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Viscountess Midton took Olivia's arm. He watched for a moment, ensuring Olivia was settled before turning away.

He did not like leaving her alone, though he knew she was surrounded by women who would not allow her to disappear. More importantly, he trusted Olivia's judgement. She had managed Lady Charnley, Boulton, her mother's cruelty, and even James himself with remarkable determination.

Still, some instinct within him remained alert, watching the room even as Midton gestured toward the corridor. James followed him from the ballroom, but his thoughts remained with Olivia. He told himself that it was merely practical. The duchess needed to be protected because she was his wife and because their public image mattered. That explanation had served him well for weeks. He was beginning to suspect it was no longer entirely true.

The cigar room was quieter than the ballroom, with dark wood paneling, leather chairs, and the faint lingering scent of tobacco hanging in the air.

Midton closed the door behind them and poured two glasses of brandy from a decanter on the sideboard.

"I appreciate you coming," he said, handing one to James. "I have a matter that requires discretion."

James accepted the glass but did not drink immediately. "Then I assume it is something you do not wish discussed in the ballroom."

Midton gave a short laugh. "Precisely. My eldest tenant has proposed a change to his lease, and I am uncertain whether I should agree."

James listened carefully as Midton explained the circumstances, asking several pointed questions about rents, improvements, and the man's history on the estate. This was a language James understood. Numbers, land, contracts, obligations, these things were straightforward. People were considerably less so.

He offered his opinion, explaining where Midton might protect himself while still keeping the tenant satisfied, and the Viscount nodded thoughtfully.

"You have given me more clarity in ten minutes than I have managed to find in three weeks," Midton admitted.

James took a slow sip of brandy. "Land has rules. People rarely do."

Midton smiled. "You are fortunate, then, to have married a woman who appears to understand both."

James looked at him sharply. "She does," he admitted after a moment.

The words came more easily than he expected. Olivia did understand people. She could read a room within seconds, identify weakness, and somehow make even uncomfortable situations seem amusing. She also saw through James with increasing accuracy, which was considerably less convenient.

"She has an unusual way of looking at things," he added, setting his glass down.

Midton chuckled. "I have noticed."

James's gaze drifted toward the closed door. Somewhere beyond it, Olivia was sitting among the ladies of Northumberland, probably answering questions while pretending not to notice their scrutiny. He wondered what she was saying, whether she was enjoying herself, and whether she was thinking about his promise to explain everything. The memory made his stomach tighten. He had spent the entire evening trying to postpone the inevitable, yet the truth remained waiting for him.

Midton continued speaking, but James's attention wandered for the briefest moment. He had wanted this evening to accomplish one simple thing: introduce Olivia as Duchess of Glenmore and allow society to become accustomed to her presence. Instead, he had discovered that he was becoming accustomed to her himself. The thought unsettled him more than the threatening notes ever had.

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Your Grace, I am delighted to have you with us," Viscountess Midton said warmly, placing a reassuring hand upon Olivia's arm. "You must forgive the crowd tonight. Everyone is terribly curious about you."

Olivia managed a polite laugh. "I had gathered as much."

The Viscountess led her toward a small circle of ladies, introducing two young women who stood beside her with perfectly arranged smiles. "May I present Lady Prescott and Lady Eastly?"

Olivia inclined her head. "Ladies, it is a pleasure."

Both young women curtsied, but Olivia noticed immediately that their smiles did not reach their eyes as they said, "Your Grace."

She had seen that expression before. It was the sort of smile people wore when they had already decided they disliked you and were merely waiting for an opportunity to prove it.

Lady Prescott glanced toward the ballroom, where several young gentlemen were gathered, then looked back at Olivia with exaggerated innocence.

"We were just discussing how very fortunate Northumberland is to have acquired a new duchess," she said, her voice sweet enough to make Olivia's teeth ache.

Lady Eastly gave a delicate little laugh behind her fan. "Yes, though I confess some of us are rather surprised."

Olivia kept her expression pleasant, although every instinct told her to prepare for battle. She had learned long ago that the most dangerous insults were often delivered with a smile.