“You do not understand.”
“No, I understand perfectly. You decided you were a liability instead of a husband. You convinced yourself she deserved a life without you in it, so you gave her exactly that.”
Dorian’s jaw tightened. “That is not what happened.”
“Then tell me what did,” Tristan demanded.
Dorian did not answer immediately, and that hesitation was enough. Tristan exhaled sharply.
He wished that he did not have a friend who understood him as well as Tristan did.
“You love her,” Tristan said, his voice quieter. “And the moment you realized it, you started preparing to ruin it before she could do it for you.”
Dorian looked away.
That small movement told his friend everything. It was not Lady Vivian who destroyed his marriage. He was entirely at fault, regardless of what she had done.
The revelation came once again later that evening in the study when Mr. Pembroke arrived, carrying a folded stack of papers that looked deceptively ordinary until he placed them on the desk.
Dorian barely looked up at first, still working through correspondence that no longer seemed to hold his attention properly, until Pembroke spoke in a voice that cut through the room more sharply than usual.
“I have news regarding Lady Vivian.”
“I do not wish to hear it. She has done enough.”
“Your Grace, I had someone trace correspondence linked to Lady Vivian and Mr. Holloway,” he said.
Dorian paused, his gaze lifting as he set the papers aside.
“That is not a pairing I wish to know about,” he replied. “You have named a lady who has done everything in her power to ruin my marriage and a man who forced my wife to marry me in the first place. I do not care what the two of them have to say to one another.”
“You will when you hear what I learned.”
Dorian leaned back slightly, studying him with sharper focus. “Very well. Explain.”
Pembroke exhaled once before sliding the first page forward. “They have been exchanging letters for months, letters that are disguised as social correspondence. Meetings were arranged indirectly, and visits were coordinated to appear coincidental, with enough consistency to suggest planning rather than mere chance.”
“Planning for what exactly?”
“Rumors about you, about Her Grace, and about the stability of your marriage from the moment it began.”
“Yes, well, mere rumors are hardly evidence of any conspiracy.”
“It is not only that,” Pembroke said, sliding another page forward. “Sabotage has certainly occurred at the stables, specifically the contamination of Tempest’s feed. The timing aligns with someone who knew the horse’s routine and feeding schedule in detail. It could not have been anyone else, unless you were to accuse your own staff or Her Grace.”
Dorian’s hand froze as his eyes fixed on the page.
Pembroke continued without pressing too hard. “There is also evidence of a coordinated influence within the racing circles—conversations that began sowing doubts about your estate’s stability. Those doubts did not appear organically. They were encouraged.”
Dorian looked up slowly. He did not care about the effect on the estate half as much as he did about Tempest’s health. He had not forgotten the way Anne looked when Tempest had taken ill, and he doubted that he ever would.
“Are you telling me that Lady Vivian arranged for my horse to be harmed?”
“I am telling you that she had both the motive and the opportunity, and that Holloway seems to have assisted her,” Pembroke replied somberly.
The room fell into a heavier silence as Dorian processed the revelation. When he finally did, his voice was quieter.
“Why would she do this?”
