“Please, Dorothea,” Arabella said quietly. “Matthew won’t say it aloud, but he needs to make proper connections. Ones that will lift us up in the eyes of Society. We… we need help.”
Dorothea set her cup on the tray and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m not opposed. But I’ll need to speak with Dominic before I agree to anything.”
Arabella’s face lit up with relief. “Thank you, Dorothea.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “He may not approve.”
“I understand.”
Lady Sarah gave her a knowing smile. “I hear your husband is very handsome.”
A faint blush crept up Dorothea’s cheeks. “He is, indeed.”
“Good.” Lady Sarah’s smile turned warm. “I’m happy for you, my dear.”
Dorothea was happy—truly, quietly, deeply happy—that Dominic had come back from the dead. That he had survived when so many others hadn’t. Every breath he drew was a small miracle, one she hadn’t dared pray for during those long, desperate nights in the field hospital.
But even as gratitude filled her chest, it was accompanied by something heavier. A weight she couldn’t seem to shake.
Because she knew—had known from the moment she stepped foot into his townhouse—that he didn’t see her as a blessing.
He saw her as a burden. And no matter how she tried to make herself small, to tread lightly and be nothing but agreeable, that truth clung to her like a shadow.
He was alive.
And she was unwanted.
Dominic sat rigidly in his coach, the wheels jostling over the uneven cobblestones as it wound its way through the bustling London streets. Outside, the city was already awake—hawkers shouting over each other, horses clattering by, the scent of smoke and fresh bread mingling in the spring air. But inside the coach, there was only the hum of his thoughts. He had risen before dawn, eaten his breakfast in a nearly empty dining room, and made sure to depart before Dorothea stirred. A coward’s maneuver, to be sure, but necessary. Facing her had become... complicated.
It didn’t feel like he was learning who she was. No, it felt far more dangerous—like he wasremembering. Every smile, every look that lingered too long, pulled at something half-buried in him. A word here, a shared silence there—it was as though some part of him had always known her. That notion terrified him. He was here to seek an annulment, not to rediscover his wife.
The coach rolled to a stop before the House of Lords. Without waiting for the footman, Dominic flung open the door and stepped down, adjusting the fit of his waistcoat and straightening his cravat. The massive structure loomed ahead and he ascended the steps two at a time, tipping his head to acknowledge the guards who stood watch.
Once he was inside the long hall, he made for the benches assigned to the Whigs, nodding absently at a few familiar faces. Though he sat with them, he wouldn’t call himself a staunch Whig. His years on the battlefield had taught him to distrust absolutes. Some of his leanings aligned with the Tories, whether he liked it or not.
He had just begun scanning the chamber for a quiet place to sit when a broad figure intercepted him—Lord Inglewood. He was a heavy-set man with eyes that always seemed a touch too calculating. Inglewood had been an ally of his father’s, thoughDominic had never determined whether that meant he was friend or foe.
“Warwicke,” Inglewood drawled, voice like gravel. “A pity you’ve chosen the wrong side of history.”
Dominic offered a thin smile. “And good morning to you.”
Inglewood’s gaze didn’t waver. “Your father would have expected you to side with the Tories.”
“I am painfully aware of what my father would have wanted,” Dominic replied. “Which is precisely why I’m seated with the Whigs.”
Inglewood gave a short, humorless laugh. “You were a soldier. You fought for King and Country. That should mean something.”
“It does. Which is why I vote with my conscience, not with party lines.”
Inglewood stepped closer, the scent of tobacco clinging to his jacket. “Then perhaps we have something to discuss.”
Feigning interest, Dominic arched a brow. “Do we?”
The older man glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I hear you’re seeking an annulment.”
Dominic stiffened but kept his expression neutral. That kind of gossip traveled fast—and dangerously. “That is correct.”
Inglewood’s lips curled into something almost resembling a smirk. “I’m introducing a bill today. Higher tariffs on imported goods. It will be framed as support for British soldiers. A noble cause. If you help sway enough Whigs to vote in favor, I could convince a few influential Tories to back your petition for annulment.”
