"Does he?"

"Grenville?" I wondered how long it would be before Marianne could bring herself to say Grenville's name in conversation. "Yes. And the Brandons know. Colonel Brandon was the one who helped me procure a special license so I could marry Carlotta without having the banns read."

"Thought someone would object, did you?" Marianne asked.

"Plenty of people should have. My father. Hers. Her entire family, in fact. Carlotta was quite ready to board the ship that took us away from England." I rolled the goblet in my hands. "In those days, we thought our lives would be fine if we could only get away from England. Things turned out much differently, to say the least."

"No one's life becomes what they think it will, Lacey. Not even his. " She cocked her head. "What about her ladyship?"

She meant Lady Breckenridge, an aristocratic lady of rather blunt opinions, with whom I had formed an affection. More than an affection.

After the murder in Berkeley Square in April, I'd gone to Lady Breckenridge, told her the truth about my marriage, and revealed that I wanted to court her. Lady Breckenridge, the least shockable lady of my acquaintance, including even Marianne, had taken the news of my estranged wife stoically. I'd confessed everything, and incredibly, Lady Breckenridge had understood. Having gone through a miserable marriage herself, she perhaps had some sympathy for me.

After my declaration, I had taken her hand and led her into her bedchamber. We'd spent the rest of the afternoon learning each other's bodies in her bed and letting the warmth between us grow.

I'd not had opportunity to see much of her since, her life during the height of the Season being a whirlwind of social gatherings and obligations. Even so, gossip coupled our names, somewhat disapprovingly. Lady Breckenridge, daughter of an earl and widow of a viscount, was worlds above a half-pay captain, son of an untitled nobody, albeit my father had been a landed gentleman of Norfolk.