“That you have the potential to turn last night’s indiscretion into advantage. London adores a romance—provided it is presented neatly.”
“In what manner should it be presented?” the Duke asked.
Lady Jersey studied them, weighing, measuring. “By leaning into the appearance of devotion, not recklessness. Let them gossip about your attachment; it is considerably preferable to the other subjects they might revive.”
Celine stilled. “And those subjects would be?”
“The circumstances of your marriage. Your father’s financial difficulties. The haste of your wedding. The—” Her lips tightened faintly. “—locked doors.”
“How do you know about that?” Celine asked, voice low.
“My dear, I have eyes and ears everywhere. If you wish to survive in London, assume nothing is secret.”
“Perhaps we are simply… complex,” the Duke said dryly.
Lady Jersey’s gaze moved between them—lingering, assessing, something thin and calculating tightening at the corners of her eyes.
“Complexity,” she said at last, “is not in itself a crime. But London dislikes puzzles it cannot neatly categorise. The charged looks, the whispered counting, the… intensity between you—none of it has escaped notice.”
Her tone softened, almost imperceptibly.
“I have no intention of repeating what I know. I am not in the business of ruining marriages. But I will tell you this plainly: whatever is unfolding between you is beginning to show. Andif you are not careful, the ton will seize upon it and make a spectacle of you both—perhaps a damaging one.”
The Duke’s jaw tightened. Celine’s hands folded in her lap.
Lady Jersey inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the weight of her own words.
“You must take care how you appear. Not only for propriety’s sake, but for survival. There is… feeling between you. Strong feeling. Anyone with half an eye can see it. And feeling, when it escapes its boundaries, can either charm or destroy, depending on how it is revealed.”
She reached into her reticule and withdrew a single, elegant card.
“Which is why I am here. The patronesses of Almack’s extend an invitation to you both to attend next Wednesday’s assembly.”
He blinked—an expression that in any other man might have been called surprise.
“I have not attended Almack’s in years,” he said.
“Precisely why your attendance now will steady the waters. It will demonstrate unity, intention, a willingness to engage with society on respectable terms.”
“And if we decline?” Celine asked quietly.
“Then the stories will grow teeth,” Lady Jersey said simply. “Better to shape the narrative than to let the narrative shape you.”
She smoothed her gloves with purposeful grace.
“Come to the assembly. Look content, not ravenous. Dance—twice, perhaps thrice—but no more. And if you must look at each other like that”—her eyes flickered between them again—“save it for when doors, locked or otherwise, put you out of sight.”
She offered a small, wry smile—almost kind.
“Good day, Your Grace. “See you at the assembly.”
And with that, she swept out, leaving the room humming with everything she hadnotsaid.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
“At Almack’s,” Celine said at last, exhaling. “The marriage mart. Where hopeful maidens hunt husbands, and established couples reassure the world of their respectability.”
“We are not respectable,” Elias replied.
