Chapter 5

Chapter Five

“ I cannot believe I’m doing this,” Alexandra sighed.

She stood beside her husband, her gloved hand resting lightly on his arm as they waited for someone to admit them into Lady Beatrice Portsfield’s townhouse.

Their smiles matched, wide and prepared to prove to everyone that they were a happy couple. They had done it before—pretending to be madly in love in front of the ton .

“Do you remember the plan?” Oliver murmured.

“Smile like a silly duck. Nod and agree even if I find what you say absolutely ridiculous. Look at you adoringly,” Alexandra whispered, her hand squeezing his arm hard, a fake smile plastered on her face.

“Please do not stab me with your fan again like you did at the Countess of Ermington’s.”

She smiled at him sweetly, batting her eyelashes as she said, “That was an accident, Your Grace.”

“Of course, it was.”

Before the couple could continue their conversation, the door swung open.

“How delightful to see you, Your Graces!” Lady Portsfield exclaimed, dressed up in her finery. The long feather in her hat threatened to poke anyone in the eye if they got too close. “I was right when I told the other ladies how beautiful and radiant you two look together.”

Oliver patted his wife’s hand in gentle warning, as if he’d heard the way her breath caught when the door opened.

He flashed Lady Portsfield a charming smile. “It’s wonderful to see you, Lady Portsfield. Thank you for your invitation. You look lovely as usual.”

“Flattery can get you everywhere in my house, Your Grace. Please come in.” Lady Portsfield, in her fifties and thrice married, giggled like a debutante.

“My husband is right. You are positively glowing, Lady Portsfield,” Alexandra agreed.

Oliver looked at her suddenly. It seemed that he was surprised she sounded sincere.

They followed Lady Portsfield to the parlor, where other ladies of the ton of various ages were enjoying tea.

Oliver groaned inwardly. Dealing with one lady was one thing. But dealing with a gaggle of chattering ladies was a challenge he and Alexandra had never faced before.

“It is said, Your Grace, that you prefer keeping Her Grace in the countryside—perhaps for the idyllic setting it offers. Rumor also has it that the two of you enjoy sequestering yourselves in such romantic retreats,” one of the ladies declared, sounding as if she had been bursting to say the words.

Alexandra frowned, but then she quickly plastered on a smile. She and Oliver had never done anything romantic. Even having tea together seemed slightly like a battle.

“Oh, you are right, Lady Celie. Only now I am ready to share her with the rest of the ton .”

The other women murmured in what felt like a mix of awe and envy. Alexandra thought that the reaction meant they would be saved from any further investigation.

She was wrong.

“So, how did you keep your love alive after having lived apart for quite some time?” asked Lady Celie, squinting at them through her pince-nez.

“Oh, yes! I also want to know,” Lady Portsfield agreed, nodding her head excitedly.

Despite her panic, Alexandra managed to answer, “By writing letters.”

However, her… dear husband , whom she would strangle once they were back home, said, “By visiting each other frequently.”

The ladies looked at Alexandra, then at Oliver, and then back again.

Oliver cleared his throat.

“We did both, to be frank,” Alexandra blurted, nodding enthusiastically just like Lady Portsfield. She heard her husband cough to hide his laughter, and it made her furious. “Lots of letters. Lots of visits.”

“Ah,” the ladies said in unison, fanning themselves.

Lady Portsfield, ever the curious hostess, leaned in closer, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. “And tell us, Your Grace, what was the most memorable gift His Grace has given you?”

“A beautiful sapphire necklace,” Alexandra replied without missing a beat.

“A new horse,” Oliver answered simultaneously, freezing as he realized his mistake.

Alexandra blinked rapidly, her smile tightening. “Oh yes! The necklace was for a special occasion, of course. But the horse was just… because he thought I needed the exercise.”

The ladies exchanged knowing looks, murmuring how thoughtful Oliver was, even if they seemed puzzled by the connection between the gifts.

Lady Portsfield clapped her hands together, thrilled by the show. “And what is His Grace’s favorite breakfast, Your Grace?”

“Porridge with honey,” Alexandra declared confidently.

“Ham and eggs,” Oliver said at the same time.

Alexandra shot him an exasperated look while the ladies tittered behind their fans.

Oliver gave her a sheepish grin and shrugged. “Well, it depends on the day. Doesn’t it, my love?”

“Yes,” she agreed, gritting her teeth. “His Grace’s tastes are quite… unpredictable.”

One of the younger ladies, Lady Evangeline, who had been eagerly sipping her tea, leaned forward with a playful grin. “And how did you spend your first anniversary?”

The question caught them both off guard, and they blurted out different answers yet again.

“We went to Bath for a lovely, quiet weekend,” Alexandra said.

Oliver, clearly not knowing when to shut his mouth, said with a grin, “We had a grand picnic in the countryside near the lake.”

Whispers broke out among the ladies.

Lady Portsfield’s eyes darted between the couple, her eyebrows raised in amused curiosity. “Oh, how charming! A picnic near a lake in Bath. Quite the inventive couple, aren’t you?”

Alexandra let out a strained laugh. “Yes, well… when you’re married to someone like the Duke of Westgrave, you have to keep things… exciting and creative.”

“Indeed,” Oliver added, squeezing her hand playfully. “It’s all about making memories, isn’t it, darling?”

Lady Portsfield beamed, oblivious to the subtle barbs exchanged between the couple. “You two are truly the epitome of a perfect match. I truly do not understand why there are any doubts about you two—you look ever so in love!”

Oliver squeezed Alexandra’s hand again, but this time she felt the warmth in the gesture, a silent acknowledgment of their ruse.

“Yes,” he said softly, looking at her. “We do make quite the pair, don’t we?”

Alexandra couldn’t help but smile, a genuine one this time, despite the desire to smack him once they left. “Oh, absolutely. We’re perfectly matched in every possible way.”

For now, they were safe, but what other questions could these ladies ask?

Thankfully, they spent the rest of the afternoon discussing safer topics and smiling when appropriate.

By the end of the visit, Alexandra realized that her husband was still holding her hand. The tension had somehow eased as the hours passed by.

Terrific performance .

“Your Grace, you and the Duke are a lovely couple,” Ellen had told Alexandra while helping her prepare for bed. “He is so handsome.”

Alexandra’s answering look had silenced the poor girl, but Ellen’s words had lingered in her mind.

What would Society see when she and her husband finally made a public appearance? The thought made goosebumps rise on her arms and her stomach flutter with something unfamiliar but not necessarily unwanted.

It was still dark when Alexandra slipped out of Oliver’s townhouse a week after she moved in with him. Ellen and her trunks had been transported to the three-story building, further emphasizing the enormity of this new arrangement. It made leaving and returning difficult, for not only was Oliver aware of Alexandra’s comings and goings, but also the servants seemed to be privy to everything.

This morning had been well-planned, at least in Alexandra’s mind.

Ellen was again anxious about her mistress sneaking out at dawn, although she seemed pleased that Alexandra was now living with her husband. The girl had read too many romance novels for her own good.

“We are n—” Alexandra caught herself before revealing too much.

Of course, Ellen might have some suspicions, but Alexandra knew she was playing a part. Perhaps it would be entertaining to play the happily married couple among the ton . However, she also had her plans to save her father—the same man who had thoroughly insulted her at Devil’s Draw.

That morning was the best time to leave the house because Oliver had left for a meeting the night before and would return late. Ellen would make excuses for her mistress, telling the other servants that she was indisposed and would remain in her room, so she alone could check on her.

Alexandra did not want to leave the house without Oliver’s knowledge. It felt like a betrayal, but her situation left her with no choice. Still, he had been mostly pleasant and had given her space. She was more worried about how she would react to his presence—probably like a simpering fool.

The carriage stopped at a market square, where Alexandra ordered Ted, the coachman, to wait for her. She walked into a dark alley where a small bachelor’s lodgings with ivy creeping up the walls stood between two others like it. What was different about this building was the nameplate on its door.

John Prescott, Professor of Music.

Alexandra was considering hiring one once she’d earned enough money and Oliver allowed her to return to the country, and perhaps live there alone in peace for the rest of her life.

Somehow, she did not feel as thrilled at the thought.

She knocked on the wooden door, barely breathing. She knew that what she was doing could do irreparable damage to her reputation. While she pretended she didn’t care how people felt about her, she still felt uneasy about being shunned. About ruining her husband’s reputation. About forever losing people’s affections. Her life was already as lonely as it could be.

“Come in,” a soft voice called out.

She exhaled and opened the door.

Meeting John was a dangerous necessity. However, as soon as she heard the strains of music coming from his piano, she calmed down.

His home was private and dimly lit as usual, and the sun had not yet risen. Alexandra inhaled the scent of candles and old sheet music as she wandered closer to the piano. Even in her cloak, she shivered a little.

“Good morning, John.”

“Alexandra! Or should I now say, Your Grace ?”

John Prescott, her former pianoforte teacher, was a handsome man in his late thirties. He was slender, with long fingers suited for playing the piano, and kind brown eyes.

He raised an eyebrow at her, perhaps wondering at the urgency of her visit and secrecy.

“Please John, call me Alexandra. My title stifles me, and I need to be myself while I am with my music.”

“No, Your Grace. I shan’t call you Alexandra again. Please make yourself comfortable,” John urged, gesturing to an ottoman inches away from the piano bench.

“Thank you,” Alexandra sat down primly, placing her clasped hands on her lap.

Under them was her portfolio case, ready to change hands. Her dark cloak made her look like a young widow about to come out of her mourning.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” John asked.

Alexandra gulped, her heart racing. Why was she nervous? She had been so determined up to that moment, but now, she felt like her heart had crawled all the way up to her throat.

After a long exhale, she declared, “I want to sell my music compositions.”