Page 3 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

Felix’s expression changed, his familiar mocking smile replacing the raw concern. “Fine? You look like something the tide washed in! And what’s this?” He gestured to Rowan’s face. “Growing a beard now? I never thought I’d see the day when the impeccable Duke of Aldermere resembled a common dockworker.”

There it was. The Felix he knew how to handle.

“Not all of us have the luxury of personal groomers at all times,” Rowan replied dryly, pouring himself a brandy from the decanter.

“Save me the sarcasm. Where have you been all this time?”

Rowan’s fingers tightened around his glass. “My journey home wasn’t easy. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Leave it at that?” Felix scoffed. “You disappear on your wedding day, no word for a year, then suddenly you’re back, sporting a tan and refusing to talk about where you’ve been?”

“That about sums it up.”

Felix studied him with uncharacteristic intensity. “This isn’t like you, Rowan.”

“Perhaps you never knew me as well as you thought.” The words came out harsher than he intended.

Something flashed in Felix’s eyes—hurt, quickly masked. “Very well. We’ll save that battle for another day.” He settled back into his chair. “I suppose you want to know what you’ve missed?”

Relieved by the change of subject, Rowan nodded. “Enlighten me.”

Felix launched into a detailed account of the ton’s activities during Rowan’s absence. Most of it was trivial. Marriages, scandals, financial rises and falls. Rowan listened with half an ear, his mind still on the sea.

“Oh, and your almost-bride is engaged again,” Felix added casually.

Rowan’s attention snapped back. “What did you say?”

“Lady Galerton. The woman you left standing at the altar? She’s betrothed to Viscount Penderwick now.”

Rowan’s hands clenched into fists. “When?”

“The announcement was made last week. Quite the talk of the town, given her history. First an elderly husband who left her practically penniless, then jilted by you?—”

“I did not jilt her,” Rowan cut in sharply.

Felix raised an eyebrow. “What would you call it?”

Rowan ignored the question. “When is the wedding?”

“No date set yet, but they’re holding the engagement party tonight at the Penderwick townhouse. The mother is quite eager to secure the match before another disaster befalls the poor woman.”

Rowan stood abruptly. “What’s the address?”

Felix’s eyes widened. “Surely, you’re not thinking of going there? You’ve only just returned, my friend. Are you seeking another scandal?”

“The address, Felix.”

His friend sighed. “Berkeley Square. The white house with the green door. But Aldermere?—”

Rowan was already heading for the door. “I have to go.”

“At least let me come with you,” Felix called, hurrying after him. “God knows if you’re coming back!”

“No.” Rowan’s tone left no room for argument. “This is something I must do alone. And Iamcoming back.”

Felix caught his arm. “She’s moved on, Rowan. Leave her be.”

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