She was not going to be a martyr. She had entered this marriage without pretense or romantic expectations, as had Carter. It was not his fault that her feelings had so quickly and so deeply become engaged.

Though she supposed overall he could be less charming, less attractive, less appealing.

As if that would matter. The sad truth was that Dorothea knew she would love him no matter what the circumstances. Why, even at this moment, feeling hurt, angry, and frustrated, she still loved him. Though she didn’t like him all that much.

“Please give my warmest regards to Viscount Benton,” Dorothea said softly as she stood.

“I’m sure he will be delighted that you sought to remember him.”

This time Carter spoke kindly, as if he were trying to soften the blow, but his abrupt dismissal of her stung.

Oh, my, how things had changed so quickly. The easy banter and camaraderie they had developed over the past few weeks had indeed been left behind in the country.

Yet knowing she had said all that she could on the matter, she turned and left, closing the sitting room door behind her. In a childish fit of temper, her hand fumbled to find a key, for she dearly would have enjoyed loudly locking the door. But alas, even that gesture was denied her, for none was to be found.

Despite her lonely night, Dorothea’s optimistic spirit returned the following morning. Unfortunately, it did not last long. At breakfast she discovered her husband had already left the house and was not due to return until late afternoon. He again abandoned her in the evening, but encouraged her to accept one of the many invitations that had been sent.

Not wanting to spend another lonely night in her rooms, Dorothea sent a message to Lord and Lady Dardington and asked to be included in their theatre party. A seat was easily found for her in the marquess’s box. Though inwardly distressed, she spent the evening smiling so broadly that by the time she reached home her face hurt from the efforts.

By the third day in London she and her husband settled into a pattern that alternately frustrated and angered her.

The house was very large and she saw the duke infrequently, which pleased her. Alas, she also saw her husband infrequently, and that did not please her one bit. She understood that Carter had duties, responsibilities. She did not begrudge him those hours when he attended to matters of business, when he met with members of his political party, for he had begun to show a more active interest in the House of Lords. But she also knew he spent a great deal of time with his friends, engaging in the same pursuits he enjoyed before they had married. And that she did resent.

Her new status as the Marchioness of Atwood put her in great social demand. The invitations poured in, so many in fact that a secretary was hired to help her cope with the voluminous correspondence. Remembering well the lesson learned with Mrs. Snidely, Dorothea strove not to show favoritism to any one family or hostess. She therefore tried to accept as many invitations as possible, often attending three or even four events in one evening.

Regrettably, she did this for the most part without her husband. She knew it was the way of many society couples, but not all, and certainly not those that were newly married. On the rare occasion she accidentally encountered Carter at a ball or party, he would ask her to dance, make her smile with his witty observations, then graciously depart.

He always seemed pleased to see her, yet it was also apparent he had no qualms about leaving her. He did not deplore her company, nor did he seek it, even when he was at home. Worst of all, her courses had started, preventing them from engaging in a physical closeness.

Dorothea was frustrated with what she felt was the unnatural state of her marriage, especially at this early stage. She and Carter ran their lives on a parallel but separate course.

Within a few days, Dorothea grew tired of the endless social whirl. It was simply not as entertaining without Carter by her side. She toyed briefly with the idea of forsaking the parties and staying home at night, but feared she would become lonely shut away in her rooms with only a book or her embroidery to keep her company.

Unfortunately she was not even allowed to suffer this neglect in privacy, for these antics did not go unnoticed by the duke. Dorothea might have limited contact with her imposing father-in-law, yet it seemed every time she did see him he was quick to offer an unwanted comment.

Tonight was no exception. As she reached the landing on the center staircase, the duke appeared from the opposite wing. Dorothea blinked. Had he been lying in wait for her? It seemed so blatantly absurd, and yet his timing was too perfect for this to be mere happenstance.

“Where are you off to tonight?” the duke asked.

Dorothea tried to ignore his scrutinizing glare, but it was difficult. She always squirmed so desperately inside when he studied her, for it felt as if he was judging her, measuring her worth. Measuring and concluding she was worth very little.

“Lady Halifax is hosting a charity ball at Almack’s.”

“Will my son be there?”

“Probably not. He has no great affection for Lady Halifax or her charitable efforts.”

One corner of the duke’s mouth eased slightly upward. Most would consider it a hint of a smile. Dorothea knew better.

“Who is your escort?” he wanted to know.

“The major.”

“Again? I vow you see more of him than your husband.”

She snapped her gaze up to his, trembling, yet determined to hide the wound inflicted by the truth of his words. “That is hardly my choice.”

The duke grunted with impatience. “A clever woman knows how to keep a man by her side. And in her bed. I want to hold my heir in my arms before I die, young lady.”

“Then I advise you to watch your health most carefully, Your Grace, to ensure that you live for many, many years.” Reaching down, Dorothea gathered the skirt of her gown by her fingertips and held it above her evening slippers to prevent herself from tripping. The gesture also helped conceal the trembling of her hands. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’m certain the major has arrived. I do not wish to be rude and keep him waiting.”

Dismissing the duke, she moved past him, ignoring the prickling sensation she felt on the nape of her neck. She glided down the main staircase gracefully, her head high, her back straight. Roddy, bless his heart, was indeed waiting in the front foyer and she practically fell into his arms.

She heard the duke’s deep, commanding voice call to her, but she kept moving, her mind focused on escaping. For a few hours at least, she was determined to forget the unhappy state of her circumstances.

Major Roddington’s heels clicked on the polished marbled floor as he paced impatiently in the foyer. He had been told Lady Atwood would be down shortly and been asked to wait. Normally he wouldn’t have minded, but being kept out of the private rooms of this particular house gnawed at his gut. It was a stark reminder of how he had failed to complete his task, of how the passing of time was only making this more difficult, more challenging.

Lady Atwood suddenly appeared, a tight smile of greeting on her face. Above her, Roddy could hear a voice of masculine discontent.

“Is that Lord Atwood shouting at you?” he asked.

“No, it’s the duke.”

She gestured toward a footman, who held out a silk evening cloak, but Roddy was no longer paying attention to her. At the sound of that same, low masculine voice, his head swung toward the landing and he felt a sudden, quick explosion of emotions. Close. He was so close.

He glanced up. At the sight of the elderly man clutching the banister with outstretched arms and frowning with such clear disapproval, a coldness like he had never felt seeped into Roddy’s bones. Oh, he had seen the duke before, but always from a great distance or in a very crowded room. This was the first time since he was a lad of fifteen that he had been so near the all-powerful Duke of Hansborough.

The temptation was almost too great. Yet Roddy straightened, his inner discipline overtaking his impulsive inclination to rush up the staircase and have his say. Now was not the time for confrontation.

“He sounds angry,” Roddy commented.

“I believe that is his normal tone.” She tugged on her evening gloves and hastened toward the door. “Shall we?”

Roddy’s eyes narrowed. He had come to know a bit about Dorothea over these last few days and he found her to be a pleasant, congenial woman. Her stiff, formal reticence was clearly out of character and obviously caused by the duke.

He escorted her silently from the house and assisted her into the carriage, then waited until the vehicle had rounded the corner before speaking. “Did you have a disagreement with the duke?”

She glanced over at him, her face pale in the moonlight. “His Grace finds much at fault with me. I fear the only way I shall ever gain his true approval is to present him with a grandson.”

She blushed and Roddy realized she felt embarrassed at discussing something so intensely personal with a man who was not her husband. It made him feel like a real cad for even bringing the subject up.

“Well, I hope you present him with a whole pack of boys, each as sour-tempered as his grandfather.”

She smiled, as he intended, and they let the matter drop. But the incident made Roddy start to wonder. Where was Atwood tonight? Why wasn’t he there to defend his bride, to shelter her from the duke’s barbs?

They were newly married, yet as far as Roddy could tell, Atwood spent most of his time away from his wife. He had seen him at Tattersall’s yesterday, the boxing club the day before, and a local gaming hell last night.