Page 95 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke
She winced. “I apologize for my tone.”
Henry actually looked bashful, hanging his head. “I was crass with my arrangements,” he said. “I merely wanted to provide for your mother and you before that vile lord could inflict more damage. I have never apologized for being so clinical about our wedding.”
Was that… a softness she detected in his voice?
Their wedding had been a convenient service and nothing more, and although Veronica had disliked the whirlwind, snappish decisions made for her, she had at least understood.
“If anything,” she said carefully, “it was better it was that way. It removed any sentiment.”
He eyed her strangely. Slowly, he forked a piece of raspberry-covered chocolate into his mouth. “Yes. Indeed.” He paused. “Veronica, are you sure you are all right?”
“I am fine.” She forced a smile. “I did not take you for a chocolate lover.”
“I have always had a soft spot for it since I was a boy,” he said, smiling. “It was a… singular love of mine as I grew up and learned where my mother kept her sweet treats. On one of my birthdays, she took me to the most expensive chocolatier in London.”
Veronica stopped, her fork halfway to her mouth. A piece of lemon icing dripped from the cake. She had not expected him to talk so freely of his mother.
She wished to ask him ifheone day wanted a son or a daughter to take to the chocolatier, Veronica at their side. But the last time she had asked about children, he had dismissed her cruelly. He had grown detached for a moment, and she did not feel confident to ask about them again.
Yet she was driven to insanity not asking.
Seeing the portrait in the gallery brought up even more questions than she already had.
“What is it?” he asked her. “And do not answer menothing, or that you are fine. I can see you are not.”
Veronica deliberated.
I should not be asking and yet… if he wishes to have a future with me, surely, I need to know.
“Whatever ails your mind, I would like to listen,” Henry told her.
Around them, the clattering of cups on saucers grounded her racing thoughts, and she set down her mouthful of cake, tracing the embroidery idly on the tablecloth.
“I wish to ask about something, but I worry about your reaction,” she said.
Henry stiffened. “Then I shall keep that in mind.”
“It is only that as I was organizing the ball today, I searched for a space for Robert to host a small audience in case he wished to tell the tale of his journey.” She paused, only for him to nod and gesture for her to go on. “And I found the manor’s gallery.”
Henry’s walls rose; she watched it happen, even as he fought it.
He is trying for me, she thought, incredulously.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“I am sure you know what portrait you brought with you,” she told him. “I found it. I… I asked Mrs. Nelson a few things about your parents. She would not say much, do not be cross with her. She only told me your age when the portrait was completed and the names of your parents.”
“Their names do not matter,” Henry muttered. “Their names are in the grave as they are.”
“I understand,” she said quickly. “I only… Well—Henry, what happened between your father and yourself?”
“I do not think this is really the place to answer that.”
His voice was laced with a hard edge, and she knew she should have kept her questions to herself, but he had encouraged her to ask. She had wanted him to have the chance to be open with her.
“Shall we promenade?” Veronica offered.
Henry finished his last bite and turned to stare out of the window. “I suppose it hardly matters. Wherever we are, the mere mention of that man’s name pollutes the air.”
