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Violet met her friend’s gaze, her green eyes unwavering. “I won’t beg him to come back, if that’s what you’re suggesting. This—whatever this is—must be resolved by him. I cannot force him to want this marriage. Nor would I want to.”

Daphne’s expression softened, her frustration giving way to concern. “Violet, I’m not saying you should beg. But surely, a little push in the right direction?—”

“No,” Violet interrupted, her voice firmer now. “Don’t you see? If I send someone to talk to him, if I try to persuade him to return, it will feel like I’m… holding onto something he doesn’t want. And I can’t do that. I won’t.”

Daphne was quiet for a moment. “You’re too good for him, you know that?”

Violet smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m not sure about that.”

“What if he never returns?” Daphne asked softly.

Violet’s chest tightened at the question, but she forced herself to meet her friend’s gaze. “Then I’ll manage.”

Daphne studied her for a long moment, then reached out to take her hand. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Violet.”

Violet squeezed her friend’s hand, grateful for the support. “I’m just trying to do what feels right.”

“Even if it breaks your heart?” Daphne asked quietly.

“Even then.”

Daphne sighed again, this time more resigned than frustrated. “Very well. I won’t involve Ambrose.”

“Thank you,” Violet said softly.

“But,” Daphne added, pointing a finger at her, “if he doesn’t come to his senses soon, I’ll take matters into my own hands. Don’t think I won’t.”

Violet chuckled despite herself, the sound light and almost foreign in her current state. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

“Good. Now, let’s rejoin the others. I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.”

Violet nodded, grateful for the moment of levity. She needed a distraction.

“Look who has decided to return to civilization!” Ambrose exclaimed as Nicholas arrived to his estate, as promised, the next day. “I had my doubts about you showing up, but it’s good to know that you’re a man of your word.”

“I always do what I’ve promised.” Nicholas arched a brow, stepping into the entry hall and handing his coat to a waiting footman. “Do not act so surprised.”

A laugh escaped his friend’s mouth. “No need to be this snappy, Nicholas.”

Nicholas shook his head, muttering something unintelligible.

But as they entered the drawing room, the easy banter died in Nicholas’s throat. His steps faltered, and he froze mid-stride. There, standing next to a group of guests, was Violet.

She did not notice their arrival for which he felt grateful. At the sight of her, it felt as though Nicholas’ heart had stopped.

He hadn’t seen her in over a week, and the sight of her hit him harder than he cared to admit. She looked thinner than before, her face more delicate, and there was a vulnerability in her eyes that hadn’t been there the last time they’d spoken.

His first instinct was to rush to her, to take her in his arms, and apologize for everything. But he couldn’t. He’d made his choice, and it wasn’t one he could undo so easily.

“Ambrose,” Nicholas said, his voice low and measured, “why, exactly, am I here?”

Ambrose turned to him with an exaggerated expression of innocence. “Why are you here? Why, Nicholas, you’re here for dinner, of course.”

“And you conveniently forgot to mention that Violet would be here.”

“Oh, did I?” Ambrose said. “How careless of me. Though, in my defense, it wasn’t my doing. My dear wife was responsible for extending the invitation.”

Nicholas clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Ambrose.”

Ambrose raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m merely an innocent bystander. This happened purely by coincidence.”

Nicholas’ first instinct was to leave. To turn around, walk out the door, and put as much distance between himself and Violet as possible. He knew he couldn’t trust himself around her.

But then he looked at her again. Truly looked at her. She was there, looking as lovely as ever. She seemed to be getting along fine without him by her side.

That stung.

Had she already adjusted to a life without? The thought alone hurt him more than he could have imagined.

He turned back to Ambrose. “I’m not staying.”

It was too painful to see her again.

“Oh, don’t be absurd,” Ambrose said, waving a dismissive hand. “You’ve already made the trip here. What kind of host would I be if I allowed you to leave before dinner?”

“I’m not hungry,” Nicholas said. He was about to turn on his heel and leave when movement caught his eye. His gaze sharpened as a tall figure approached Violet.

The gentleman inclined his head, his features marked by an easy confidence that immediately set Nicholas on edge.

“Is that the Duke of Devonshire?” Nicholas snapped at Ambrose.

Ambrose glanced toward the scene and nodded. “Yes, it is. I invited him, and he was kind enough to come.”

Nicholas’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

Ambrose smirked, seemingly beginning to catch onto what was happening. “Because he’s recently taken his title, and it seemed polite to include him in the fold.”

Nicholas said nothing, his gaze fixed firmly on the interaction unfolding before him.

Violet offered the Duke a polite smile, and they exchanged words he couldn’t quite hear from across the room.

But whatever was being said, it was enough to draw a soft laugh from her lips—a sound Nicholas hadn’t realized how much he missed until that moment.

It was too much for him.

He had half a mind to march up there, step between them, and make it abundantly clear that Violet was his wife. But he remained rooted to the spot, sulking in the realization that while she wore his name and title, she was not truly his.

And that, in large part, had been his own doing.

“What’s going on with you, chap?” Ambrose remarked, his voice annoyingly casual. “You seem a bit… troubled.”

Nicholas shot him a withering glare.

“You’ve been glaring at the poor man as if he’s committed some grave offense by existing in the same room as Violet,” Ambrose continued, laughing now.

“He might as well have,” Nicholas muttered, glancing back at the two of them.

They were still talking. What could he have to say that was so engaging?

“Oh, I think you’re being a bit much. He’s only chatting with her. It’s not as though he’s?—”

“Enough,” Nicholas snapped. He did not even wish to consider the possibility of anything else.

Ambrose raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just observing.”

Nicholas’ gaze returned to Violet. The Duke had moved slightly closer though still maintaining a polite distance. Violet nodded attentively at whatever he was saying.

The jealousy that flared in Nicholas was sharp and immediate. It was irrational, he knew, but knowing did little to temper the storm brewing inside him.

“I’m staying,” he muttered abruptly, his decision made.

Ambrose arched a brow. “Oh? And all it took was for Evan to strike up a conversation with your beloved?”

Nicholas’ lips curved into a humorless smile. “I’ve decided to torture myself, yes.”

Ambrose chuckled again, clearly amused by the unraveling of his typically composed friend. “Then I shall at least accompany you,” he nudged. “But between the both of us, I think you’re the better suited candidate for Violet.”

Nicholas glared at him. “There is no other candidate. I am her husband.”

“You say there’s no other candidate, but forgive me, old friend, your words hardly hold weight. You’ve chosen to live away from her.”

“I don’t need to discuss my choices again.”

“Oh, but you do,” Ambrose said, his tone maddeningly light. “You see, a husband in name only doesn’t get to act jealous when another man so much as glances at his wife.”

He had not asked to deal with any of this.

“I need air,” he growled, cutting the conversation short.

His boots thudded heavily against the floor as he turned on his heel and made his way toward the balcony doors, his mind a tangle of frustration and self-loathing. He needed to breathe, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room—and her.

Just before he departed fully, his gaze went to her again. But this time, as if drawn by an invisible force, her eyes lifted and met his as well.

Her lips parted slightly, a small gasp escaping her. The world seemed to halt, the noise of the gathering fading to nothing. Her hand rose to clutch the edge of the mantelpiece for support.

Then it happened.

Violet’s face lost its color, her knees buckling slightly as she swayed forward. Before Nicholas could move, Evan stepped forward, his hand outstretched to steady her.

That was the final straw. It ignited something primal within Nicholas. Every rational thought evaporated, replaced by a sharp, possessive instinct that propelled him across the room.

“Get your hands off my wife.”

The entire room seemed to freeze. Conversations halted mid-sentence, heads turning as guests strained to catch sight of the unfolding drama. Evan straightened, his hand hovering inches from Violet’s arm as he turned to face Nicholas, his expression a mixture of confusion and irritation.

“I was just…”

But before he could say another word, Violet’s knees buckled, and she fell to the floor.