Page 75 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke
Veronica nodded. “Yes, but… I am a person who likes to do things for others. If I cannot play for anyone, I rarely see the point.”
“I noticed you do not frequent the music room.”
“No,” she admitted, “I do not.”
“If I accompanied you there, would you play for me?”
His question caught even himself off-guard. Veronica glanced askance at him. “You wish to hear me?”
“In many ways,” he told her, flashing her a teasing smile. “But yes, I do. Your—” He cleared his throat. “In one of our meetings, your brother spoke highly of your talents. He even commented on what a pity it was that you stopped playing.”
“He noticed?” Veronica asked, surprised.
She had been so headstrong about her brother, he’d noticed. She did not bring him up except to demand information or the struggle of supporting her and her mother and enduring that vile man, Lord Barwicke, in Robert’s absence.
“He did.” Henry nodded. “Very much.”
“I always thought he was too busy to notice very much about me. We were close growing up, but after father… Well, we drifted apart. He had to take the role of the man of the house, so indulging his sister was not part of his priorities.”
Henry nodded. “He noticed, Veronica. And he missed it.”
Two children streaked past them, giggling, as they tugged a kite string, urging their kite to go higher.
“Do you have any siblings?” Veronica asked.
He shook his head. “No. And I am grateful for it.”
His voice went hard again, and he had to remind himself that there was no harm in her asking. But he was defensive, prickly, especially when anybody spoke about his family.
His chest tightened. “My… upbringing was hard enough without having to worry about another sibling. Once a male heir is produced, if he is born first, very few married couples see the point in continuing their line. They have what they wish.”
“And it truly is something you do not wish for?” Veronica asked quietly. Her eyes were also on the children, where more had gathered to detangle the kite from a tree branch. “Do you not see these children and wish for your own?”
He did not meet her gaze when he cleared his throat and stood up. “Come. There is much else to see.”
“Henry—”
“In public, you should call me Your Grace,” he corrected her quietly, hating himself for his defenses rising once again.
She blanched, drawing back. Her face grew solemn, changing from pained surprise to detachment.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Her voice was hard, flat. “Where shall we go next?”
You cursed, wretched fool, he berated himself.
“Would you like some lunch?”
“I find myself losing my appetite.”
“Veronica—”
“Are you not required to use my title, too in public?” she shot back, her words venomous. “Or is it only you who gets to push me back the second I grow close to you?”
She turned away from him, but he caught up easily.
“Do not walk away from me.”
“Because you do not wish for your villagers to gossip?”
