once again scuttling from the chamber.
“I am meeting Benton at my club,” Carter said when they were alone. He sat on one of the upholstered chairs near the fireplace and removed his boots. “We made these plans weeks ago.”
Dorothea folded her arms, trying to contain her agitation. “Can’t you break them?”
Carter leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the ottoman. “It would be terribly rude.”
Dorothea blinked and looked down at her slippers. “When will you return?” she inquired, hating herself for asking.
“Late, I expect. Or rather early morning.” He crossed his feet at the ankles. “There’s no need for you to wait up. I would hate to think I was disturbing your sleep.”
Disturbing her sleep? Was he joking? Dorothea did not bother to hide her disappointment. She sank down on an open corner of the ottoman and expelled a long sigh. “’Tis our first night in London. I had hoped we would spend it together.”
“Is there some place you specifically wish me to take you?”
“No,” she answered honestly. “I was hoping for a quiet evening at home.”
“Then you shall have your wish. I will instruct the staff to serve your dinner in your rooms.”
The very brief stab of joy Dorothea felt when she thought he had relented immediately faded. “But you won’t be joining me for that dinner,” she said slowly.
“No. As I said, I’ll be out with Benton,” Carter replied calmly, the expression in his eyes impossible to penetrate. “I apologize for the misunderstanding, Dorothea, but I was unaware of your expectation when I made these plans.”
Ah, polite to the end. He was sorry that she misunderstood, but not at all sorry that he was leaving her alone. Dorothea was unsure what distressed her more: his plans to leave her for the evening or the blank expression on his face, as if he had no earthly idea why that would bother her.
She felt like snatching up a pillow and hitting him over the head with it.
“Can’t you see the viscount another night?”
He fixed her with a cool stare, and Dorothea knew she had crossed an invisible line. A spasm of disgust wrenched through her. Fearing she was close to losing her composure, she dug her fingernails bitingly into her palms and summoned every ounce of will she possessed to put a congenial expression on her face.
She was not going to be a martyr. She had entered this marriage without pretense or romantic expectations, as had Carter. It was not his fault that her feelings had so quickly and so deeply become engaged.
Though she supposed overall he could be less charming, less attractive, less appealing.
As if that would matter. The sad truth was that Dorothea knew she would love him no matter what the circumstances. Why, even at this moment, feeling hurt, angry, and frustrated, she still loved him. Though she didn’t like him all that much.
“Please give my warmest regards to Viscount Benton,” Dorothea said softly as she stood.
“I’m sure he will be delighted that you sought to remember him.”
This time Carter spoke kindly, as if he were trying to soften the blow, but his abrupt dismissal of her stung.
Oh, my, how things had changed so quickly. The easy banter and camaraderie they had developed over the past few weeks had indeed been left behind in the country.
Yet knowing she had said all that she could on the matter, she turned and left, closing the sitting room door behind her. In a childish fit of temper, her hand fumbled to find a key, for she dearly would have enjoyed loudly locking the door. But alas, even that gesture was denied her, for none was to be found.
Despite her lonely night, Dorothea’s optimistic spirit returned the following morning. Unfortunately, it did not last long. At breakfast she discovered her husband had already left the house and was not due to return until late afternoon. He again abandoned her in the evening, but encouraged her to accept one of the many invitations that had been sent.
Not wanting to spend another lonely night in her rooms, Dorothea sent a message to Lord and Lady Dardington and asked to be included in their theatre party. A seat was easily found for her in the marquess’s box. Though inwardly distressed, she spent the evening smiling so broadly that by the time she reached home her face hurt from the efforts.
By the third day in London she and her husband settled into a pattern that alternately frustrated and angered her.
The house was very large and she saw the duke infrequently, which pleased her. Alas, she also saw her husband infrequently, and that did not please her one bit. She understood that Carter had duties, responsibilities. She did not begrudge him those hours when he attended to matters of business, when he met with members of his political party, for he had begun to show a more active interest in the House of Lords. But she also knew he spent a great deal of time with his friends, engaging in the same pursuits he enjoyed before they had married. And that she did resent.
Her new status as the Marchioness of Atwood put her in great social demand. The invitations poured in, so many in fact that a secretary was hired to help her cope with the voluminous correspondence. Remembering well the lesson learned with Mrs. Snidely, Dorothea strove not to show favoritism to any one family or hostess. She therefore tried to accept as many invitations as possible, often attending three or even four events in one evening.
Regrettably, she did this for the most part without her husband. She knew it was the way of many society couples, but not all, and certainly not those that were newly married. On the rare occasion she accidentally encountered Carter at a ball or party, he would ask her to dance, make her smile with his witty observations, then graciously depart.
He always seemed pleased to see her, yet it was also apparent he had no qualms about leaving her. He did not deplore her company, nor did he seek it, even when he was at home. Worst of all, her courses had started, preventing them from engaging in a physical closeness.
Dorothea was frustrated with what she felt was the unnatural state of her marriage, especially at this early stage. She and Carter ran their lives on a parallel but separate course.
Within a few days, Dorothea grew tired of the endless social whirl. It was simply not as entertaining without Carter by her side. She toyed briefly with the idea of forsaking the parties and staying home at night, but feared she would become lonely shut away in her rooms with only a book or her embroidery to keep her company.
Unfortunately she was not even allowed to suffer this neglect in privacy, for these antics did not go unnoticed by the duke. Dorothea might have limited contact with her imposing father-in-law, yet it seemed every time she did see him he was quick to offer an unwanted comment.
Tonight was no exception. As she reached the landing on the center staircase, the duke appeared from the opposite wing. Dorothea blinked. Had he been lying in wait for her? It seemed so blatantly absurd, and yet his timing was too perfect for this to be mere happenstance.
“Where are you off to tonight?” the duke asked.
Dorothea tried to ignore his scrutinizing glare, but it was difficult. She always squirmed so desperately inside when he studied her, for it felt as if he was judging her, measuring her worth. Measuring and concluding she was worth very little.
“Lady Halifax is hosting a charity ball at Almack’s.”
“Will my son be there?”
“Probably not. He has no great affection for Lady Halifax or her charitable efforts.”
One corner of the duke’s mouth eased slightly upward. Most would consider it a hint of a smile. Dorothea knew better.
“Who is your escort?” he wanted to know.
“The major.”
“Again? I vow you see more of him than your husband.”
She snapped her gaze up to his, trembling, yet determined to hide the wound inflicted by the truth of his words. “That is hardly my choice.”
The duke grunted with impatience. “A clever woman knows how to keep a man by her side. And in her bed. I want to hold my heir in my arms before I die, young lady.”
“Then I advise you to watch your health most carefully, Your Grace, to ensure that you live for many, many
