Dorothea reached for the bundle and gave an excited squeal. “Invitations! These are invitations to social events.”
Dominic made a face. “That sounds… dreadful.”
Her excitement was palpable. “I never imagined I’d receive an invitation from a duchess,” she said, holding up a cream-colored envelope adorned with an elaborate seal.
“One of the many curses of being part of theton,” Dominic muttered as he reached for his coffee.
She looked at him curiously. “You don’t wish to attend?”
He took a sip before replying, “I have no great desire to mingle with preening aristocrats and dull dinner companions. But…” He glanced at her. “If you would like to attend one or two, I suppose I could endure it.”
She beamed at him. “I’d like that very much.”
And strangely, Dominic realized, he didn’t entirely dread the idea either.
The footmen stepped forward, placing freshly prepared plates before them. Dominic reached for his fork while Dorothea sat back and began opening the pile of envelopes in front of her.
“Ten,” she announced after a moment, her voice tinged with pride.
Dominic glanced at her. “Ten what?”
She grinned as she laid the final envelope on the stack. “We’ve received ten invitations. Balls, soirées, and a garden party hosted by Lady Melgrave. We’ve become quite the fashionable couple, apparently.”
He raised a brow. “Is that so? Well, you choose. Pick one or two that sound tolerable.”
“Just one or two?” she teased. “What if I wish to attend them all?”
“Then I shall wish you well and remain at home,” he said with mirth in his voice.
Before she could reply, Wright reappeared in the doorway carrying a silver tray with the day’s newssheets neatly arranged atop it.
“TheMorning Posthas just arrived, my lord,” he said, offering the tray.
Dominic took the newssheets with a nod of thanks, immediately removing the Society section and extending it across the table to Dorothea.
“Thank you,” she said, unfolding the newssheets with eager fingers. As he turned his attention to the front page, scanning headlines of political shifts and parliamentary squabbles, he heard her draw in a quick breath.
“We’re mentioned again,” Dorothea said. “In the Society pages.”
He didn’t look up. “Are we scandalous or merely fashionable this time?”
“It’s another article by Mr. Fairchild,” she replied, eyes scanning the column. “And this time… it’s about an annulment.”
He froze.
Dorothea lowered the newssheets, her gaze lifting to meet his. Her expression was unreadable at first—curious, yes, but shadowed by something darker beneath the surface.
“The article says that you’re petitioning for an annulment,” she said. “Is it true?”
A cold weight settled in his stomach. He swallowed, his voice low. “It is.”
Her lips parted slightly, but no sound emerged at first. “You don’t want to be married to me?” The words were quiet, almost tentative—hopeful, perhaps, that he would deny them.
Dominic shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that simple.”
“But it is,” she said, setting the newssheets down with trembling fingers. “You’ve made a decision. Without telling me.After everything we’ve been through—everything we’ve shared—you were planning to cast me aside?”
“Dorothea,” he began, “please, just listen?—”
