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Julian looked up from his correspondence. He set down a letter from his solicitor and studied the invitation from across the breakfast table. The silver coffeepot steamed between them. Toast sat cooling on its rack. It was a perfectly ordinary morning, except for the way his eyes moved from the card to her face and stayed there.

"We have declined three invitations since our wedding," he said.

"I am aware. Lady Mendrick's musical evening, Lord Ashby's dinner, and an event involving a charitable exhibition I could not quite decipher."

"The charitable exhibition was for distressed gentlewomen; Lady Hanover organized it."

"Even more reason to have declined."

A smile crossed his face—brief, but genuine. "The ton will begin to suspect we are avoiding them."

"Are we not?"

"We are being selective. There is a distinction."

"Is there?" Adelaide set the card on the table between their plates. "Lady Calliwell's ball is far more than a musical evening, Julian. It is the event of the autumn Season. Half of London will be there."

"Which is precisely why we should attend," he picked up his coffee and drank. " London society is eager to inspect my new bride, and they will not be satisfied until they have done so."

Adelaide's fingers found the edge of her napkin. She folded it, unfolded it, and folded it again.

"You make it sound rather like an auction."

"I make it sound like what it is. The ton collects new duchesses the way naturalists collect specimens. You will be examined, cataloged, and filed accordingly."

"How comforting."

Julian set his cup down. "I did not say it would be comfortable. I said it would fulfill our obligations." He leaned back in his chair. "I plan to depart for Xanthos within the coming weeks. Before I do, we ought to make at least one proper appearance. Lady Calliwell's gathering would serve that purpose well."

The words landed with a weight Adelaide had not expected. Within the coming weeks.

She had known the expedition loomed. She had discussed it with Charlotte, read the supply manifests Julian left on his desk, and watched the charter documents accumulate in his study. But hearing him say it across the breakfast table—over toast and coffee, as though it were merely another item of estate business to settle before his departure—made the reality press against her ribs.

"You intend to attend a ball, parade me before the ton, and then sail for the Lycian coast," she said.

"When you put it that way, it sounds rather heartless."

"I am merely summarizing."

"You are editorializing." He picked up a piece of toast and spread preserves across it with unhurried attention. "The ball is a social obligation. The expedition is a professional one. They are not related."

"They are related by timing."

"Everything is related by timing if one insists upon it."

Adelaide watched him eat his toast. She watched the easy motion of his jaw, the relaxed set of his shoulders, and the way the morning light caught the silver at his temples. He looked rested today; the dark shadows beneath his eyes had lightened, and his posture carried none of the rigid tension she had come to associate with his sleepless nights.

She wondered where he had slept—whether he had slept at all.

"Julian."

"Hmm?"

"If we attend this ball, I will be scrutinized. Every detail examined—my dress, my speech, my comportment. The ton will form their opinions within the first quarter hour, and those opinions will follow me for the duration of our marriage."

"That is the nature of society."

"I have been away from London for years." She drew a breath. "I have spent the better part of a decade managing an estate in Kent, settling tenant disputes, and cataloging botanical specimens. I have not moved in fashionable circles since I was twenty-two. My aunt saw to that."