Page 10 of The Duke and His Jilted Bride

“Before the papers have too much time to themselves and begin speculating,” Aunt Violet added, giving Aurelia the impression they had been speaking without her, and her aunt was the cause of this proposed outing, not the Duke. “We were just speaking about this. Three separate writers came to His Grace’s home yesterday to enquire about the… developments of yesterday.”

Aurelia looked at him for a moment, wincing as the London light struck her face. How much longer would she spend in this town? If he had been serious yesterday, the wedding would be soon. Today, she thought, she had to assess the seriousness of his proposal – which she could not do while he was standing there making her melt, stroking her aunt’s dogs.

“Yes,” Aurelia said, hiding her feelings about the matter. “All right, let us walk.”

Her aunt smiled wide and left to prepare herself to chaperon them. Ten minutes later, she installed herself twenty feet behind them with her lady’s maid and their youngest dog, and proceeded to observe everything from beneath her lace parasol. Aurelia could feel her stare boring into her back and tried not to misstep and embarrass them both.

Hyde Park on a Tuesday afternoon was exactly as populated as Aurelia had feared. She felt the eyes of walkers before she saw them – a shift in the atmosphere as recognition moved through the promenading crowds. She had walked a few times with Frederick once the engagement had been announced. It had been colder then, more private. Presently a woman dressed like a governess turned to her older companion and whispered something behind her hand. Two gentlemen near the front path slowed almost imperceptibly to look at them, poking each other in the ribs.

The news of their double-jilting was obviously still making the rounds. Yet, somehow, walking beside him, the reality of that did not seem so daunting.

“What did your inquiries yesterday turn up?” Aurelia asked. “Did you confirm that your brother headed North?”

Evander slowed as they passed through the Northern Gate. “Yes,” he said evenly. “One of the riders I sent out – the bootboy from the London House – returned yesterday evening saying Frederick and Lady Seraphina had been spotted outside of Luton. At the house, his valet confirmed his travelling clothes had disappeared. There was a note from Seraphina at her own home.”

“What did it say?”

“It said she was sorry to her parents but that she needed to trust her own heart. That they would understand when she returned.”

Aurelia did not point out that she had not mentioned him. She wasn’t how that would make him feel, and she did not particularly want to find out. It was safer for now to imagine that he and Lady Seraphina had never gotten along – that she wouldn’t be playing second fiddle to his first choice of bride all her life.

She kept her gaze forward, ignoring the fire burning inside her because of her proximity to Evander, and she forced a pleasant expression. The park was cast in sunshine, and the Serpentine glittered in the distance.

“I had thought that was only for my brother’s benefit,” Evander said quietly, leading her forward. “What you are doing now.”

She turned to look at him as they walked. He had a slow and careful walk. “Doing what?” she asked.

“The face.”

She glanced at him. “What face? What do you mean? You weren’t even looking at me.”

“I looked long enough. That face, with your eyes," he said, pointing to his own eyes, crinkling them. In this light, they were forest green. “Feigning disinterest.”

“Oh…” This surprised her, but she tried not to let it be shown. If he had begun cataloguing her expressions, could assign meaning to them she did not intend, how would she be able to hide them from him? “I wasn't aware you were familiar with my expressions."

“Hard to miss. You have been wearing that particular one since we turned onto the main path. It is extremely convincing.”

"Thank you."

“That wasn't entirely a compliment.”

“Why not? Do you not want me to be interested in you?” The question surprised her. It was a little too daring and flirtatious for the moment.“I mean to say…”

He cut her off with, “Some interest seems inevitable, if we are to be married.” He paused, licked his lips, making her heart skip a beat. His pace slowed, his worn Wellington boots crunching against the dirt beneath them. “I had an appointment with the archbishop yesterday.”

“That was quick.”

“You would think a man of his clerical importance would not have bothered himself with the news of yesterday.” He smiled a little, clasped his hands behind his back. His silver rings shone in the sunlight. “But he admitted me immediately. It was only hours after the wedding when I went to visit him.”

Aurelia watched him while he watched the trees in the distance. “I think you underestimate the power of your title. I doubt there are many who would refuse you an appointment – even an archbishop.”

“Is that why you agreed to marry me? Because of the title?” He glanced over his shoulder at Violet, then dropped his voice. The moment took on a strange intimacy, despite the knots of people, friends, family and children, riders, all around them on the grass. “I am teasing you, sorry. But it is not too late to say you have changed your mind. He agreed to the special license. We could sign it as soon as Thursday. Your license with Frederick has been revoked. But that does not lock us into anything, in my mind.”

She said nothing. To her left, a group of women she recognised from her debutante ball were making no effort whatsoever to conceal their interest in them. One of them raised her eyebrows at the other, then at Aurelia, seeming to say, “My, how quickly you have resolved this situation. What does that say about you, hm? What did you do to win him over so quickly?” Aurelia watched them in her peripheral vision and felt something tighten in her chest, small and hot.

Then Evander reached across, took her hand from where it hung at her side, and placed it on his arm, having obviously noticed them too. His rings were cool through the fabric of her gloves.

She looked down at it – that large, broad hand – then up at him.