Aurelia had always had a choice.Shechoseto be his duchess, for why else had she come to London to meet him?She might’ve easily remained in Cheltenham, where life was easy and familiar, and accepting of a girl with no birthright, no history.No family.
“Yes,” she answered truthfully, though it cost her a great deal of pride to admit, “I was ecstatic to receive a letter that I believed came from the Duchess of Brantingham.Don’t you see, Your Grace?I thought someone had wanted me, that someone had selectedmeto be your bride.I admit that I am innocent and unworldly to believe in such a fairy-tale ending for an orphan girl.Still, I thought that if I learned well, dressed well, and presented myself with all the self-worth that I feel, the insurmountable obstacle of my birth would seem inconsequential to you.”
***
She believed him all-knowing, all-powerful.Omnipotent, like some kind of deity.Couldn’t Miss Goldsworthy see that he was only a man?He couldn’t conjure electricity from his fingertips.He couldn’t command society to conform to the wishes of spinsters, foundlings, and debutantes.All the wealth and privilege in the world could not save his parents from death, nor would it rescue Miss Goldsworthy from illegitimacy.
Some rules remained out of reach even for a duke.Selwyn had never been a rebel.He’d been a protector, a dutiful hard worker.He’d never put a foot wrong or stepped a toe out of line.Despite his fondness for her, he dared not make Aurelia Goldsworthy his duchess.
If he were merely Selwyn Charlton, a humble, landowning Yorkshireman, he would’ve snapped her up in an instant.
He wanted to give his siblings, and by extension Miss Goldsworthy, the choice to follow their hearts.As head of the family, he must do what was best for everyone, often at a personal cost to himself.
Of course, the woman by his side had pled her case so eloquently thatsomethingmust be said, yet Selwyn couldn’t seem to make his throat work.
“You are wanted,” he managed to choke out at last.“To the right fellow, your parentage is inconsequential.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, yet her fingers loosened around his.Her gloved palm slid away from his, and as they walked, she moved beyond his touch.
He felt bereft, alone.
A biting wind cut between their bodies, ruffling the ribbons of Miss Goldsworthy’s pretty claret-colored bonnet.Selwyn clasped the lapels of his greatcoat together to guard against the chill, yet it flayed him straight through to his heart.
He was not so brave as she was, for Miss Goldsworthy had come to London to claim what was hers.She would’ve fought forhim, he knew.Yet he was a realist and she was a dreamer, and nothing more than friendship could be allowed to exist between them.
Selwyn would cling to that friendship like a lifeline in a tempest.He would give her a family—his family.He would give her a home—his home.He could not give her a purpose or duty in life, but he could offer her love and protection—as a dear, beloved friend.
He would honor her for the rest of his days if only she would take his hand once again.
This time, when he reached for her, Miss Goldsworthy allowed his large, warm fingers to curl around her dainty wrist.He slowed her pace, and they reached the fashionable party of young people arm-in-arm and perfectly in step together.
Introductions were made, hands shook, and knees bent in deference to the Duke of Brantingham.They regarded Miss Goldsworthy with curiosity and perhaps jealousy, for he’d never appeared publicly with a woman, or indeed singled any lady out of the crowd of his admirers.Yet, he was proud to haveherby his side.
Margie explained, “This is our friend Miss Goldsworthy, who is joining us for the festivities.”
Small talk swelled around him as they welcomed her into the fold.Lord and Lady Durness were kind, decent folk, and he entrusted her to their care.However, Selwyn bristled at the sight of Lord Mathieson—a widower of his mother’s generation—standing far removed from the lively gathering.
He stiffened as Margie and Fannie, who would never leave anyone out of the fun, invited the man to join them.
“Lord Mathieson, good evening,” said his eldest sister.“Have you come to witness the miracle?I’m afraid the lamps are already lit.”
Mathieson’s eyes studied the faces of the group as he touched the brim of his hat in greeting.When his gaze reached Miss Goldsworthy, his focus narrowed until Selwyn felt her squirm beneath its intensity.
No matter how pretty she was, no one deserved to be ogled or objectified.
Selwyn eased her away from the others.He put himself bodily between her and Lord Mathieson, yet he felt the man glaring at him as though knives pierced the heavy wool of his coat.
If looks could kill, indeed—but upon second glance, he realized the fellow had gone white as a sheet, stricken as though he’d seen a ghost.
Even Miss Goldsworthy felt the awkwardness of the moment.As they walked away, she asked, “Do you not care for Lord Mathieson, Your Grace?”
“He suffered some trouble in his youth, an unpleasant business that society never quite got over.In fact, he waspersona non gratawhere my mother was concerned.She blacked out his name on every guest list and wouldn’t enter a room if he was standing in it.”
Her hazel eyes went wide.“That must’ve been quite a feud.Do you know the reason for it all?”
Hadn’t he warned her not to peer too deeply beneath the polished façade of his world?Ugliness lurked in the shadows of London’s leading families.He would not wish for her to be tainted by wickedness or marked by its cruelty.
“I do,” he answered, “but it isn’t a story for a lady’s ears.”
