Page 36 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“Shall we visit the bookshop next, Your Grace? You mentioned wanting the new volume of poetry by Lord Byron.”

Before Selina could answer, a trio of ladies approached, their elaborate hats bobbing like ships in full sail.

“Your Grace! What a surprise to find you shopping today,” called the leader, a thin woman with a permanently pinched expression—Lady Eldwick, if Selina recalled correctly, one of the ton’s most notorious gossips.

“Lady Eldwick,” Selina acknowledged with a polite nod. “Good afternoon.”

“We heard you and the Duke had returned to London,” Lady Eldwick continued, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “So soon after your marriage. Is Aldermere not to your liking?”

“Aldermere is lovely, but my husband has business in town,” Selina replied, keeping her voice neutral.

“Of course, business,” echoed one of Lady Eldwick’s companions with a meaningful look at the others. “Men are forever consumed by their… business.”

Lady Eldwick tilted her head. “We must have you for tea, Your Grace. I’m simply dying to hear how married life suits you. After such an unusual courtship, one wonders how you’ve adjusted.”

The words were polite, but their underlying meaning stung. These women wanted gossip, not friendship. They hoped for confirmation of the rumors that swirled around her marriage.

“How kind,” Selina said. “Unfortunately, I have several appointments today. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.”

“Of course,” Lady Eldwick smiled thinly. “Another time, perhaps. Do give our regards to His Grace!”

Selina nodded and moved past them, Agnes following in her wake. She could feel their stares boring into her back, couldalmost hear the speculation that would begin the moment she was out of earshot.

“Horrible women,” Agnes muttered once they were safely beyond hearing. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace.”

“No apology needed,” Selina replied. “You merely said what I was thinking.”

Proceeding down Bond Street, they passed numerous displays of luxury items. Selina paused before a jeweler’s window, her attention caught by a display of rings.

“Shall we go in, Your Grace?” Agnes asked.

Selina shook her head. “No, I’ve spent enough today.” She turned away, but not before noticing a sapphire pendant that reminded her of Rowan’s eyes when he had kissed her at the opera.

The memory brought a confused mix of emotions—anger at his subsequent coldness, embarrassment at her own eager response, and beneath it all, a traitorous flicker of desire that refused to be extinguished.

“Let’s call for the carriage,” she said abruptly. “I think I’ve had quite enough of shopping for one day.”

The gifts for Isabella and her newborn daughter had reminded her sharply of what she might never have.

A loving husband. Children. A true family rather than the cold arrangement she currently endured.

Selina straightened her shoulders, composing her features into the serene mask she had perfected since her marriage. Whatever private pain she carried, the world would not see it.

She was Duchess of Aldermere now, and she would play her part with dignity.

“Your Grace,” Agnes said softly as the ducal carriage approached. “Lord Penderwick is coming this way.”

Selina turned, her carefully composed mask threatening to slip. Matthew Colfield, Viscount Penderwick, hurried toward them from the opposite side of Bond Street, his round face breaking into a look of surprised recognition.

“Lady Galerton! I mean, Your Grace.” Matthew Colfield, Viscount Penderwick, executed a formal bow. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Lord Penderwick.” Selina nodded, acutely aware of the curious glances from passersby. “How are you?”

“Well enough, thank you.” His eyes held a trace of remorse as they met hers. “London agrees with you. You look quite radiant.”

The compliment was sincere, devoid of the hidden barbs that characterized most social interactions. Despite everything, Selina found herself smiling.

“Thank you. You look well yourself.”

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