Page 35 of The Duchess’ Second Chance

CHAPTER 17

Dear Amanda,

Time seems to go by so quickly. I just can’t believe it’s been ten days since your wedding! Or rather, since your second wedding…

The whole thing still feels like a bit of a fever dream even to me, so I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. To think that you are the Duchess of Mortridge now, and living in the home of a man you only just met! I do hope he’s treating you well, and that this letter has reached you without being investigated by any prying eyes…but I know what you’ll say when you read this. You’ll tell me that I’m being paranoid to even think of such a thing, and that, of course, no one would read your mail behind your back.

I hope that’s true!

Oh, perhaps I’m just concocting dramatic scenarios out of boredom, but the truth is that it’s been quite a while since anything so exciting and scandalous happened among the ton. To see a wedding disrupted by a man who wished to take the place of the groom…well, I feel in the limelight a bit by mere proximity to it all, for, of course, there’s something enticing about the fact that the person it happened to is my best friend. Everyone wants to know all the details, and they come to me with their questions. I don’t know when I’ve been the center of so much attention.

I know you think me foolish. Nothing even happened to me, and here I am acting as though my life is the one that’s been turned upside down by all this. You’re right. I am a fool.

But I write to you now to ask you about the Kensington Ball next weekend. I can only assume that you will be in attendance. After all, it’s the perfect opportunity for the two of you to display your new marriage to society and to make the impression you wish to make upon people. It will be quite the delicious event.

I look forward to seeing you there, and to hearing all about your new life as a duchess and a married lady!

Fondest regards,

Dorothy

Amanda folded the letter in half and set it on the edge of her vanity, frowning.

The Kensington Ball…

It happened every year at this time. She had attended before, and it was always good fun. But this year, of course, would be different from any year before, because Dorothy was perfectly right. The entire aim of attendance this year would have shifted. In the past, she had always gone with the hope of meeting men. After her marriage, when George had been away at war, she had not attended at all. It hadn’t seemed proper to do so.

But now, of course, she should go. It would make the right impression on people to show that she was getting along with her new husband, that all was well in their marriage.

Would he want to go with her, though?

She got to her feet and left her bedroom, heading for his study. Thoughts spiraled in her mind. How would she present the idea to him? What would she do if he said no? She didn’t want to create a situation in which he felt as though he had to take her anywhere. It wouldn’t be any fun at all if he felt beholden to her. But she had to admit that she did want to go.

She reached the study door and knocked.

“Come in,” he called.

She pulled open the door. He wasn’t at his desk, as she'd imagined he would be. Instead, he was pacing back and forth in front of it.

His shirt was buttoned up. His sleeves were rolled down. But still, the sight of him moving about the room reminded her viscerally of the moments they had spent together arranging the sitting room. The scars she had seen on his arms.

The conversation about George.

None of it had been sitting all that well with her since it had happened, and now, suddenly, it was at the forefront of her mind again. It was impossible to forget the way he’d talked about George, as if the two of them were such close friends…and as if George had spoken about Amanda constantly, desperate to ensure that she was cared for.

The more she thought about it, the less she was able to believe it.

It couldn’t be that George had devoted so much attention to thoughts of her while he was away at war. It didn’t make sense. She had liked him all right, but really, they had hardly known one another. It was easy to imagine a man at the front pining for the lady he’d left behind, but that wasn’t their story. They had never even shared a kiss. What was between them had been less than friendship. Potential, perhaps, but nothing real.

George could not have been so fixated on my well-being while he had the war to focus on. It doesn’t make sense.

The more she’d turned this thought over in her mind, the more sure she’d been that it was true.

She didn’t think Sampson was lying to her. Not exactly. But he couldn’t possibly be telling the whole truth, either, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

I think I can trust him. I think I know the kind of man he is, and he’s shown me nothing but kindness…and yet, why would he mislead me about George?

She cleared her throat. “Good afternoon,” she said to him.