Despite Fanny’s teasing, there was truth at the moment. Lady Gooldwer was happy—triumphant, even. And though Blanche could not deny the quiet gratitude she felt toward Heath, the reality of her new position settled over her with an undeniable weight.
Fanny tilted her head slightly, studying her. “You are uneasy.”
Blanche’s fingers instinctively curled around the edge of her gown, the weight of the diamond ring on her hand suddenly more pronounced. “I am thoughtful,” she corrected, though she knew her sister would not be convinced.
Fanny hummed knowingly, a flicker of mischief playing in her gaze. “You need not pretend with me, dearest. I know you well enough to see what is beneath the surface.”
Blanche inhaled slowly, casting a glance around the grand room—the space that was now hers to call home.
Woodrey House, the jewel of Mayfair, bathed in golden candlelight, its towering chandeliers gleaming above elegant columns carved with intricate embellishments.
A world so carefully constructed. A world that now belongs to me.
Her gaze flickered toward Heath, standing effortlessly among the guests, his posture commanding yet impossibly relaxed. The flicker of admiration in the eyes of every woman present didnot go unnoticed, nor did the quiet murmurs—the reverence surrounding him, the magnetism he wielded without effort.
And yet, for all his charm, there lingered something unspoken between them.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to that afternoon in the park. The whisper of his fingers at her waist, the way his lips had stolen her breath without warning, the heat that had curled through her so recklessly. The memory wasn’t fading, and her body was waiting. Aching, for what would come next.
She swallowed hard, willing herself back to the present.
Fanny caught the motion, pressing closer. “Ah, I see now. You are thinking about him.”
Blanche stiffened, ignoring the heat creeping into her cheeks. “Do not be absurd.”
Fanny laughed quietly, the knowing edge of a sister who could see through every feigned composure. “Well, at least you have chosen well. He is terribly handsome, I must say. I doubt Mother will cease reminding you of that particular triumph anytime soon.”
Before Blanche could protest, Lady Gooldwer’s voice rang through the conversation, summoning Fanny with practiced authority.
“Come, Fanny, there is someone you must meet. An acquaintance most suitable, I believe.”
Fanny barely concealed a sigh, turning back to Blanche one last time. “You shall be fine on your own. After all, you are a duchess now.”
And then, with one final reassuring squeeze of Blanche’s hand, her sister was gone—leaving her in the midst of gilded splendor, the reality of her new life settling around her like an elegant but unyielding cage.
Blanche managed a smile, but as Fanny departed, an unsettling quiet settled around her.
She turned her gaze toward Heath, watching the way he commanded the room with effortless ease. The way noblewomen lingered in his presence, their admiration thinly veiled beneath carefully measured smiles.
He is magnetic, undeniably so.
And he is my husband.
The thought sent an unfamiliar heat coursing through her, unbidden and unrelenting.
Her mind refused to stray from the memory of their kiss. The way his hands had steadied her, the warmth of his breath against her skin—how utterly undone she had felt in mere moments.
She swallowed, willing her thoughts into submission. A voice—deep, smooth, and undeniably amused—cut through her thoughts.
Blanche blinked, turning instinctively toward the sound, her fingers tightening just slightly around the edge of her gown.
Before her stood a man of striking refinement, his dark hair a contrast to the sharp, clear eyes that watched her with unrestrained interest, his presence was effortless, as though he had long mastered the art of owning any room he walked into.
With a graceful inclination of his head, he spoke—his tone rich with charm and irreverence.
“Percy Levingston, Duke of Nightborne, at your service, Your Grace.” His lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk. “Also known as the most devoted—if thoroughly insufferable—friend of your esteemed husband.”
Blanche arched a brow, allowing the faintest trace of amusement to flicker across her features. “A pleasure, Your Grace. I do hope my husband speaks of you with equal fondness.”
