Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

E ven Later that Afternoon, The Duke of Grovemont’s Music Room

Gemma was playing the pianoforte when her husband came home. She had no idea where he’d gone or what he was up to. And frankly, she didn’t much care. She only hoped wherever he’d been, he’d spent time contemplating the two choices she’d left him with. She already knew how she would handle the divorce.

First, she would hire a solicitor. One who would assist her not only with the legal aspects, but one who could explain the details to Griffin and Mama. They wouldn’t like it, but they would see reason after she explained how unhappy she was in her marriage and how unfairly she’d been treated by her husband. Griffin and Mama loved her. They wanted her to be happy. They would understand once they had a chance to consider it all for a while.

Next, she would convince Grovemont to agree to the divorce. Of course, it would also be the most difficult part. The man was an ass, and he particularly disliked anything that made him or his family look bad. A divorce would be especially appalling to such a man. But she would just have to make him see that a divorce, especially one she was quite willing to assume the blame for, would be far less embarrassing than having his wife go about telling anyone who would listen what an awful husband he was. She didn’t relish doing such a thing, but she would if it was the only way to convince him to comply. Hopefully, it would embarrass him more to have his wife traipsing around town speaking ill of him than to grant her a divorce for crimcon. Of course, indicating that the marriage had never been consummated would probably be best. Time would tell which option he preferred.

Finally, after Grovemont agreed to the divorce, she would go to Griffin’s estate in the country for a year or two. Just until the scandal died down. Time healed many scandals. By the time she returned, there would be some other scandal, and everyone would forgive and forget her little indiscretion. After all, as long as she wasn’t in search a new husband, no one would care much what she did. At least that was what she would have to tell herself to get through this plan because, otherwise, she might lose her nerve, and she refused to lose her nerve.

Even if it meant she was exiled to the countryside forever, she would not remain married to the Duke of Grovemont. It was undeniably painful to think she would probably never have the chance to marry for love, to have children and a home of her own. It was excruciating to contemplate. But it was also the price she had to pay for her recklessness. She hadn’t meant to, but she had been the one to make the mistake, to force Grovemont to propose. It was still her fault, and she had to take responsibility for it…even at the cost of her own happiness.

She was determined, but she had also taken Cecily’s advice and written to Lady Clare Handleton. Clare was a spinster and Meredith’s closest friend. She’d been ruined during her first Season by a titled man who’d refused to marry her. Ever since, she’d been unwelcome in most of the homes owned by members of Society. Of course, Clare was welcome in Meredith and Griffin’s home, and having a duke and duchess as close friends had garnered her a bit of respectability. But Clare had never married and was still treated poorly by most members of the ton . If anyone knew what it was like to weather a scandal, it was the woman the papers had nicknamed “Scandalton.” She only hoped Clare would write back soon. Time was of the essence. She couldn’t get away from Grovemont quickly enough.

When the door to the music room opened and Grovemont stepped inside, Gemma nearly missed a key. She scowled. What in the world did he want in here? He could clearly hear she was playing. It had better not be some new rule or demand he intended to impart. She had no patience for his ridiculous decrees today.

Lifting her nose in the air, she ignored him. She continued to play her sonata until he came to stand directly in front of the instrument. He smiled at her. Smiled . And, frankly, it looked…genuine. It wasn’t falsely tight or strained in the manner they usually smiled at each other.

Gemma narrowed her eyes. Why was he smiling? She’d never seen him smile. Not like that.

No matter. She turned her attention back to her sheets and finished the piece before she allowed her fingers to come to a rest atop the ivory keys.

Grovemont’s clapping echoed through the large room.

She narrowed her eyes to slits . “Did you want something?” she asked tersely.

“I want to say good morning,” he replied in a voice that sounded nearly jovial. “I failed to do so before I left today.”

She arched a brow over her still-narrowed eye. He was up to something. Feeling guilty over failing to say good morning? Not likely.

She expelled a long breath. “Have you made up your mind?” she asked, deciding not to acknowledge his “good morning” comment. “Consummation or crimcon?” She gave him a big, bright, fake smile.

He slid his hands into the pockets of his coat and strolled toward her as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He bit his bottom lip and gave her a lazy smile. One she suspected would make a certain type of lady swoon, if she did not know him.

“I have not yet decided,” he replied smoothly. “Would you give me a sennight to think about it?”

Her brows shot up. A sennight? That seemed like quite a long time. And she didn’t trust for a moment that he didn’t have some sort of trick up his sleeve. But allowing him a sennight to contemplate the matter was preferable to him declaring an outright no and starting a war between them, which is what she’d expected he might do. It would also give her time to receive a reply from Lady Clare.

Gemma smiled without showing her teeth, silently letting him know she was suspicious of his motives. “A sennight?” she repeated.

“Yes. Please,” he replied.

Please? She pressed a hand to her throat. Had he said please ? She didn’t think he knew what that word meant and certainly had never expected him to use such a word? Oh, he was definitely up to something. No doubt he intended to avail himself of the sennight in order to secure a solicitor to savagely fight her on the divorce. But she didn’t have much of a choice, did she? “Fine,” she finally allowed. “One sennight.”

“Thank you.” He bowed to her. “You play beautifully, by the by.” He nodded toward the pianoforte.

Her jaw dropped, but he didn’t see. He’d already swiveled on his heel and was on his way toward the door. She watched him go with her mouth still open. Had he just complimented her? First, he’d smiled, then he’d used the word please , and finally he’d given her an actual compliment?

Oh, yes. The man was definitely up to something.