Verity. You so not have an endless supply of suitors, so I would not advise you to push away the one chance you have at securing a match."

"Alright, Henry," their mother intervened softly. "I think you have said enough now."

But Henry was clearly not interested in anything she had to say. His tirade was far from over.

"Mother, Verity needs to see that her options are limited. She needs to start being grateful that Ambrose is even looking her way. I have put so much effort in to making this happen, in to trying to get anyone to look at Verity after what has happened. It's very difficult to make anyone care when there are new debutantes coming of age every single day."

"Henry, please…"

"Mother, stop being so soft. Because you have been so soft, Verity wasted years where she could have been making far more effort with society. She might have found another match before she became a spinster. We cannot let any more time pass, or I will be saddled caring financially for my sister forever."

Verity felt the weight of Henry's words, each one a painful reminder of her shortcomings and the societal pressures that dictated her future whether she wanted them to or not.

The worst part of all of this was knowing that Henry's concerns were not entirely unfounded, given the harsh realities of the ton and the expectations placed upon a woman of her age and status.

But did that mean she had no choice but to marry Ambrose? The idea filled Verity with a sense of despair and desperation. The marriage would be loveless and unpleasant. She did not like anything that Lord Aldford had to say. She did not enjoy his company at all.

Then of course she would also be expected to care for his children, who saw her as a stranger.

Perhaps the younger ones would eventually come to care for her. They might even like her one day, but Amelia and Cordelia… there was no chance that they would ever like her. Verity could tell that their instant contempt toward her would always remain. It was in their spite filled eyes when they even bothered to glance her way.

"Ah, are you starting to understand, Verity?" Henry scoffed. "Is the realization finally hitting you? Thank goodness, because I need you to put a lot more effort in to this match with Ambrose, or you will lose him as well. I don't want to have to keep explaining this to you, over and over again."

Verity bit her bottom lip and nodded, trying her hardest to fight back the tears that were threatening to come.

She wasn't going to let Henry see her cry.

"Right, well I will leave you to your morning then," Henry snapped. "And don't let me hear you talking like that again. We need to take your future far more seriously, Verity."

She could not stand to even lift her eyes up to look at her mother any longer. The weight of Henry's words was just too much to bear.

What on earth was she going to do?

The door closed behind Henry, and the silence that followed was oppressive. Verity felt the weight of her brother's words pressing down on her, crushing her spirit. She could not imagine a future tied to Lord Ambrose, yet the alternative seemed even bleaker.

It did not seem like her brother would even entertain the idea of an alternative which only made it even worse.

Her mother moved closer, her expression filled with sorrow and understanding. "Verity," she began gently, "you must not let Henry's harsh words dictate your actions. You deserve happiness, and if Ambrose does not bring that to you, then he is not the right choice."

"But what choice do I have, Mother?" Verity's voice trembled with the weight of her despair. "Henry is right. My chances are slipping away, and the ton will never forget my past. They will always see me as the woman who was left behind."

Her mother's eyes softened with empathy. "You are more than what society sees, Verity. You are intelligent, kind, and deserving of love. There must be another way."

"I am starting to think that there might not be."

Verity's voice was laced with hopelessness, her spirit on the verge of breaking. The suffocating pressure from Henry's tirade and the relentless scrutiny of society seemed insurmountable. What if this truly was the only choice that she was left with? What would she do then?

***

Later that morning, as if to add salt to her wounds, the butler announced that she had a visitor, just as she was about to pick up her paint brush, to while the painful hours away. But no, she could not engage in the only thing that might lift her spirits.

Not now.

Not with him there.

Lord Aldford.

Verity felt a shiver run down her spine at his presence, especially as he stepped in to the room with a bouquet of somewhat wilted looking flowers, that he had clearly made no effort to get for her. He had likely just gathered them from the street outside, just as a gesture rather than a true gift.But she could not refuse to see him. She knew well that refusing his invitation would only anger Henry further.

She took a deep breath, plastering a polite smile on her face as she greeted him.

"Good morning, Lord Aldford," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

"Good morning, Miss Verity," he replied, offering a stiff bow. He extended the bouquet towards her, and she accepted it with forced gratitude.

"Thank you, my lord," Verity said, her smile remaining fixed as she tried to ignore the flowers' wilted appearance. "Please, have a seat."

Ambrose settled himself awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, his eyes wandering around the room as if searching for something of interest. Verity braced herself for the inevitable invitation she knew was coming. There was no way that this man was here for nothing.

"Lady Verity," Ambrose began, clearing his throat, "I was hoping you would do me the honor of accompanying me for a ride in Hyde Park this afternoon."

Verity's heart sank, but she kept her expression neutral.

"Of course, Lord Aldford," she replied, her voice calm. "I would be delighted."

Ambrose seemed pleased with her response, though his demeanor remained as stiff as ever. "Excellent. Shall we depart?"

"That sounds perfect," Verity said, forcing another smile.

It wasn't long before Verity found herself seated beside Ambrose in his carriage, the rhythmic clatter of the horses' hooves providing a steady, almost hypnotic drum beat to her thoughts. The conversation between herself and Ambrose was strained, filled with polite but empty exchanges because of course they had absolutely nothing in common. Verity spent most of the time hoping that not too many people saw her.

"Hyde Park is quite lovely this time of year," Ambrose remarked, his tone flat, like he did not even feel like he needed to put in any effort to woo her.

"Yes, it's," Verity replied, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery.

If he would not bother, then she did not want to make too much effort either.

"I hope you are enjoying our ride," Ambrose said, his tone lacking genuine interest.

"Yes, it's quite pleasant," she lied, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery.

"Do you often visit the park?" Ambrose asked, clearly searching for something to say.

"Occasionally," Verity replied. "It's a nice place to think and get some fresh air."

"Indeed," Ambrose agreed, though it was evident he had little more to add.

A heavy silence settled between them again.

Verity's thoughts drifted back to the ballroom, to the dance she had shared with Philip. The ease with which they had conversed, the genuine interest in each other's thoughts and feelings, contrasted painfully with the hollow interaction she was enduring now.

"Have you read any interesting books lately?" Ambrose asked suddenly, as if grasping at straws.

"Yes, I have," Verity answered, trying to inject some enthusiasm in to her voice. "I recently finished a volume of poetry that was quite moving."

"Ah, poetry," Ambrose said, nodding. "I suppose it has its merits."

Verity bit back a sigh. "Do you enjoy poetry, Lord Aldford?"

"Not particularly," he admitted. "I find it rather difficult to understand at times."

"Perhaps it requires a certain sensitivity to appreciate fully," Verity suggested gently.

"Perhaps," Ambrose conceded, though he seemed disinterested in pursuing the topic further.

As they rode through Hyde Park, Verity found herself wishing for the solitude of her art studio once more. At least in there, she did not feel like a fool.

As the carriage rolled to a stop near her home at long last, after what felt like a torturous ride, Ambrose offered his hand to help her down. Verity accepted it with a polite smile, her mind already wandering back to her quiet studio where she could lose herself in her art once more.

"Thank you for accompanying me today, Lady Verity," Ambrose said formally.

Verity nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for her lack of enthusiasm, but how could she honestly be enthusiastic with this man?

"Thank you for the ride, Lord Aldford. It was… pleasant."

Ambrose nodded, seemingly satisfied with her response. As they parted ways, Verity could not help but feel a sense of relief wash over her.

Alone once more, she allowed herself a moment to breathe deeply, to shake off the weight of Ambrose's presence.