Page 42 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“What is this about, Your Grace? Surely, you’re not seeking vengeance for your father after all this time?”

“My interests are my own.” Rowan set down his empty glass. “I appreciate your candor, Marlow. Rest assured, your railway venture will receive the additional investment we discussed last month.”

“Most generous.” Marlow hesitated, then added, “If I may offer some advice, Your Grace? The path of revenge is seldom straight or simple. With a young wife and a child on the way, perhaps your energies would be better directed toward the future rather than the past.”

Rowan froze. “What did you say?”

“Merely that family concerns might take precedence over?—”

“No.” Rowan stood abruptly. “You mentioned a child.”

Marlow looked confused, then embarrassed. “My wife mentioned the Duchess was expecting. Have I spoken out of turn?”

“Where did Lady Marlow hear this?”

“I couldn’t say. Drawing room gossip, I imagine.” Marlow shifted uncomfortably. “Please accept my apologies if I’ve?—”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Rowan strode toward the door, his mind racing.

Selina, with child? It was impossible. They had never consummated their marriage.

He made his way back to the garden, scanning the crowd for his wife.

Selina sipped punch at the refreshment table, grateful for a moment’s respite from forced conversation. Lady Marlow had been kind enough in her introductions, but the pointed stares and whispered comments had followed Selina like a shadow.

“Look at her dress,” a voice murmured nearby. “Only a week in London and already outfitted like a queen.”

“Well, one must look the part when one has risen so dramatically,” another replied with a significant look in Selina’s direction.

Selina pretended not to hear, focusing on the elaborate ice sculpture centerpiece. She had expected the scrutiny, the judgment. Society always circled its wounded members, eager for a taste of blood.

“Your Grace.” Three ladies approached, their smiles bright but their eyes calculating. “We’ve been hoping to make your acquaintance.”

Selina recognized Lady Tremblay, a notorious gossip, and her two companions, whose names escaped her. “How kind of you to say so.”

“We were just remarking on how radiant you look,” Lady Tremblay said. “Marriage clearly agrees with you.”

“Thank you. Lord Marlow’s gardens are truly spectacular, are they not?” Selina attempted to direct the conversation to safer ground.

“Indeed, though not half so interesting as your whirlwind romance with the Duke.” Lady Tremblay leaned closer. “Such a dramatic story. Abandoned at the altar, only to be claimed a year later when he mysteriously reappeared.”

Selina maintained her composure with effort. “Life often takes unexpected turns.”

“Especially swift turns,” one companion added with feigned innocence. “One might almost suspect the Duke felt compelled to marry you after his return. A matter of honor, perhaps?”

The implication was clear. Selina felt heat rise to her face. “I assure you, our marriage was arranged with perfect propriety.”

“Of course,” Lady Tremblay nodded, her eyes gleaming. “Though I understand you were recently seen purchasing baby clothes in Bond Street. Such charming timing.”

And it clicked.

How dare they?—

“Those were gifts for Lady Bingham, who has just given birth to a daughter,” Selina replied, her voice tight. “As you must know, she is a dear friend.”

Lady Tremblay looked unconvinced. “How thoughtful. Though the shopkeeper was quite certain you showed particular interest in the smallest sizes.”

“Ladies, you wound me.” Lord Halston appeared at Selina’s side, his smile dazzling. “Monopolizing the most beautiful woman at the party while I languish in boredom.”

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