Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

“ I will come with you to the opera,” Oliver declared as he entered the Duchess’ chambers. “Might as well, as I am now dressed for it.”

He vowed to give his wife some space. He needed to be away from her, anyway. However, he found it difficult to do so when he discovered her plans to attend the opera.

He saw her deep frown and Ellen’s confused expression in the mirror in front of them.

Indeed, he was dressed up, his black tailcoat hanging over his breeches comfortably.

Alexandra ran her eyes over his clothes, from his cravat to his shoes. Then, she looked back at her reflection in the mirror. She wore a purple evening gown with an empire waist and gloves that covered her arms.

“You do not have to, Your Grace,” she said calmly, although there was nothing calm about the expression on her face.

“But I will. Ellen, open the drawer in front of you—you’ll find the amethyst and diamond necklace there. Put it around your mistress’s neck. It will look wonderful with her gown.”

The maid quickly complied. She seemed delighted to put such beautiful and expensive jewelry on Alexandra.

“Just because you’ve gifted me this jewelry, as beautiful as it is, doesn’t mean you have to accompany me, Your Grace,” Alexandra said, but she seemed distracted with the amethyst heart pendant.

She traced it with her fingers as if hypnotized by it.

“It is another opportunity for us to be seen together in public, Duchess. I want people to know you are my wife.”

“Ellen, please leave us.” Alexandra’s voice had become weary.

“Yes, Your Grace,” the maid said and scurried away, closing the door behind her.

Alexandra turned to face her husband. “We will attend the opera together, but remember that eventually, I will back to the countryside. All that we have are lies, and I cannot keep on lying.”

“All?”

“Perhaps not all. You have proven to be more decent than I thought you to be. You’ve given me everything I could ever need. However, we cannot get past the real purpose of our marriage.”

Oliver frowned. It seemed as though she could not get past it.

It had been a while since Oliver had been to the opera. The times he had gone, it was often with his sister Catherine and her husband Thomas.

When they arrived at the opera house, he immediately spotted the other couple.

“Oh, finally! I thought you were planning to hide your wife forever, Oliver,” Catherine teased, playfully pointing her floral fan at her brother.

“Good evening, Sister. Newden,” Oliver greeted, ignoring her comment.

With these public appearances, Oliver found an excuse to tuck Alexandra’s hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Ignore your sister, Oliver. She is simply curious about you two,” Thomas explained with a smile.

Oliver wondered how quickly word of his outing with Alexandra had spread.

“I understand, Newden. Remember that I knew your wife for several years before you met her,” he replied teasingly.

“Of course,” Thomas agreed, lifting his wife’s gloved hand gently to kiss her knuckles.

Catherine giggled delightedly, while Alexandra stiffened against Oliver’s arm. Oliver rubbed her arm with his other hand. It was meant to comfort her, and judging by the way her body relaxed, it worked.

Not long after meeting with his sister and her husband, Oliver felt another shift in his wife’s mood. She was responsive, making him think of other ways he could make her even more so. He reminded himself that they were in public and that he should not be thinking of her that way.

He let himself be lulled by the beautiful music. It reminded him of more innocent days.

Alexandra was just as or even more engrossed in the performance. She did not even notice that he’d wrapped his arm around her. Oliver could not help it. She was soft against his hard body, a contrast he was growing to enjoy.

With them sitting so close, it almost felt like they had a real marriage. It was a frightening prospect that Oliver had been entertaining of late.

During the intermission, he guided his wife to the lobby to greet acquaintances or to simply be seen. While some wealthy patrons preferred staying in their private boxes, Oliver thought that it would be good to use the time to show everyone that they were a happily married couple.

“John,” Alexandra uttered suddenly.

Who was John? Oliver followed her gaze and saw a man a few years older than himself walking toward them.

His curiosity was piqued. Who was this man? Was he the kind of man his wife sought?

John was the opposite of him, and perhaps it was why his wife had never been impressed with him.

“Your Grace.” The man’s voice was barely a whisper, but it sounded like an explosion in Oliver’s head.

There was nothing improper about it, but the warmth and familiarity in the man’s voice made Oliver ball his hands into fists—he didn’t like it one bit.

“Mr. Prescott,” Alexandra responded, with a slight nod. “Your Grace, Mr. John Prescott was my music teacher. Mr. Prescott, this is my husband, the Duke of Westgrave.”

“Pleasure, Mr. Prescott,” Oliver offered in a cold tone.

“Likewise, Your Grace,” John responded with a slight bow.

“How did you find the first acts and the overture?” Alexandra asked.

She was outwardly calm, but Oliver noticed her fingers playing with the pendant of her necklace. Her back had also become ramrod straight.

“They were marvelous. However, I can think of a few pieces that could add to the emotions in the story.”

“Perhaps something that starts with a good melody and descends into madness?” she asked, sounding breathless.

“Perhaps,” John demurred, his gaze fixed on her.

It was as if Oliver was not there at all.

His ears perked up at Alexandra’s choice of words. Why were these two discussing what pieces the opera should have? Why did it seem like they knew exactly what the other was saying?

His blood ran cold. He prayed that he would not lose his temper and make a scene.

“That sounds like something you’ve played for me before, Duchess,” he commented, stressing the final word. “That first time you played in the townhouse.”

“It does, does it not?” Alexandra turned to him with a smile, but it was strained, as it did not reach her eyes.

“Oh, and Mr. Prescott? Perhaps you should compose music, since you find it such a fascinating subject,” Oliver could not help but sneer.

At this point, the other man seemed calm, and it grated on Oliver’s nerves. He wondered if Alexandra was playing one of John’s compositions. He could still remember the passion she had put into it, and it made him want to rip off his cravat.

“Ah, no. My passion lies in the academic realm. However, I can appreciate and recognize raw talent. I’ve also learned how to identify what is missing in some pieces or performances.”

“Have you seen my wife perform?” Oliver’s tone was suggestive, emphasizing the last word, and Alexandra looked up at him in surprise.

John did not seem affected by it.

“In fact, I have. She is a wonderful pianist, just like her late mother.”

Oliver’s grip on his wife’s arm tightened. She would not even fight him. She did pull away from him, making him wonder if John’s presence emboldened her. He thought it was proof that she was guilty of something.

“How long have you known each other?” he demanded.

“Enough to know that she can play well. I teach music, after all.” John glanced at him warily.

There was something in his eyes that Oliver could not read. He was certain the man had not seen anyone glance at him that way.

“You teach music and nothing else?” Oliver prodded, steam almost coming out of his ears.

“Nothing else,” John replied solemnly. “It is a good enough source of income for someone with no wife and children.”

Oliver tucked those details away for later. His wife had been thrilled to see another man—an unmarried, unattached man—at the opera.

Alexandra had originally wanted to go alone. She played the piano with passion, and the gentle-looking music teacher shared that passion. He might seem mild at the moment, but what was he like with Alexandra?

A muscle ticked in Oliver’s jaw, and the next words that John and Alexandra exchanged no longer registered. He put his hand on the small of her back and applied some pressure. He could swear he heard a soft whimper, but there was no complaint.

“I shall leave you to enjoy the rest of the opera and the evening, Your Graces.” John bowed politely. “I believe the next act is about to begin.”

“Will you be going back to company?” Alexandra asked.

Oliver’s lips thinned. Was his wife jealously wondering whether her former music teacher had come with a woman?

“My friend is waiting for me,” John answered, although a strange emotion laced his words.

It could not have been shame. Why would it be?

The music master seemed to be a little uneasy for once, and it gave Oliver some satisfaction. But as he watched his wife staring at John’s retreating figure with parted lips, another dark emotion reared its ugly head.

It was jealousy, was it not? Fierce and hot and overwhelming. Oliver was unfamiliar with the feeling, but it seemed clear as a cloudless sky that it was what was bothering him.

“You seemed familiar with him,” he remarked as casually as he could muster.

Alexandra blinked. Then, she finally turned her gaze back to him. “He was my music instructor. So, we worked closely together.”

“Worked closely together, you say?” he asked, twisting the words.

“Yes. Piano requires quite intensive practice, Your Grace.”

If she found his words offensive, she did not show it. There might have been a slight tremor in her fingers, but it could have been his imagination.

“Would I know what it is like to… work closely with you, now that you are in London?” he asked, looking down at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I suppose.”

“You sound uncertain.”

“Your Grace, remember that you’re the one who decided to leave me in a country house miles away from you.”

She was right. Oliver could have chosen to get to know her, but he had merely thought her a nuisance. If she had grown closer to other men, it would no longer be her fault. Not entirely, anyway.

He looked away from her, and the two returned to their box. Yet, the tension hung heavy between them.

At the moment, he did not feel like sitting close to her. He angled his body away from her as he watched the next act.

It was the beginning of turmoil in the opera, but it had already spread all over his body.