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“We have been sent many invitations,” Elliot spoke slowly. “They seem to land on our doorstep in bundles of ten.”
“Then take her to one of these events,” Harrison urged. “Give her a chance to be introduced as your wife and enjoy life away from the house as well as in it. Much has changed for her, hasn’t it? Give her something else to enjoy.”
“Yes, you are right, I should.” Elliot at last felt calm enough to sit in the seat that Harrison had offered to him. He pushed away the scandal sheets and made a plan.
That evening, he would accept one of the invitations they had been sent to a ball, and he would give Ophelia the space she so obviously needed.
I will not press her into sharing my bed, no. First, I need to be certain she wants my company.
***
Ophelia sniffed as she put on her earrings. Across the room, Miss Barge was preparing her shoes for her, and dutifully pretending not to notice Ophelia’s tears. For the last few days, Ophelia had been shedding these tears in quiet corners. Grace had noticed them once and tried to ask what was wrong, but Ophelia had brushed it off as missing her father. She didn’t have the courage to confess the truth—they were tears for her husband.
As she finished with her earrings, she sat back and looked in the vanity mirror, praying the signs that she had been crying weren’t obvious in the redness and puffiness of her eyes. The first tears had come when she had hurried down the stairs to meet Elliot for their planned picnic, only to find Miss Barge waiting there for her with a message.
The duke had changed his mind.
Despite how he had promised her not to go out of the house that day, to spend it with her instead, he’d left. He’d found other ways to spend his time, and every day since, he had been busy. Ophelia had abandoned waiting up for him at night and retreated to her bed early.
The passion that had passed between them in his bedchamber had dwindled once again.
Why does this keep happening?
“Your shoes are ready, your Grace.”
“Thank you, Miss Barge.” Ophelia sniffed one last time and stood to her feet, determined not to think any longer of the pain that was lingering in her heart.
Tonight, Elliot had accepted an invitation to a ball at a mutual friend’s house. It was a chance to think of something else for a short while and would certainly be a chance to see Margery.
Once Ophelia had her shoes on, she passed through the door and headed down the stairs. In the doorway, she found Elliot pacing. He fidgeted so much with his cravat that Mrs Mouser gently told him off for it and fixed the mess he had made.
“Why are you so nervous, Your Grace?” she asked him sweetly. Neither Mrs Mouser nor Elliot noticed her approach down the stairs. “You have been to many balls before.”
“Tonight is different.”
“Oh my.” Mrs Mouser sighed as her eyes found Ophelia on the stairs. Ophelia paused, waiting as Elliot turned to acknowledge her presence.
His expression wasn’t something she had expected. His lips were parted as he looked at her, and she could have sworn for a second there was a glimmer of admiration there. She glanced down at the gown, feeling somewhat self-conscious in it. Ivory white with lace-cap sleeves and pearl beading across the bust, it was a gown she had bought the year before with her father. She had not worn it for some time, for it made her think of him so much.
“Will this do?” she asked Elliot, gesturing to the gown. “I do not truly know what a duchess should wear to such an event.”
“Are you asking me if a duchess should look beautiful?” he asked playfully. “You look quite perfect, Ophelia.” Mrs Mouser smiled sweetly behind him then hurried through the door, waving a hand at the carriage they had hired for the evening.
Confused even more than before, Ophelia held his gaze as she descended the last of the stairs and moved towards her husband. Once again, he was looking at her with that desire she had seen in him before.
Sometimes he’s warm, other times cold. He’s like a changing wind.
“Ready?” Elliot asked as he offered his arm to her.
“I am.” She took his arm with her white-gloved hands, but she did so gingerly, uncertain what he’d think after they had spent so little time together these last few days.
In the carriage, both of them were quiet. They sat beside each other with barely a word passed between them. More than once did Ophelia part her lips, ready to say something to him, but then she would hold herself back. She longed to be as they were before but didn’t know what she could say.
Miss Barge had said something to her that morning that had got her thinking. She had pointed out with how often Elliot left the house, one had to wonder whom he was meeting. It reminded Ophelia of the conversation she and Elliot had had the first night they were married. She had told him at the time he could continue seeing his mistress, but the thought he might be indeed sneaking out all the time to see this mistress gutted Ophelia.
What is happening to me? Why is my happiness suddenly so wrapped up in whether Elliot is paying attention to me or not?
“We are here.” Elliot’s voice disturbed her thoughts. He helped her down from the carriage and they moved swiftly into the ballroom. The moment they stepped inside, Ophelia held tighter onto Elliot’s arm.
