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Miss Delaney smiled slightly at him, and in that instant, he could see the vivacious young lady she had once been. All that remained of her now was a husk worn down by her miserable circumstances.

She shook her head. “I have no intention of catching anyone’s eye, Your Grace. I… I merely wanted to see my baby’s father once more…”

The admission seemed to have been drawn out of her with much difficulty as she looked down at the hemline of her dress—one that had not been mended enough to be considered fit to wear outside of one’s home.

It was a dire enough situation for any family of the tonwhen an unmarried daughter had to make do without her maid.

Ethan nodded at her in dismissal when he heard a slight scuffle from the balcony. Miss Delaney seemed to hear it, too, for she turned in the direction of the sound, jumping like a mouse frightened of its own shadow.

Ethan narrowed his eyes at the balcony, his hands clenched into fists. He waited for someone to appear.

Nobody did.

He frowned as he turned towards Miss Delaney. “Well, I hope that you find what you are looking for,” he told her. He bowed to her, ever the gentleman. “Good night, Miss Delaney.”

He turned to leave when he felt her hands clutch at his arm desperately. He glared at the offensive appendages coldly, a silent warning in his eyes for her to release him.

Miss Delaney did so with a frightened look and a tremulous smile. “I do not mean to impose upon you, Your Grace. I simply hoped that Lady Phoebe?—”

“That isHer Graceto you, Miss Delaney,” he reminded her coldly.

Why was it so hard for everyone to remember that Phoebe was no longerLadyPhoebeBarkley, but Phoebe BarkleyAudley, the Duchess of Sinclair?

The young woman’s smile wavered. “I hope that Her Grace is worthy of your affections for her,” she whispered sadly. Then, she took a step back and bobbed a perfect curtsy. “Farewell, Your Grace. I hope we never see each other again.”

Ethan watched as she walked away, her shoulders slumped. There was no trace of the prideful young woman who once declared to all the ton that she was going to be the Duchess of Sinclair.

He wanted to say that she deserved everything that happened to her, but all he could feel for her was pity.

Miss Delaney had clawed her way to the top with deception and manipulation. She seized with both of her hands, only to realize that she had been grasping at air.

Now, everyone who used to look at her in admiration regarded her with cold disdain.

Such was the price of those who lost when they gambled too much.

Or when they dared to scheme without a thought for the consequences of their actions.

Society had never been kind to those who fell from grace.

No, it was downright cruel.

Phoebe’s heart exploded with pain as she held her fist to her mouth to keep herself from crying out loud.

She had not meant to listen in on anything—she merely went back to find Ethan when he failed to return to the ballroom after some time had elapsed.

Who would have thought that she would chance upon him talking with the woman he very nearly married?

The same woman who supposedly carried his child before Phoebe caught her admitting to the fact that it was not his at all, but some other man’s.

When she saw Miss Delaney, her heart could not help but pity the young woman for how far she had fallen from grace. Her dress appeared to not have seen the mending hands of a skilled maid or seamstress, and her hair was not even artfully coiffed—it looked as if she tried her best to do everything by herself.

But worst of all, when she heard the Baron Latimer’s daughter sadly tell Ethan how she wanted to at least catch a glimpse of her baby’s father…

It was precisely at that moment that Phoebe felt as if she was stabbed in the heart.

Poor Miss Delaney had braved the open disdain of people who were once her peers, all for a glimpse of the man who had ruined her and now refused to take responsibility.

Or could it be that the fault could be laid solely at Phoebe’s door all along?