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Opening the letter, she scanned the first line.

"Lord and Lady Mendrick request the honor of the company of the Duke and Duchess of Ravensmere at a musical evening..."

Setting it aside, she examined the second invitation, then the third, fourth, and fifth—each written on fine stock with distinct heraldic seals.

"Mr. Danvers," she said.

"Your Grace?"

"How many invitations have arrived?"

Mr. Danvers checked the tray. "Seventeen in the afternoon post, Your Grace, in addition to the two that arrived this morning, which I placed upon your writing desk."

Adelaide surveyed the pile in astonishment. Nineteen formal invitations to balls, musical soirees, and dinner parties. London society had officially recognized her presence.

The heavy front door opened, its latch clicking as low voices echoed from the hall. Julian's voice murmured a brief greeting to the footman before his footsteps sounded across the marble floor.

His dark head appeared around the drawing room doorframe as he looked inside with a tired, hesitant expression.

Adelaide studied him. The dark shadows beneath his blue-gray eyes had deepened, the lines around his temples showing the physical toll of his long hours away.

She recalled the muffled sound that had reached her through the adjoining door the previous evening—a sharp, choked breath cut off in the dark. She had lain awake in her quiet bedchamber, debating whether to knock or remain silent, ultimately choosing silence out of respect for his privacy.

"Adelaide," he said softly.

"Julian," she said, holding up an embossed card. "Society has formally summoned us."

His coat was dusted from the city streets, and his cravat slightly loosened from a long day of legal meetings. He took the card from her hand and read the inscription.

"Lord and Lady Mendrick request our presence," he noted, placing the card on the table beside the others. "They are not alone in their interest, I gather."

"Seventeen invitations in the afternoon post alone," Adelaide indicated the tray. "I have been a duchess for only a week, and society has suddenly taken notice."

"London society was waiting for our public appearance," Julian remarked. "Our sudden marriage created considerable interest."

"Considerable speculation, you mean."

"The celebrated explorer returns after thirteen years abroad and weds an untitled gentlewoman from Kent. The ton has been constructing theories since the announcement."

"Let them speculate," Adelaide declared calmly, stacking the cards. "Lady Calliwell is hosting a grand ball in a fortnight. I believe that gathering would serve as the ideal venue for our formal debut."

Julian studied her with quiet interest. "You possess a keen eye for social strategy."

"I spent years attending country assemblies in Kent," she replied with a faint smile. "I understand the distinction between a ball worth attending and an evening better spent at home with a good volume." She held up the Calliwelll invitation. "This gathering falls into the former category."

"Then we shall attend," he agreed, setting the card down. "However, I suggest we attend the opera first—just the two of us."

Adelaide looked at him in surprise. An evening at the opera offered a quiet outing away from the intense scrutiny of a ballroom crowd.

"I was unaware you held an interest in the opera," she noted.

"I enjoy many pastimes I have lacked opportunity to pursue during my thirteen years abroad," he paused, his gaze fixing upon her with quiet warmth. "I should like to enjoy them now, in your company."

The quiet intensity behind his statement stilled her hands upon the letters.

"I should like that as well," she replied softly.

Julian's face brightened with a genuine, warm smile.