Page 7 of His Forsaken Duchess
Audrey stared at the note for a moment before letting it flutter onto the growing pile of refusals. “That makes four,” she said flatly, glancing up at Miss Smith. “Four friends who have declined tea, all with suspiciously convenient reasons. Do you think this is merely a coincidence, or is there something at play here?”
Miss Smith hesitated before replying, her tone careful, “The ton adore you, Your Grace. Perhaps they truly cannot make it.”
Audrey’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more. Rising from her seat at her escritoire, she adjusted her skirts and nodded to Miss Smith. “Get me dressed. If my friends are not available, I shall spend my afternoon elsewhere. I have been meaning to acquire new bonnets and bandeaus from the milliner.”
Two hours later, Audrey stepped into Madame DuBois’s, the familiar scent of lavender and fresh fabric welcoming her. The bell above the door tinkled softly as she made her way toward the display of new arrivals, her gloved fingers lightly brushing the brim of a striking teal bonnet.
Her gaze wandered, and she stopped abruptly when she spotted two familiar figures at the other end of the shop. Lady Allenham and Mrs. Reed were chatting quietly as they examined a display of hats.
Audrey’s heart sank, but she approached them nonetheless, her steps deliberate. “Lady Allenham, Mrs. Reed,” she said with a bright yet pointed smile. “What a surprise to see you both here.”
Lady Allenham stiffened and turned slightly, but her gaze flicked past Audrey as though she hadn’t heard her. Without a word, she turned back to the hats, pretending to examine them with interest.
Audrey’s chest tightened.
A cut direct?From Lady Allenham?
Mrs. Reed hesitated, glancing at Audrey with an almost apologetic look. For a moment, it seemed as though she might speak, but then her courage faltered. She dropped her gaze and resumed her silent study of the bonnets.
Audrey’s cheeks burned, embarrassment and outrage coursing through her. Without another word, she turned and left the milliner’s, her footsteps brisk.
“We are returning home,” she said tersely to Miss Smith as they exited the shop.
As they approached the waiting carriage, a familiar figure caught Audrey’s eye. Lady Weatherby was stepping out of a store with two footmen carrying several boxes.
Audrey stopped in her tracks, disbelief giving way to rising indignation.
Shopping? While her son is supposedly unwell?
Squaring her shoulders, Audrey strode toward her. “Martha,” she said, “has your son recovered so quickly? Or is this little excursion meant to celebrate his restored health?”
Lady Weatherby’s face flushed, but she quickly composed herself. “Audrey,” she said coolly, “I could hardly stay cooped up all day.”
“Surely, a devoted mother would remain by her ailing son’s side,” Audrey pressed, her gaze steady. “Especially when he’s too ill to attend important engagements.”
Lady Weatherby’s eyes narrowed. “I assure you, my son is receiving the best care,” she retorted. “And perhaps I should not be surprised that you take issue with my decisions, given the state of your family’s affairs.”
Audrey’s breath caught. “What are you insinuating?”
Lady Weatherby gave her a pitying look. “You’ve read the gossip sheets, I assume. Your sister’s scandal is the talk of the ton,and frankly, it is no wonder. Your family is not at all what we were led to believe. Even your husband…” She paused, her smile sharpening. “Well, even he knew to stay away, didn’t he? Perhaps the rest of us should follow suit.”
The words struck like a slap. Audrey’s chest tightened, and for a moment, she was unable to respond. She turned sharply on her heel, her vision blurring as she hurried toward the carriage.
The world seemed to tilt, the sounds of the bustling street fading into a dull roar. Her hands trembled as the footman helped her into the carriage and closed the door behind her. The sudden quiet was suffocating, and she pressed a hand to her chest, struggling to draw a steady breath.
She closed her eyes, her thoughts spinning.
I cannot do this alone.
All of it—the gossip, the scorn, the humiliation—twisted her insides. Her family’s reputation needed to be fixed, and there was only one person who could do it.
It was time to break her husband’s only rule.
Two
Cedric Hall, the Duke of Haremore, breathed deeply, the crisp spring air filling his lungs as he adjusted the reins of his stallion. The rhythmic sound of the horse’s hooves against the damp earth and the steady murmur of his steward, Johnson, made for a calming backdrop to his morning rounds.
“This spring looks to be a good one, Your Grace,” Johnson was saying. “Potatoes, barley, wheat—all the crops are showing promise.”
