Although perhaps therewereten thousand people here. Madeline did not know a fraction of them. Some of her friends must be here, but she could not find them in the crowd. It felt as though Charlotte was the first friendly face she’d seen.
“People will not leave me alone,” Madeline whispered at last, voice cracking. “I don’t know all of them. Some of them are pleasant, but I feel as though some of them are looking at me, trying to find something wrong. I feel as though they are judging me, Charlotte.”
She had expected Charlotte to say that she was being silly, ofcourse,they were not judging her, and that everybody here was her friend.
Instead, Charlotte bit her lip, glancing away.
“Many women dream of marrying a great man,” she said at last. “You’ll notice that I do not say agoodman. They want to marry dukes and marquesses, rich men with titles. Many women are attracted to men who can command a room, who can commandrespect. Such men do not come easily. When those men choose to marry, a great many women will look at their new wives and think, ‘Why not me?’ What I mean to say is that you are now envied by half of the women in London.”
Madeline flinched. “You must be mad.”
“I am not.”
“I have been engaged to him for several days. Nobody said…”
“That was an engagement. This makes it all official. Youarethe duchess. You are the wife of the Duke of Tolford. Half of the women here will be looking at you with envy. They will be thinking of the times they tried to attract the duke’s attention, only to fail. They will be thinking that they are prettier than you, or more charming, or cleverer, or have a nicer figure. They will be thinking thattheydeserve to be in your shoes.”
This was something of a blow. Madeline blinked at her friend, struggling to find something to say.
“Are you telling me that countless women all over the city are now looking at me and trying to find fault?” she managed at last.
Charlotte winced. “I’m afraid so.”
“Oh,heavens.”
“And beware. If the duke is known to have mistresses openly, you’ll be an object of pity and ridicule, too. I would keep an eye on him if I were you. Don’t let him flirt in public.”
While Madeline was wrestling with this last comment, a trio of ladies—none of whom she recognized—headed toward her, eyes bright, lips parted to speak. Charlotte intervened, stepping neatly between Madeline and the interlopers.
“Not now, ladies,” Charlotte said sweetly. “The duchess is taking a moment to compose herself. The dancing begins shortly, you know. Do you have partners? If not, now is the time to secure them, don’t you think?”
The ladies paused, glancing worriedly at each other. One of them mumbled something and began to drift away, and her companions hurried along after her. Charlotte glanced back with a wry smile.
“I am sorry to give you such bad news,” she murmured. “But that is just the way it is.”
Madeline swallowed, nodding. Her mind worked furiously.
Tristan and I agreed to live our separate lives. What if he does take a public mistress? Will I be a laughingstock?
The answer came to her at once. Of course, she would be a laughingstock.
There were always a few ladies of theTonwho were whispered about as they passed by. Pitying looks and smiles were shot their way, which they studiously pretended to ignore. They kept their heads high, kept firm smiles on their faces, and acted as if they did not know that their husband, while drunk in his club, had proclaimed that he was in love with an opera-girl. Sometimes several opera-girls, or a series of them.
It was a common enough thing. The woman was always pitied, and the man’s misbehavior was determinedly ignored. He would soon tire of his opera girl and take another. Perhaps a ballet dancer, or some lady in a lower circle, a widow of dubious reputation. The waves of humiliation would keep coming for his wife, and she would have no choice but to weather them.
It was not a pleasant state of affairs, and not one that Madeline had ever imagined herself in.
“Not to trouble you,” Charlotte added, glancing off to the side with a frown, “but Mrs. Francis is talking to your husband, and she is entirely too close to him.”
Madeline followed Charlotte’s eyes and clenched her jaw. The crowd parted, and there he stood.
Tristan looked magnificent in his wedding suit. Somebody had given him a carnation ahead of time to put in his buttonhole, so that he matched her bouquet.
Tall, broad, and handsome, he stood a head and shoulders above the other men. At that moment, he was leaning down to listen to Mrs. Francis, a petite woman of about thirty with an enormous bosom. Really, it defied all laws of physics that the woman remained standing upright.
Shelooked tremendous in a dampened white gown, which clung to her curves. She was looking up at him with fluttering eyelashes.
“Excuse me,” Madeline muttered. “I won’t be a moment.”
