Page 36 of The Duchess’ Second Chance

He nodded, ceasing his pacing so that he could face her directly. “Good afternoon. Was there something you required?”

“Not…required.” She bit her lip. “I just received a letter from Dorothy, and she reminded me that the Kensington Ball is coming up.”

“Should I be familiar with that?”

“Perhaps not,” she realized. “It’s an annual affair, but I’m not certain when the tradition began—it may have been while you were away. But at any rate, Dorothy wondered whether I meant to attend.”

“And do you?”

“It occurred to me that society might have certain expectations,” she said. “After all, we’ve just married, and this is the first significant event to take place since then. People will be curious about our first appearance in society. They’ll want to see us together, to see how well our marriage is functioning.”

He eyed her. “Do you feel that we owe people such a thing?”

“I feel that it’s going to happen whether we’re present or not,” she said. “If you don’t wish to attend, that’s all right, but at the very least we ought to make a conscious decision about what we want to do. Whether or not we want to make an appearance.”

“It sounds to me as if you do want that,” he said.

“I only wanted to talk to you. And for you to be honest with me.”

“Have I ever been dishonest with you?”

That was the real question. She just couldn’t shake the thought that the answer was yes—that he had been dishonest about something to do with George. But since she couldn’t put her finger on what it was, she could hardly make an accusation. “I’m not saying you have,” she assured him. “I’m just saying…if you’d like to go to the ball, tell me, but if you wouldn’t like to you can say that too. I won’t mind.”

“Will you go if I don’t?” he asked.

She shook her head. “That would certainly make the wrong impression,” she said. “And…well, I’m sure my father will be there. I don’t put too much stock in what society thinks, but if he sees me there and thinks he’s seeing a sign of a failure in our relationship already, he won’t let me hear the end of it. I don’t want to have to confront all that.”

“You won’t have to,” Sampson assured her. He went to his desk and sat down. “You’re right. We should make the right impression. And you certainly shouldn’t have to face your father alone now that you have a husband to stand by your side. We will attend this ball, and we will do so together.”

She was surprised. She hadn’t expected the decision to be made so quickly or so easily. In fact, if she was perfectly honest with herself, what she’d really thought was that he would decide they shouldn’t go. She had been ready to accept that decision.

This was a surprise, and it was the reason she couldn’t write him off even when she suspected that he wasn’t being forthcoming about something. There was a hole in his story about George—that much was true. But there was no reason he had to acquiesce to her desire to go to Kensington, and he’d done so all the same. Whatever else his story might be, it did contain an element of truth—for some reason, he wanted to see to her needs and to make her happy.

I would be a fool to ignore such a thing, even if the reason he’s given doesn’t quite add up.

“All right, she said after a moment’s consideration. “We’ll go, then.”

He nodded. “Do you have everything you need? Do you require a new gown for the occasion?”

She flushed. “You’ve really done more than enough just by agreeing to go with me.”

“Still, a duchess should have something new,” he mused. “I’ll write to the modiste and have something made. I’ll send your measurements over.”

She stared. “How is it you have my measurements?”

“I had one of the maids measure a few of your garments. The numbers are consistent.” He shrugged. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that I thought a situation like this one might arise—and it seems that I was right.”

“So you were,” she agreed. “I suppose I can’t be angry.”

“Do you have any requests for your gown?”

“Lavender, perhaps?”

“I’ll put that in the letter,” he said. “Don’t worry, Amanda. We’ll see to it that you have something lovely, and we’ll make a wonderful impression at this event, just as we ought to.”

“I’m not worried.” At least, not about that. It wouldn’t have been quite right to say that she wasn’t worried at all. There was something in all this that left her uneasy and unsure, more so than she had felt since the day of the wedding itself.

It was just that Sampson was such a puzzle. As much as she had grown to like him, as much as she had always felt happy and safe in his presence, she still knew that there was something he wasn’t telling her—something about George, or about the reason he had chosen to marry her. The story didn’t quite add up.