Page 29 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“I doubt that,” Selina replied. “Would you care to join us in our box for the performance?”

Felix’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Did you hear that, Rowan? Your wife has invited me to join you. And here I thought you’d warned her about my terrible manners.”

Rowan. Her husband’s first name. She’d seen it on the long list of suitors the matchmaker had given her, but she’d never heard it spoken out loud until now.

It was a beautiful name.

“I hadn’t gotten around to it,” the Duke said dryly. “Though she’ll discover them soon enough.”

The bell rang, signaling patrons to take their seats. The Duke offered Selina his arm once more, and the three of them made their way to the ducal box.

The box, with its curved front draped in red velvet, had an excellent view of the stage. Selina took her seat, acutely aware of the many lorgnettes and quizzing glasses directed their way from the surrounding boxes and the pit below.

As the orchestra began tuning their instruments, she leaned closer to Rowan.

“Thank you for what you said to the Baxters,” she whispered. “Though you needn’t have jeopardized your business interests on my account.”

Rowan frowned. “No one may speak to you that way. Particularly not in my presence.”

“Still—”

“I don’t need their railway venture,” he interrupted. “My investments are performing well without it.”

Before Selina could respond, the lights dimmed and the curtain rose. The opera began with a flourish of music. The story might have delighted Selina under different circumstances.

Tonight, however, she found it difficult to concentrate.

From the corner of her eye, she could see opera glasses turning in their direction between scenes. Fans fluttered in nearby boxes, concealing whispered conversations that she was certain centered on her unexpected marriage.

By the second act, the pressure of being observed, judged, and dissected by London society became unbearable.

Selina rose suddenly. “Excuse me,” she murmured to Rowan. “I need some air.”

Without waiting for a response, she slipped from the box and hurried down the corridor. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest tight with suppressed emotion. She moved blindly, seeking escape from the stares and whispers.

A set of French doors stood open along one side of the corridor, offering a glimpse of a small balcony. Selina stepped through, grateful for the cool night air against her flushed skin.

London spread before her, a sea of twinkling lights beneath a star-strewn sky. Selina gripped the balustrade, drawing deep breaths to steady herself. The tears she had been fighting broke free at last, sliding down her cheeks in silent streams.

How had her life come to this?

One year ago, she had been preparing to marry a duke she had never met, hopeful that the match would bring security if not a tiny bit of affection, at least.

Then came the abandonment, the scandal, the struggle to rebuild her reputation.

Her engagement to Matthew had offered a chance at a quiet, if modest, future. And now, full circle to marriage with the very man who had ruined her, but on terms that left her more alone than ever.

“Duchess.”

She stiffened at the Duke’s voice behind her. Hastily, she wiped her tears away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping onto the balcony.

“Nothing,” she replied, keeping her back to him. “Please, leave me alone.”

Instead, he moved closer. “What has upset you?”

“I asked for privacy,” Selina said, turning to face him at last. “Can you not grant me even that small mercy?”

---