Alastair hummed a tune as he made his way down the corridor between his study and the library a few days later. Tonight he and Olivia had been invited to a ball at the home of the Duke and Duchess of Stowe. They had accepted, as they did most invitations. He and his wife were both social beings, it was true, but the feeling of unease that had entered their relationship the night of the theatre had retained its hold on them. While they maintained a cordial relationship and a sharing of the marital bed, he could feel the walls she had raised around her, as it seemed she was keeping him at a distance.

In truth, he was not sure what to make of his wife. He enjoyed her company, both her quick wit as well as the passion she injected into everything she did, be it planning a dinner menu or entering into a conversation regarding any number of subjects. Yet he felt his own reluctance to truly give his heart over to her. For so long his entire life had been a series of entertainment, from balls to gambling halls to even the odd brothel. To give himself wholly to his marriage seemed to be saying goodbye to the man he had once been.

Their late night adventures had also come to a halt since the disastrous visit to White’s. She had not suggested any further, and nor had he. Their shared mischievous outings had pulled them together as co-conspirators, and now it seemed neither wished to take the step back together in such a way.

He had not, however, gone out alone either. He had forgone doing so when he realized she wished to accompany him, and now it seemed that to go without her would somehow be a betrayal. He sighed. This was why he had chosen to remain a bachelor — so that these confounded conflicts would have no bearing upon him. A married man he was now, however, so he supposed he would have to deal with it as best as he was able.

Perhaps tonight, when they returned home from the ball, which was sure to put them in good spirits, they could have another go-round discussion about their life together and what was expected from each of them. He couldn’t change the past, but if she would at least tell him what he needed to do to return their relationship to the one he loved, the one of friendly banter, knowing smiles, and spirited lovemaking, it would be quite preferable.

He rounded the corner to the library, spotting Olivia perched on the window seat that had become hers, to his way of thinking. She hadn’t heard him, so engrossed she was in her work. She was scribbling madly, messily, and he had such an urge to know what it was that had so captured her attention.

He walked up behind her, not wanting to startle her but also not wanting to call her attention away when she was so focused.

“Olivia?” he said, question in his voice.

“Alastair!” she all but jumped off the window seat. “I had no idea you had entered the room. My, but you know how to scare a person.” She spoke on as he noted the way she slid a book overtop her paper in an attempt to subtly conceal from him whatever it was she was doing.

“My apologies, however, you were so focused,” he said, reaching out a hand to steady her. “What was it that so captured your attention?”

“Oh, nothing at all, just correspondence to my sister,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Is anything the matter?”

“Of course not, why would you think so?” she looked at him in confusion.

“Because you are hiding your letter from me.”

“Oh, not at all,” she said with a forced laugh. “I merely thought you might find some of my ramblings to her rather silly.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Read me a passage and I shall be the judge of that.”

“No, no, you do not have time for that,” she said, picking up the papers and books in her arms and making for the door.

He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her and took the books from her.

“I can manage, Alastair,” she said, and he could see the flick of panic enter her eyes.

“Do not worry, I will not spirit away your correspondence,” he said. “I will simply carry it for you to your chamber.”

They walked together in silence until they reached the doorway of her room. “I shall see you in a few hours,” he said. “I look forward to the opportunity to be the first to view whatever costume you shall choose for the Duchess of Stowe’s ball.”

As he left her, he could feel her gaze burning into his back. She was hiding something from him, that was for certain, and he desperately wanted to know what it was. He was unsure why it bothered him to such a great extent, however knowing his wife’s penchant for going so far outside of what society expected of her, he knew he had cause to worry.

* * *

Alastair led Olivia into the Duke and Duchess of Stowe’s ballroom with smiles for their hosts. They were a striking couple. Of course, all knew of the Duchess’ humble beginnings, but Olivia remarked to Alastair that in her few conversations with the woman, she found her much kinder and more relatable than most of the women of the ton with whom she was acquainted.

They had not walked far into the room when a small, slight woman who was nearly overtaken by her ornamented blue dress gracefully began hurrying over to them.

“Oh, Rosalind!” Olivia exclaimed, turning to Alastair with a guilty expression. “It has been far too long since I have seen her. I suppose I have simply been preoccupied.”

“Olivia!” her friend greeted her with a broad smile and outstretched hands. “How wonderful to see you, darling. Is this not a beautiful home? I believe this is the first ball here since the Duke held his memorable masquerade.”

The two of them began to chatter, as Alastair found women often did with their close acquaintances, and he asked Olivia to save a dance for him later in the evening. “Oh, but you are married now!” said Rosalind, looking somewhat shocked at his suggestion. He laughed. “I enjoy dancing, as does Olivia,” he said. “Let the women speak of our scandalous behavior, I care not!”  He then made his way through the crowd to find himself a drink and his friends. He spied Lord Merryweather and Lord Penn, but found his path blocked by a young woman he recognized — Lady Hester Montgomery.

“Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a low curtsy but keeping her eyes coyly looking up at him through thick lashes, her mouth curled into a smile that looked rather sinister to him, though how that was possible he wasn’t sure. She had been trying to capture his attention for years, but he had always found her rather desperate, lacking any significant character or intrigue. The complete opposite of his wife, he realized.

He nodded to her. “Lady Montgomery,” he said, and made to continue on his way when she stopped him. “They are beginning a waltz, Your Grace,” she said. “Would you care to dance?”

He blinked in surprise. Why on earth would this woman ask him, a married man, to dance with her? It was quite untoward and simply not done for a woman to request a dance. And yet it would be equally rude of him to refuse. He cleared his throat, trying to find some excuse, but nothing rushed to mind. He supposed his drink could wait the length of one dance.

When he nodded, a smile bloomed over her face, and she latched onto his arm as they made their way to the ballroom floor.

* * *

“Rosalind.” Olivia’s tone caused her friend to whip her head around to determine what had caused Olivia such displeasure. “Please tell me you do not see my husband dancing a waltz with Hester Montgomery?”

Rosalind, who was not quite as tall as Olivia, stood on her toes to try to see the dance floor, her eyes sweeping from one side to the other as she looked for the couple.

“I do not believe … oh yes. Oh dear. I am sorry, Olivia, but you are correct.”

“Why in God’s name would he ask such a woman to dance a waltz, particularly when we’ve only just arrived?”

“Perhaps his hand was forced?”

Olivia’s face darkened. “A man — particularly a duke — can choose when and with whom he shall dance.”

Rosalind sensed her friend’s anger and attempted another tactic. “He did promise a dance with you, later, no matter how untoward that may be. Besides, Olivia, the last time I spoke with you, you told me you cared not what the Duke did with his own time, that this was a forced arrangement you were making do with. Is this no longer the case? Do you now care for him?”

“No, I —” she looked at her friend’s knowing face. “Fine. Yes, yes I do care, though I have tried so hard not to. For if I give my heart to such a man, he will likely break it, and I have no wish to live through that.”

“You do not know that he would be so careless with your affections,” Rosalind said, shaking her head. “You say you are fond of him. I am sure he cares for you as well. Perhaps in time, that could even grow to love, could it not?”

“Doubtful,” said Olivia. “Even should he care for me, he still has his desires to satisfy, be they at the gambling tables or … or elsewhere. I know better than to expect more from a man like that. Though he does allow me my freedom, and for that I am grateful.”

“Have you told him of your identity as P.J. Scott?”

“No,” said Olivia, shaking her head. “While I now realize he could very well be understanding, since I have taken up correspondence with him as the man, I cannot very well reveal who I am, for then he would know I have been lying all this time.”

“Oh Olivia,” sighed Rosalind. “You can be as stubborn as a mule sometimes. I am sure he would forgive you, perhaps even respect you for your wisdom. Why, when you are in the same room together, the man can hardly keep his eyes from you. And you must know you are rather a vision this evening.”

Olivia was rather pleased with her ensemble, a cerulean blue satin gown that showcased her bosom perfectly — just enough but not too much — that hugged her waistline and flowed to the floor. The gold necklace which had been a gift from her mother upon her wedding still hung around her throat.

When Olivia shook her head to Rosalind’s compliment, her friend sighed and led her away to join friends as they kept a close eye on the dance floor.

* * *

Olivia could hardly wait to tell her husband what she thought of him and the blasted Lady Hester Montgomery. Her dance with him was approaching, which would give her ample opportunity to tell him so, though no matter where she looked, she could not catch sight of him.

“Have you misplaced anything of importance?” Olivia turned to find Hester’s friend, Lady Frances Davenport, at her elbow.

“Nothing at all, Frances,” she said with a shrug, as if to show her she was unaffected.

“I do not suppose it is your husband you seek, the notorious Alastair Finchley?”

“The Duke of Breckenridge, you mean?” Olivia asked with a glare at the woman. “He will be along momentarily. He is simply waylaid.”

“Is that what you call it now? Come, darling, we know that the Duke is not what you would call … a faithful man.” Frances shot her a knowing grin.

Olivia gritted her teeth. “My husband may have had a dalliance or two in the past, but I can assure you that I have no qualms about his faithfulness to me since we have been married.”

Frances tsked, “I always thought you were much more intelligent than that, Olivia, dear,” she said. “Can you tell me truly that you know where he is, night in and night out? That he never leaves your home in search of another? You must know that he is not the type of man that will be with one woman and only one woman for the rest of his life. He is not that kind of man, though most are not, unfortunately.”

“Well,” said Olivia, trying to cover the panic that was beginning to form in her stomach. She could not show Frances that her words had any affect, although the silly woman was right. There had been many nights when Olivia had no idea where her husband was, although of late he had been with her or had stayed in residence, as far as she was aware.

As for where he was now….

“If you must know,” said Frances with a sigh, as if it were difficult to share with Olivia what she knew. “He and Lady Hester made off with one another following their dance.”                               

“They what?” Olivia whirled around, no longer hiding her emotions as she stared at the woman, who smiled in satisfaction.

“Why yes, he was quite taken with her, and so she offered to show him the gardens. They have been gone some time, though, I would have thought they’d have returned long ago by now…”

She trailed off as Olivia pushed passed her, down the long corridor which led out of the ballroom to the many rooms beyond. She rushed down the hall, pushing open the doors leading out to the gardens. There was still a chill to the air, and she rubbed her arms to ward off the cold. “Alastair?” she called, seeing nothing but hearing something to her right. She turned the corner, and realized it was giggling she heard. She stopped suddenly when she saw two figures ahead of her. The back of the woman in front of her could be none other than Hester, as she recognized the green of her gown, the black of her hair, and the laugh that continued to trail out of her. She was kneeled on a bench, her head bent over the man beneath her, their intentions all too clear as she could see the man’s hands on Hester’s waist.

Olivia had always been one to confront adverse situations head-on. She was not afraid of her emotions, nor what came of them. She spoke her mind, unconcerned about the judgments of society. Never before, however, had so much been at stake.

As she took in the scene in front of her, she felt a rent in her chest that hurt more than any physical pain ever had. For it was not until this moment she realized the depth of emotion she felt for her husband. As much as she had tried to shield herself, she had let him into her heart, and now … now with these actions he had completely and utterly torn it apart. She cursed herself. It was her own fault — she had known better. She knew, despite his words, that he would never be able to give himself fully to her, and her alone, and now everything she knew could be possible was coming true.

She muffled a sob with her gloved hand and did what Olivia Jackson, now Olivia Finchley, the Duchess of Breckenridge never, ever did. She ran.