MATTHEW HAD NEVER been more anxious about a stupid ball in his life.

He told himself it was because he would be surrounded by nobility for the first time in his life, but the notion was ridiculous. But he refused to address the real root of his concern. He told himself it was because of his latest appointment with Mr. Crawford, which wasn't a complete lie.

His solicitor done his best to research the laws of divorce and annulment as well research the Axels. "Your wife's father and mother are dead. And from what I could gather, it seems her relatives don't care a great deal for her," Mr. Crawford summarized.

"You're correct," Matthew answered.

"And I assume you're scared to yield Mrs. Whitfield to the guardianship of her relatives because they might abuse her? And, swallow any money you give her as well?"

"Yes," Matthew repeated. He hated hearing his wife's reality out loud. It made him feel horrible.

"Then, the best course of action is a ruse, sir."

Matthew leaned forward in his chair. "I'm sorry?"

"Divorce Mrs. Whitfield's on grounds of refusing intercourse, and leave her without a penny. Her family might demand compensation, and you might have have to part with a small sum. But pay the sum directly to the Axels."

"I cannot leave her without nothing," Matthew responded, aghast at the suggestion. "I won't."

"You won't be leaving her with nothing, per say. After she is left without allowance, her family will likely allow her to purchase a small residence by herself. It'll be meager and without many amenities, but Mrs. Whitfield would only have to make do for a year. Then you can begin to give regular allowances and provide her with any residences you see fit."

It was a brilliant idea. Matthew was grateful for his solicitor for solving his predicament, and he told him so. But faced with a solution to their divorce, his heart clenched. She would probably never want to see his face again after the papers were drawn up. And there would be no excuse to come to her side, especially with a demanding new baby. Mrs. Whitfield would be gone forever.

Matthew could not explain these newfound feelings to himself. He couldn't explain why a woman he'd ignored for years suddenly consumed his thoughts. But she did. And there he was, excited to see the face of a woman he knew wanted nothing to do with him.

"You look very handsome," Victoria told him in a pinched voice the evening of the ball.

"Thank you, dear," Matthew replied, ignoring her obvious discomfort. He didn't have time for it.

She picked up his wrist and sniffed it before setting it down. "Is that eau de cologne? You never wear that."

"All the nobleman wear it, dear," he replied patiently.

"Well, I hate it," Victoria declared, childishly. She looked positively sullen.

Matthew kissed her lightly on the lips, with a tenderness she didn't deserve, and then soundly on the cheek. "I must be off. I'll miss you, love."

"I'm sure you will," Victoria muttered contemptuously. Matthew could only muster a small smile before practically running out of the door. The forty minute ride to The Georgia was possibly the longest ride of his life. He hated the way he drummed his fingers restlessly on his leg or how his fingernail scraped against his carriage seat. He hated the way he could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he walked up the steps to the resort. And Matthew hated his inward gasp once he finally saw his wife. That part couldn't be helped, though. Rose looked indescribable.

Her gown was a deep burgundy red that fit her in a way no gown had fit her before. Its low square-cut bust accentuated a large bosom that Matthew had never really took note of. The dress hugged her every sumptuous curve and fell down to her feet in a glorious stream of red. And her veil! It wasn't like the other thicker ones she wore. This one was much thinner. Matthew could make out most of her face, including a growing smile.

"Mr. Whitfield," she greeted.

He said nothing for a moment, taking her all in. "Mrs. Whitfield," he returned finally. He gazed at her still, unabashed. "You're breathtaking."

Rose's eyes fell. "You jest."

"I'm not joking, Rose. You look beautiful."

🥀

I was rather upset with myself for feeling pleased. Ms. Voss had declared the gown an absolute masterpiece on me. I had looked at myself in the mirror with the gown several times over, and I knew Ms. Voss spoke no lies. A gown had never looked better on me in my whole life. So why did I want to melt when Matthew had called me "breathtaking?" Why did my heart stop when he said I looked beautiful? I averted my eyes from his and stared at the ground. I couldn't bear to return his gaze which, for whatever reason, was very bold tonight. It didn't help that I'd made the unfortunate mistake of wearing a veil that I knew made my face more visible than usual. If he saw just how much his little compliments affected me, well, it might lead to another regrettable moment. Especially since I couldn't help noticing how handsome he looked.

Matthew's auburn hair was tousled slightly, like he'd been running his hand through it, but in a charming way. His suit hugged his athletic build in a way I was sure no other suit had. It was probably his best one, I thought dreamily.

"Shall we?" I asked primly. Matthew took my arm in his own without a second thought and we walked to the carriage. I tried not to think about how solid his arm felt against mind or how his scent was even more intoxicating than usual. Once we entered the carriage, I kept my eyes fixed on the window and ignored all attempts at conversation. Despite my gaze outside, I couldn't help but notice his gaze on me. I masterfully ignored it for twenty minutes but after that I could stand it no longer. "Would you stop?" I snapped.

"Stop what?" Matthew asked innocently.

"Staring at me! Staring at me as hungrily as a starved man would at a lamb leg."

"It's your fault I'm staring, wife. Maybe if you hadn't dressed so alluringly my gaze would be elsewhere."

I fixed my eyes on his then. Was he flirting with me? Did this man dare to flirt me? "Remember your soon-to-be wife and child, sir," I said frigidly. "I know I cannot forget them."

Matthew winced. "Can you not mention them?"

I laughed dryly. "You cannot be serious."

"Can we just...can we just pretend for one moment that this will not come to an end in a blink of an eye?"

"Whose fault is that?" I shouted incredulously. "It was you, Matthew. You moved your whore into our home despite all rules of decency! You're the one who got the wench pregnant! We have no chance because of you. How do you expect me to ignore that? How do you expect me to pretend?"

Matthew's face hardened. "So you'd rather go on hating each other and pretending there's nothing between us?"

"There is nothing real between us, Matthew," I whispered. "Let us be honest."

Matthew's jaw tightened, an action that raced and splintered my heart. "Fine. As you wish, Ms. Axel." His tone was impenetrable stone. "Don't worry about your paperwork dearest, the divorce is underway. We shall be rid of each other very soon."

"Good," I replied, with equal ice. "I can't wait."

A very uncomfortable silence followed the rest of the way to the Palace. I did my best to distract myself with our surroundings outside, which became easier as we neared our destination. As the Palace came closer into view, I felt my stomach jump with nerves. I was actually attending a ball filled with princes and princesses with an estranged husband. Was this even a good idea?

If not, it was too late to change my mind. Before I could blink, our carriage had crossed the Palace gates and it was time for our exit. Matthew helped me out of the carriage with the politeness of a gentleman, a courtesy he'd never extended before.

"You didn't have to, sir," I murmured to him.

"And have all these fine people think I'm a barbarian?" Matthew muttered back as we ascended the Palace steps. "I think not."

We were ushered to a ballroom so magnificent it nearly took my breath away. It seemed a good amount of the guests had already arrived. It might've been my imagination, but it felt like many eyes turned as Matthew and I made our entrance. Leticia was standing at the front the room, fanning herself with decadent white ostrich feathers. Her ebony skin glowed. Her husband stood proudly next to her. He was rather handsome too. My husband I made our respective bows and curtsies. "Your Highness," I said, nodding first to the prince and then to the princess. Leticia's fan dramatically splayed across her face to hide a snicker. A couple people within earshot coughed into a gloved hands, as if I'd made a bad joke.

I smiled awkwardly between the two of them, already regretting the invitation. Had my curtsy been wrong? Had I somehow used the wrong title?

"I'm afraid it's just 'Lord Dudley' for now, Mrs. Whitfield," Leticia announced airily. I looked away, my face growing hot. This was not the prince, it was the Earl of Gloucester. I had actually mistaken the princess' lover for her husband.

"My deepest apologies, Lord Dudley," I murmured, though it didn't feel right that earl was who I should apologize too.

"None taken," the earl replied, his voice smooth. He took my hand in his and kissed it. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Whitfield."

Matthew and I moved on to greet other guests in the room. I'd expected it to be a rather arduous process full of stiff talk and disdainful glances. However, the night unfolded to be quite the opposite. He and I both received a good amount of stares, but they only held curiosity. Many couples warmly introduced themselves and I fell into droll conversation with a married group of ladies. And I danced! In past social events, I hardly ever received invitations to dance. Here I had to put off people so I could catch a breath between songs! Many of my partners took a step beyond polite conversation and even flirted with me. I was both pleased and shocked. It seemed like everyone wanted a piece of the strange woman in the red veil.

Matthew seemed to be having fun too, but that was hardly surprising. As I took a break from the exercise of the dance floor, I watched as he twirled around with the most established ladies of the kingdom. He was laughing with a certain blond haired beauty when Leticia came to my side. "You seem to be enjoying yourself," she said.

"I am." I beamed at her. "Thank you for the invitation, Your Highness."

She elbowed me in the ribs. "There's no need for formalities when it's just the two of us."

"Thank you for the invitation, Leticia," I amended.

She bowed her head graciously. "You're very welcome."

I rolled my eyes. We watched Matthew give his partner —was she marchioness?—a dramatic spin. I made a light choking sound in my throat.

"He's very handsome," Leticia observed.

"You've seen him before," I remarked.

"In that thick, steamy cabin you could hardly see a thing. It's different now," Leticia argued. She was right of course, I just didn't want to acknowledge it. He was different here, smiling and laughing in a well-fit suit with his looks under visible light. He was breathtaking.

"I suppose," I answered.

Leticia peered at me from behind her ostentatious feathers. "Has anything transpired between the two of you?"

"He's settling the divorce papers, they should be ready soon." Matthew whispered something in his partner's ear. She leaned in closer to him. "I'm still at The Georgia."

"You can't stay there anymore, you know. It's undone. Tell him to let you stay in one of his other houses in the kingdom until the divorce is finalized," Leticia advised.

I shrugged. "It really doesn't matter."

"It does," Leticia disagreed stubbornly.

I turned away from the dance floor, eager to change the subject. "May I ask where your own husband is?"

Leticia's lips pursed at my question. "Off to his own devices with Lady Covington, I presume."

"And he just lets you greet guests at the door with your lover?"

"We have a little understanding now." Leticia absently rubbed her thumb against her wedding ring. "It's a private, informal ball with close friends. So, such things aren't so scandalous." I privately disagreed, but maybe it was because I was the only one ignorant enough to believe her lover was a prince. The song for the present dance was breathing its last few notes. "Has he taken a turn with you yet?" Leticia asked.

"No." My voice came out sharper than I would have liked.

"Why not?"

I gave Leticia a sidelong glance. I was now convinced she was trying to annoy me. "The same reason you're standing here while your husband is elsewhere. The same reason we're getting divorced."

"You don't have to bring up the prince just because I asked about your Mr. Whitfield." I detected a faint sour note in her voice. I carelessly shrugged my shoulders.

"I was just answering a question."

"In a roundabout, nearly insulting way."

"I apologize if I caused you offense," I replied in a tone that suggested the opposite of repentance.

Leticia opened her mouth to respond, but closed it once a man approached us. "Cleveland," she greeted enthusiastically.

"Your Majesty." Cleveland bowed, but as soon as his eyes lifted from his moment of reverence, his eyes slid to connect with mine. His gaze was piercing.

"This is my friend, Mrs. Whitfield," Leticia introduced. "Mrs. Whitfield, this is the Duke of Worcester."

I curtsied. "Your Grace."

Cleveland took my hand into his own and kissed it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Whitfield." His lips lingered on my knuckle.

"The pleasure is all mine," I replied. My mouth was dry. Why in the world was he staring at me like that? It made my stomach flip with anxiety. I wasn't quite sure it was the good kind either.

"Where did you find such a lovely creature?" Cleveland asked Leticia, still staring at me.

"You're too kind," I murmured nervously.

Leticia laughed. It was a very feminine, sweet laugh—too sweet and feminine. I was sure Leticia only produced them when she was around other aristocrats who said things that were supposed to be funny, but actually weren't. "Oh, Cleveland!" she exclaimed. Her amber eyes were twinkling though, that was real. You're a terrible flirt, they read. "We were both staying at The Georgia during my sabbatical." Leticia turned to me. "I'm so glad I met her. Rose is

really a a treasure."

The conversation went surprisingly smooth. Cleveland was a terrible flirt, but he directed his attentions to Leticia as well, which helped me relax. It helped me appreciate how genuinely funny he was, despite being obnoxious. I couldn't help examining him as the minutes ticked away. Cleveland was one of the tallest men in the room (Matthew ranked chief among them) with a trim slender build which I couldn't help comparing to Matthew's bulky physique.

He kept his kinked curls in a short cut, I preferred men with longer hair, but his style suited him. His most prized feature, in my opinion, weren't his eyes, smile, or the muscles straining through his suit. It was his complexion. Cleveland was the color of deliciously roasted coffee beans and black cocoa powder. I'd never met anyone darker than I was. My family had never ceased to comment on my dark skin and how unlucky I was to have been born with it. It was yet another thing I'd grown to hate. I'd always wished for Leticia's honey brown complexion.

But now, seeing someone so confident and handsome occupy an insecurity I held so dear....well....it touched my heart.

Cleveland gave me a sudden mischievous look. "Are you staring at me Mrs. Whitfield?"

I completely avoided his gaze. "I am not."

"You were staring at me," Cleveland said. There was a devilish smile on his lips now.

Leticia's eyes darted between the two of us. "It's quite hot in here," she said, waving her fan. "Would you two like to get some air in the gardens?"

"If it pleases Her Highness, of course," Cleveland replied easily. They both turned to me.

"I don't mind," I agreed, not wanting to be the odd one out. The Palace gardens were absolutely beautiful, especially in the moonlight. Yet, they couldn't match my rose gardens at Whitfield mansion. We'd only walked for about ten minutes when Leticia suddenly stopped.

"Would you two like some lemonade? I'm parched," Leticia offered. I narrowed my eyes.

"I'm not thirsty," I declared.

"I'd like some sherry, actually. I'm thirsty too," Cleveland said.

"I'll fetch some sherry for you, dear Cleveland, and lemonade for me," Leticia said decidedly.

"I'll fetch it," I said hurriedly, but it was too late. Leticia had already turned on her heel to walk back to the Palace.

"Nonsense, Whitfield. You're not even thirsty. That would be rude."

I had the strongest urge to run after her, but I didn't dare.

Cleveland extended his arm. "Shall we?"

"We shouldn't walk any further. She won't be able to find us."

"You're right." I looked stubbornly at the ground.

"Won't you look at me, Mrs. Whitfield?" Cleveland's tone was playful.

Against my better judgment, I looked up at him.

"Much better," he whispered. He closed the distance between us. Alarm bubbled in veins.

I stepped back. "Don't come any closer," I urged.

"Mrs Whitfield—"

"Don't!"

🥀

Matthew had always had a splendid time at balls. Not this time, though. This time he couldn't help counting the lustful eyes that landed on his wife. A surge of jealousy ripped through him every time she had a new dance. Each time a new partner whispered one flirtation or another in her ear, Matthew had a bitter taste in his mouth. Worse of all, Matthew could see the joy on his wife's face with each song. She was enjoying this. That made his envy grow worse. After the first hour, he was ready to leave. The last straw was when he glimpsed a tall duke at her side for the better part of an hour.

The princess was present, of course, but it hardly mattered. All he saw was the two of them. Talking. Laughing. Rose looked positively gleeful. He'd never made her smile like that before, Matthew thought enviously. He'd never made her laugh like that. Would he ever get the chance?

Once these thoughts crossed his mind, he furiously tried to make them disappear. Focusing on his dance partner instead of Mrs. Whitfield seemed seemed like the best idea all night. All he'd done was look away for a second to quell these unwarranted feelings—just a second—and when he looked up and the trio was gone. Matthew took a few rounds around the room and frantically searched around for his wife, but she wasn't there. Never fear, he told himself. He was just looking too hard. Once he spun around another marchioness, Rose was sure to come into view. Matthew allowed himself to believe this lie, until the princess materialized from thin air without her companions. That was the last straw.

Matthew stormed toward her angrily. "Your Highness," he bit out. "Where is my wife?"

She blinked at him in amusement. "Mr. Whitfield, are you alright? You look downright flushed.

"My wife," Matthew growled. He was sure this response turned a few heads.