He considered, then shook his head. “No. But if you do, I’ll be there to catch you. Or at the very least, provide running commentary.”
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Your gallantry is blinding.”
He reached across the cramped bench and caught her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “You’ll be fine, Celine. You always are.”
She squeezed his hand, and for a fleeting moment, her fear subsided. But as the city gates approached, so did the awareness that nothing—no hand to hold, no clever retort—could stop the world from watching.
She looked at Rhys, taking in the set of his jaw and the easy confidence he wore like a favorite coat.
I am not afraid of the ton.I am not even afraid of them watching me. It’s what happens when they stop watching—when they move on and forget, and I am left wanting.
She swallowed, trying to banish the thought.
Eventually, she forced a smile. “If I do something spectacularly idiotic, promise me you’ll make it worse.”
He grinned. “That, Duchess, is my specialty.”
The carriage lurched over the cobblestones, and the city swallowed them whole.
“Absolutely not. I refuse to believe that Lady Armitage danced with Lord Savernake. She’s sworn off men for two years.”
Dahlia punctuated the declaration by stabbing a sugared violet onto her tongue, her lips smudged with lavender.
Celine tried to focus on the ridiculousness of it, the clattering tea trays, the sweet sting of marzipan, the distant laughter of children fighting over candied cherries. But the din of Gunter’s did nothing to drown the awareness crawling along her skin.
She was being watched.
Not by one or two people, but byeveryone.
She kept her smile sharp and her posture perfect, her hands folded lightly on the table.
Helena, as always, seemed to read her mind.
“Your posture is so stiff, you’ll shatter,” she said dryly. “Sit back, Celine. You’re making me nervous.”
Celine obeyed, if only to prove that she could. “If I shatter, at least they’ll have something to write about tomorrow.The duchess who crumbled over a petit four.”
Dahlia eyed the room, then grinned. “Let them stare. I would have thought you’d be used to it by now. You married the Wild Duke. If anything, your stock has improved. At least for the scandal sheets.”
Celine snorted. “Is that what you call it? Improved?”
“Certainly. I’d rather be infamous than invisible.” Dahlia lowered her voice. “Though you’re not the only one under scrutiny today. Lady Beeston just ate three slices of honey cake and has the gall to pretend she’s on a tonic fast.”
Helena’s lips curved. “If she’s on a tonic fast, then I’m a Vestal Virgin. Which I assure you, I’m not.”
They laughed, and for a moment, Celine felt better.
But the lull was brief.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two matrons whispering, one gesturing to her hair. A group of girls—barely out of the schoolroom—pointed at her dress, then whispered behind their gloved hands. Even the shopboy behind the counter glanced at her twice, his face pink and curious.
Celine’s confidence, so carefully cultivated, began to wither.
Dahlia poured more tea, all breezy confidence. “You know, I think you could take them on, Celine. If you set your mind to it. Show them a real duchess.”
Celine mustered a smile. “A real duchess would host charity balls and breed greyhounds. I doubt they’d approve of my current hobbies.”
Helena raised a brow. “You’re not planning to poison the lot of them, are you?”
