Chapter 11
The library door opened abruptly, the sound of it breaking through the quiet with enough force to pull them back into awareness at once. Dorian did not know whether to feel grateful for the second interruption or furious.
A footman stepped inside hurriedly, clearly unaware of what he had walked in on.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said quickly, his eyes flicking between them. “More letters have just arrived. Several people have responded to your invitation to the ball, and we expect more people now than before.”
For a moment, no one responded.
Dorian remained where he was, one hand still resting near Anne, though they had put some distance between them the instant the door opened.
He knew that the ball would be a much-anticipated event, and he understood why people had not initially responded. He knew they would want to ensure that everything was settled first.
Anne rose to her feet, stepping away slightly as though distance alone could restore everything to normal. “Thank you. You may leave the letters on the desk. I shall handle it.” Her voice was steady enough to suggest nothing unusual had occurred at all.
The footman hesitated for a second, as though uncertain whether he had truly understood the situation, then bowed quickly and withdrew, closing the door behind him with more care than he had when he entered.
Silence returned immediately, but it no longer felt the same.
Dorian exhaled slowly, looking briefly toward the door before turning his attention back to Anne. Neither of them spoke at first, as though both were aware that anything said too soon would acknowledge something neither of them was ready to define.
“I should go,” Anne said quietly.
Dorian did not stop her, though his gaze followed her movements.
“Yes,” he replied after a moment. “You should.”
The pause that followed held more weight than the words themselves.
Anne reached the door before stopping, resting her hand lightly against the frame without turning back fully.
“It is late,” she added, as though reminding them both. “We should not be here like this. It is… it is not right.”
“No, it is not.”
She hesitated, then left. The door closed behind her with a soft finality that felt louder than intended.
* * *
The following two days passed without Dorian seeing much of his wife at all, but since she was planning a ball, he understood.
When they did see one another, he made no attempt to resume what had been interrupted. He did not mention the library, nor did he treat her differently, but he was more restrained. It made their conversations sharper, more careful, though neither of them seemed willing to explain why.
By the time the evening of the ball had arrived, Dorian was quite convinced that Anne had forgotten the night in the library. He envied her for that because he could not forget it.
She stood opposite him as they waited for their guests, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
She looked exquisite, and he was most pleased that he had given the seamstress carte blanche to make her as many gowns as she liked.
She deserved the very best, even if that was not what she tended to choose for herself.
He broke the silence first.
“You are unusually quiet,” he noted.
“Am I?”
“You are usually more inclined to correct me about things. Not only that, but I did not see you at the stables this morning, nor yesterday, for that matter.”
“I may be conserving my energy.”
That was a possibility, but Dorian rather thought that she had been avoiding him.
“For what purpose?”
“For surviving this evening,” she replied.
That coaxed a faint smile from him.
He knew how to handle such events, but then he had not been as well-behaved when they had hosted a small dinner, which he had decided was because he did not like the way his friend had passed judgment on him the way he had. There was no harm in it, but it had affected him all the same.
“It will not be that unbearable,” he assured. “You know what you are doing.”
Anne’s gaze lingered on him slightly longer than necessary before she answered, “You are either underestimating society or overestimating me.”
“I am very rarely wrong about society.”
“That sounds like something someone says immediately before being proven wrong.”
“Even if that is true, I am rarely wrong about you, and I have full confidence in you.”
He was trying to encourage her, but it was also true.
She was more than capable of hosting, as long as she trusted herself.
Once she had hosted her first event, he knew that she would enjoy herself, with the caveat that that night had to be perfect.
Fortunately, she had planned it to within an inch of its life.
Eventually, the guests arrived, and gradually, the halls filled with music and carefully curated conversations. Chandeliers cast warm light over the polished floors, and the sound of a string quartet drifted through open doors leading to adjoining rooms where guests gathered in smaller clusters.
Dorian offered his arm, and she took it without hesitation. The touch sent a shiver through him.
“You look as though you are bracing for battle,” he murmured as they moved into the ballroom.
“I am bracing for conversation,” she replied.
“Which is the same thing in some circles.”
They were barely ten minutes into the event when they were intercepted. Tristan was in attendance, dressed impeccably and already smiling as though he had been waiting specifically for this moment.
Dorian considered him a friend, but there were moments when he found him rather irritating.
“Dorian,” Tristan greeted, then glanced at Anne. “And Your Grace. What a beautiful night you have arranged.”
“Good evening, Lord Harrow.”
“Such formality,” Tristan sighed. “You may call me by my name, Your Grace. All of my friends do.”
“Are we friends?” Anne asked.
To Dorian’s surprise, she sounded almost belligerent.
“Why, of course we are. I would rather that than call you my friend’s wife. It is easier. Do you not agree?”
“I suppose so, yes.” She nodded.
Dorian placed a hand lightly on the small of her back, guiding her forward before Tristan could speak again. His friend had clearly arrived in one of his moods, and Dorian did not want to face it immediately.
“You certainly have a strange taste in friends,” Anne commented.
“I do,” he admitted. “I would not usually befriend men like him, but… well, he was good to me when I lost my sister. I cannot be cruel to someone who showed me such kindness.”
She did not answer, but she did not move away either.
Dorian was soon pulled into a discussion with investors and acquaintances who treated him as both a curiosity and an authority, while Anne drifted toward some ladies who no doubt wished to ask her about their marriage.
He told himself it was a relief to be among gentlemen, but it did not feel like it.
* * *
Anne wanted to enjoy her evening, but she was finding it difficult.
It was pleasant enough, but it was exhausting having to repeat the same story, especially since it was untrue.
She had read about people who fell in love the moment they looked at one another, but she had never believed in it, and she doubted that anyone believed her either, so it was most bizarre that she had to say it to begin with.
The doors to the terrace stood open, beyond which hung crescent-shaped lanterns. The sight was too inviting for her to ignore any further. She stepped outside, grateful for the respite.
She turned to the stairs leading down to the garden, not expecting anyone else to be there. But the moment she reached the bottom step, a voice called, “Your Grace.”
She turned at once, her eyes wide.
Lady Vivian Marlowe stood a short distance away beneath a lantern, positioned as though she had been waiting rather than wandering. The light caught in her dark green gown, and she moved forward with confidence, closing the space between them.
“I did not expect company,” Anne said evenly.
“I could say the same, though I suspect we are both aware that gardens at gatherings like this are rarely private.”
Anne inclined her head slightly. “Then I will not keep you from them.”
“That is kind,” Lady Vivian replied, though she did not step aside. “Only, I wish to speak with you briefly, if you do not mind. It is so rare to have a moment away from the noise inside.”
“Of course.”
Lady Vivian tilted her head slightly, as though considering how to begin, though Anne suspected the choice had already been made long before she had approached.
“I imagine marriage to His Grace has been something of an adjustment.”
At once, Anne knew where this conversation was headed. It was her first real judgment, and she had to handle it alone.
Fortunately, she knew how to do that perfectly well, even if she preferred not to be in such a situation.
“It has been manageable,” she replied.
“That is a careful answer,” Lady Vivian said softly. “Careful answers usually come from people who are still deciding how to feel.”
“Or from people who prefer not to offer strangers unnecessary details about their private lives.”
Faint amusement flickered across Lady Vivian’s expression, though it did not reach her eyes. “Of course. I would never assume anything. I am not one to intrude on the privacy of others.”
Yet she took another step closer. It was not enough to be improper, but enough to shift the dynamic between them.
“I have known Dorian for some time,” she continued, her voice light as though they were discussing the weather.
“Long before titles and expectations began to follow him more closely. He has always been… sought-after. Not intentionally, perhaps, but inevitably. Some men attract attention without effort, and they grow used to it in ways that are difficult to unlearn.”
“If you are suggesting that my husband is easily distracted—”
“I am not suggesting anything,” Lady Vivian replied gently.
“You and I both know your intentions. I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly happy in my marriage.”
Lady Vivian gave a small, almost sympathetic smile. “You are quite intelligent. I can see why he chose you.”
“Chose me?”
She blinked slowly, as though surprised by the reaction. “Forgive me, that was poorly phrased. One forgets how easily words can be misinterpreted.”
Anne held her gaze. “Then I suggest you choose yours more carefully.”
A pause followed, and for the first time, something in Lady Vivian’s expression shifted slightly—something less polished. Then, just as quickly, she smoothed it.
“To be honest with you, I do not think Dorian has ever been good at belonging to anyone for long,” she said more quietly.
“That is not an insult to either of you, of course. It is simply how he is. He enjoys people. He enjoys the attention that his charm attracts. It is part of what makes him so difficult to resist.”
“And yet he married me.”
Lady Vivian’s smile returned, though thinner this time. “Yes. He did.”
“If that is all, I should like to return inside.”
But Lady Vivian did not move. Instead, she studied Anne for a moment longer, as if reflecting.
“I wonder,” she said, her voice quieter, “whether you believe that means something different to him than it does to everyone else.”
Anne’s patience was wearing thin, but she was not going to be troubled by an unmarried young woman in her own home. “I believe it means what he intended it to mean.”
“And what do you believe he intended?” Lady Vivian asked.
“Do you want me to tell you something astonishing?” Anne said evenly. “It is a practical arrangement, and we respect one another as well as the sanctity of marriage, so we will not be crossing any boundaries within it. Either of us.”
“Practical,” Lady Vivian repeated softly, as though testing out the word. “Yes, I suppose that is one way to describe it.”
“If you are trying to unsettle me, you are wasting your time.”
“That was not my intention,” she said in a most insincere tone. “I simply find it difficult to watch people convince themselves that practical arrangements remain untouched by everything else that tends to follow them.”
“And what exactly tends to follow them?”
“People,” she said simply. “Their feelings and their attachments. You can’t outrun it all, no matter how hard you try.”
“I think,” Anne said quietly, “you are speaking from experience rather than observation now.”
For the first time, Lady Vivian’s smile faltered. Only slightly, but enough for Anne to know that she was right.
“Perhaps we all are.” Lady Vivian took a step back. “I do hope you enjoy your evening, Your Grace. It would be unfortunate if you did not.”
“Good evening, Lady Vivian.”
She turned away first, but as she walked back to the house, she was not as straight-spined as she had been when she arrived.
Anne remained where she was for a moment longer, the cool air settling around her as though it had only just begun to register what had been said.
When she returned to the ballroom, she lingered near the terrace doors, although she did not know why. Perhaps it was out of habit or avoidance, but she did not wish to study it.
Dorian stood near the edge of a small cluster of guests, though his attention was not on them. Lady Vivian was beside him, closer than Anne had seen anyone stand with him that evening. She leaned in, as though to whisper something meant for his ears alone.
Dorian’s expression shifted in response, and then he flashed the charm that was spoken of so much. He smiled, and not in a polite or formal way. It was effortless.
Anne felt something tighten in her chest before she could fully name it.
Lady Vivian said something else, almost intimate in the way she angled herself toward him.
Dorian listened without interrupting, his attention entirely focused on her for longer than Anne liked.
Then, as if the conversation had reached its natural conclusion, he nodded once and followed her out of the ballroom.
Anne did not move immediately. The lanternlight suddenly seemed dimmer, the night air sharper against her skin as she remained just inside, watching the space where they had been.
After a moment, she stepped back onto the terrace and headed back down to the darkened gardens. The cold felt appropriate.
For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to think something she had been carefully avoiding since the library, or perhaps since that ride in the morning. Since everything had begun to shift in ways she could no longer fully control.
She had thought things were changing between them, but it seemed she had misunderstood everything.