Page 14

“ D id you see the note from Lady Bingham, Your Grace?” Agnes asked, adjusting Selina’s bonnet as the carriage rolled through London’s busy streets.

“Yes, this morning. Such wonderful news about little Lily’s arrival,” Selina replied, smoothing her gloves. “Isabella must be overjoyed to have a daughter after her son.”

Agnes smiled, tucking a stray pin into Selina’s golden hair. “A lovely name, Lily, isn’t it, Your Grace? Delicate but strong.”

“Like Isabella herself.” Selina glanced out the window as the carriage slowed. “Ah, we’ve arrived.”

Bond Street bustled with activity, with carriages lining the fashionable shopping district and elegantly dressed ladies moving from shop to shop.

Selina stepped down with the footman’s help, Agnes following close behind.

“Which shop shall we try first, Your Grace?” Agnes asked, her eyes wide at the array of establishments.

“Madame Laurent’s first, I think. Her baby linens are renowned for their quality.”

The shop bell tinkled as they entered the draper’s establishment. The scent of fresh fabric and lavender sachets filled the air. A plump woman with graying hair hurried forward, her face lighting with recognition.

“Your Grace! What an honor to welcome you to my humble shop.”

“Thank you, Madame Laurent. I need a gift for a friend who has just welcomed a baby girl.”

The shopkeeper clasped her hands. “How fortuitous! I’ve just received the loveliest shipment of infant gowns from France. The embroidery is exquisite.”

Selina followed Madame Laurent to a table where several tiny garments lay displayed. The delicate white gowns, with their intricate stitching and ribbon trim, were indeed beautiful.

“This one, I think,” Selina said, touching a gown adorned with tiny roses. “And perhaps that blanket with the matching embroidery.”

“An excellent choice, Your Grace.” Madame Laurent carefully wrapped the items in tissue paper. “May I show you our new selection of shawls as well? Perfect for a new mother.”

While Agnes admired some ribbons nearby, Selina examined the selection of shawls. Her fingers lingered on a soft cashmere in pale blue.

“This will suit Isabella perfectly,” she decided. “She always favors blue.”

As Madame Laurent wrapped the gifts, Selina found her gaze drawn to a display of baby caps, each one small enough to fit in her palm. Without meaning to, she picked one up, marveling at its size and softness.

“Would you like to include one of those as well, Your Grace?” Madame Laurent asked.

Selina hesitated, a sudden wistfulness washing over her.

Would she ever hold her own child? Feel the weight of an infant in her arms, watch tiny fingers grasp at the world?

With her first husband, motherhood had been an impossibility. And now, with Rowan keeping his distance…

“No, thank you,” she said, setting the cap down. “The gown, blanket, and shawl will be sufficient.”

“Very good, Your Grace. Shall I have these delivered?”

“Yes, please. To the Bingham country home in Surrey.” Selina provided the address and paid for her purchases.

As they prepared to leave, Madame Laurent smiled. “I hope we might see you again soon, Your Grace. Perhaps for items of a more… personal nature someday.”

The woman’s meaning was clear, and Selina felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Perhaps. Good day, Madame Laurent.”

Outside, the spring sunshine seemed overly bright after the shop’s dimness. Agnes adjusted her shawl as they stepped onto the street.

“Shall we visit the bookshop next, Your Grace? You mentioned wanting the new volume of poetry by Lord Byron.”

Before Selina could answer, a trio of ladies approached, their elaborate hats bobbing like ships in full sail.

“Your Grace! What a surprise to find you shopping today,” called the leader, a thin woman with a permanently pinched expression—Lady Eldwick, if Selina recalled correctly, one of the ton’s most notorious gossips.

“Lady Eldwick,” Selina acknowledged with a polite nod. “Good afternoon.”

“We heard you and the Duke had returned to London,” Lady Eldwick continued, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “So soon after your marriage. Is Aldermere not to your liking?”

“Aldermere is lovely, but my husband has business in town,” Selina replied, keeping her voice neutral.

“Of course, business,” echoed one of Lady Eldwick’s companions with a meaningful look at the others. “Men are forever consumed by their… business.”

Lady Eldwick tilted her head. “We must have you for tea, Your Grace. I’m simply dying to hear how married life suits you. After such an unusual courtship, one wonders how you’ve adjusted.”

The words were polite, but their underlying meaning stung. These women wanted gossip, not friendship. They hoped for confirmation of the rumors that swirled around her marriage.

“How kind,” Selina said. “Unfortunately, I have several appointments today. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.”

“Of course,” Lady Eldwick smiled thinly. “Another time, perhaps. Do give our regards to His Grace!”

Selina nodded and moved past them, Agnes following in her wake. She could feel their stares boring into her back, could almost hear the speculation that would begin the moment she was out of earshot.

“Horrible women,” Agnes muttered once they were safely beyond hearing. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace.”

“No apology needed,” Selina replied. “You merely said what I was thinking.”

Proceeding down Bond Street, they passed numerous displays of luxury items. Selina paused before a jeweler’s window, her attention caught by a display of rings.

“Shall we go in, Your Grace?” Agnes asked.

Selina shook her head. “No, I’ve spent enough today.” She turned away, but not before noticing a sapphire pendant that reminded her of Rowan’s eyes when he had kissed her at the opera.

The memory brought a confused mix of emotions—anger at his subsequent coldness, embarrassment at her own eager response, and beneath it all, a traitorous flicker of desire that refused to be extinguished.

“Let’s call for the carriage,” she said abruptly. “I think I’ve had quite enough of shopping for one day.”

The gifts for Isabella and her newborn daughter had reminded her sharply of what she might never have.

A loving husband. Children. A true family rather than the cold arrangement she currently endured.

Selina straightened her shoulders, composing her features into the serene mask she had perfected since her marriage. Whatever private pain she carried, the world would not see it.

She was Duchess of Aldermere now, and she would play her part with dignity.

“Your Grace,” Agnes said softly as the ducal carriage approached. “Lord Penderwick is coming this way.”

Selina turned, her carefully composed mask threatening to slip. Matthew Colfield, Viscount Penderwick, hurried toward them from the opposite side of Bond Street, his round face breaking into a look of surprised recognition.

“Lady Galerton! I mean, Your Grace.” Matthew Colfield, Viscount Penderwick, executed a formal bow. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Lord Penderwick.” Selina nodded, acutely aware of the curious glances from passersby. “How are you?”

“Well enough, thank you.” His eyes held a trace of remorse as they met hers. “London agrees with you. You look quite radiant.”

The compliment was sincere, devoid of the hidden barbs that characterized most social interactions. Despite everything, Selina found herself smiling.

“Thank you. You look well yourself.”

“Mother insisted I order new waistcoats for the season.” Matthew tugged self-consciously at the forest green fabric. “Too ostentatious, I fear.”

“Not at all. The color suits you.”

Agnes stepped discreetly away to signal a hackney, leaving them in relative privacy on the crowded sidewalk.

“I never properly apologized,” Matthew said, lowering his voice. “For the way things ended. I fear… I fear that I acted quite cowardly.”

Selina felt a rush of appreciation for his honesty. “There is no need for apologies. Everything worked out as it was meant to.”

“You’re very generous.” His expression brightened. “Are you and the Duke attending the Rutherford ball next week? I hear it’s to be the event of the season.”

Before Selina could answer, a sharp voice cut through their conversation.

“Matthew! There you are.” Lady Penderwick appeared at her son’s elbow, her critical gaze sliding over Selina with barely concealed distaste. “We have an appointment with the tailor in fifteen minutes.”

“Mother, you remember the Duchess of Aldermere,” Matthew said, gesturing toward Selina.

Lady Penderwick offered the barest nod. “Indeed. Your Grace.”

“Lady Penderwick,” Selina replied with equal coolness. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Matthew, we must go.” Lady Penderwick took her son’s arm with unmistakable possessiveness. “Lord Harlow is expecting us, and it would be most improper to keep him waiting.”

Matthew hesitated, clearly embarrassed by his mother’s behavior. “Of course. Your Grace, it was a pleasure.”

“Likewise, Lord Penderwick.” Selina maintained her composure as Lady Penderwick practically dragged her son away, though she noted with some satisfaction that Matthew glanced back with an apologetic smile.

Agnes returned to her side. “The carriage will be here momentarily, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Agnes.”

As they waited, Selina reflected on the encounter. Although there was no lingering affection for Matthew, their brief exchange had reminded her of what respectful interaction felt like.

How long had it been since anyone had looked at her without calculation or judgment?

The ducal carriage arrived, and they settled inside for the quick journey home.

Selina gazed out the window at the fashionable shops and elegant townhouses, wondering what Rowan was doing at that moment.

The memory of their kiss at the opera floated unbidden into her mind, bringing with it a confused tangle of emotions. Anger at his subsequent coldness. Embarrassment at her own eager response.

And beneath it all, a traitorous flicker of desire.

She pushed the thoughts away as the carriage turned onto their street.