Vera mutely stared in abject horror at the man in front of her as he sputtered a lame apology as he- dear Lord, the embarrassment- jilted her. Telling her that he no longer wished to continue their dalliance. Dismissing her as if she were his mistress. Or a common doxy! Oh, the insult was almost too much to bear!

After she had traveled in the dead of the goddamned night to come see him!

Her Grace, Minerva Catherine Montgomery, Duchess of Rothbury, was being dismissed! By the second son of a Baron, no less! Bad enough she had earned the ire of the ton by virtue of who she was; the daughter to an American, whose fortune had been made by doing business, the untitled woman who had snatched away their beloved Duke. A Duke whom they had marked for their blue-blooded daughters, she would surely be the laughingstock of the town after this! The minute her lover announced his marriage, the tongues would start wagging and if they never spared one of their own, they would happily rip her to shreds.

Dear God, why won't you focus some of your retribution on my husband, who drove me to take a lover in the first place?! She thought ruefully. God, characteristically, stayed silent though Vera suspected he was having a good laugh at her expense.

'Your Grace...Please understand. I love her, I cannot bear to be unfaithful to her.' Her traitorous beau simpered.

Ah! As if to add insult to injury, he loved her! The sheer gall! Vera felt her gloved hands shake with indignation. If he thought this appeal to her romantic nature would save him her fury, he was in for a rude awakening! To have the gall to fall in love when they had an explicit understanding between them!

'Richard, this could have been a bloody letter!' She snapped, standing up from her seat in his sitting room, trying her best to imitate her husband's ducal composure and his legendary ire. Not that she had seen much of it to imitate, but the way Richard was cowering reassured her that she was having a measure of success. 'Instead, you let me embarrass myself! And wasted my bloody time by having me come to your home!'

He winced once again but she continued her enraged tirade.

'Which, now! Is to be your marital home!' She was seething as she reached into her reticule and produced a meaningful sum and resisted the urge to toss it at him. She took a fortifying breath and began to pace.

Alright, her pride had taken a fantastic beating tonight and she was lashing out. They had no vows to hold each other to and she had not yet become quite so jaded as to think of love as a game of fools. Her dalliance would have ended someday, so why not today? She had no romantic inclination toward the man, even though they had been lovers for the better part of two years, she had no feelings of jealousy or animosity. If she begrudged her former paramour his grandiose notions of romance and marriage, she would be no better than the Duke. She hadn't sunk so low just yet! So really, it was a matter of principle!

Take that, you deplorable excuse of a husband! I shall not lose my reverence for love, even in the face of this horrid situation!

She could not possibly be angry at someone who loved and harbored hopes for the future, for a happy marriage. Not when she had secretly harbored them herself not too long ago. She winced at the memory of the last time she had seen her husband nearly six years ago, when he had thoroughly disillusioned her of her romantic notions.

This is what marriage to a future Duke looks like, my Lady Wife. There are no walks in the gardens, no nights spent in each other's arms, and no bloody romance. I would like for you to harbor no such expectations from me. I will return to London, you have leave of all my estates with the exception of Sunfield Manor, where I retire after parliament. Do with them what you wish, you will want for nothing. I make no limitations on your pin money, for the money we have will only be because your dowry gave us enough to rescue the estates my father left in ruin. We are no more than two strangers forced into a contract, I intend to act as such. Do not expect me to change my ways just because we have spoken some meaningless vows to one another.

Yes, if Richard had bruised her pride, her husband had butchered it the day following the odious affair that had been their wedding night. Though wedding night was too generous a phrase for some awkward fumbling in the dark, with both parties trying their best to get it over with.

No matter, she would recover as she always did, for she had seen far worse than this indignity. At least with Richard, bedsport had been pleasurable.

Your days are yours to do with whatever you please. I will also not begrudge you a lover, if you wish to take one, as long as you practice proper discretion. And exercise appropriate caution.

Well that was how she had landed in this horrid mess, hadn't she?! Unpleasant man! Why should she be the only one to incur God's wrath for her unfaithfulness when it was a poorly kept secret that her husband kept a mistress in London?! A well-paid, French one at that! With the money he had earned by investing her dowry! She had never even imagined being with anyone other than her husband before he had so callously suggested it. Would God truly punish her for wanting to feel some intimacy, no matter how fleeting it was? If so, he should have given her a damned husband that was up to the bloody task!

Her hands, now steady as the rage slowly left her body, placed the money instead on the table before her. 'At least do your wife the courtesy of buying new bedding, you goddamned fool!'

She took a fortifying breath, willing her harsh tone to leave her tongue.

'I wish you the very best. Excuse me as I fully intend to decline your invitation to the wedding.'

'Yes, Your Grace.' Richard murmured with downcast eyes.

'I hope, Richard, that your marriage is a more fruitful one than mine.'

'It feels rude to agree, Your Grace.'

She could not help the bark of cynical laughter that escaped her as she made to leave.

'Goodbye, my friend. I hope to God I never see you again.' She offered as she crossed the threshold to where her carriage awaited.

'You're a good sort, Your Grace. You deserved better from life.'

'There were many who have it a lot worse than me. I am under no misconception of my privilege.'

'Farewell, Vera. It has been my utmost pleasure knowing you.'

She did not deign to reply as she was resolute to not feel sorry for herself. Her footman helped her into her seat. As the carriage lurched off in the direction of her estate, Vera began to mull over what was expected to be the humiliation of her life. She would likely be the center of many a cautionary tale and many a bawdy joke, her welcome into society was a precarious one to begin with and now the vicious ladies would snicker behind their fans and their ridiculous ornaments at the woman who could not keep the attentions of a Baron's second son, much less her own husband. Her invitations wouldn't be rescinded, no one would dare do so to the Duchess of Rothbury, but the vipers would be sure to make some thinly veiled jests at her expense.

'Oh curse you, Benedict William Montgomery!' She released a cry in irritation at her absentee husband, her fist shaking in the air. 'You and your male ideas of keeping lovers! I hope you catch the worst cold of your life! Nay, I hope you fall down while presenting at Parliament! Nay, I hope you fall into the Thames and swallow a gallon of that rancid water!'

Oh if only she could disappear......

Ah! A solution! She would simply run away! Yes, indeed. Minerva Catherine Montgomery, who had never once backed down in the face of a challenge, would flee to her husband's estate in the countryside and she would stay there until some other scandal took hold! She had the choice between Hartley Manor, Chatwick Hall, and Rothbury Park. Chatwick was too close for her disappearance to be meaningful, the Dowager was likely in residence at Rothbury for the summer so that left her with Hartley Manor, her typical residence for most of the year. Well enough, the construction for the new orphanage would be almost complete and she could take it over as soon as it opened. Her heart gave a yearning squeeze at the thought of the six children she had built it for. They would be pleased to see her, no doubt. And she would be glad for their company. Maybe they'd play some blind man's bluff and have some tea. They wouldn't speak in hushed tones and snicker at her embarrassment. Perhaps she could write to Ophelia, her sister-in-law, and convince her to come visit.

She was so lonely at times.

No, no, no. She would not feel sorry for herself, she would not! She had the best libraries in the country, she had her passion project in the orphanage and she was richer than Midas after her father's passing. She could return to America whenever she wished, the only thing keeping her here was her father's hopes to see her a member of fine society. She could go wherever she wished, with whomever she wished, without ever again having to think about the cost. Indeed, if the girl she had been at two and ten had seen her now, she'd curse her for a fool for being discontent with her life.

I wanted a husband to love and a family to call my own. Her traitorous thoughts whispered, needling the ache in her heart. She brought up her hands and patted her cheeks a little roughly to rouse herself. She had already incurred God's fury at her adultery, she would not add ungratefulness to mix as well. There was no use lamenting dead dreams when there was so much more to her life.

As she made for the entrance of her summer residence, she saw that her butler was awake and pacing in the main foyer.

'Astley, what are you doing awake at this ghastly hour?'

'Your Grace!' He cried. 'Something terrible has happened in London.'

'Is the Duke alright?' She managed to feign concern so as to not hurt Astley's feelings with her indifference.

'No! His Grace fell into the Thames and has caught a horrid chill!'

Oh. Oh no. She thought back to the curse she had muttered not even half an hour ago and felt dread rise. She should have known God would have a sense of humor, He particularly enjoyed His torment of her, it seemed!

'Is he...will he survive? He is a robust and virile man, Astley. I am sure he is up to the task of vanquishing a fever.'

She hadn't killed him, had she?

'They shall send word. If he survives the night, then the doctors are confident he will make a recovery.'

She hadn't! Yet.

No, he would survive the night, she was sure of it. God was just reminding her to be more careful with the words she uttered.

Lesson learned, heavenly Father. She ceded.

'Ah! He will be fine, I am certain, Astley.' She nodded reassuringly. 'Get some rest, we will have good news in the morning. And please have my things packed and a carriage arranged for travel tomorrow.'

'You mean to go to London, Your Grace?' He asked incredulously, well aware of the arrangement of indifference between his Master and Mistress.

'Dear God, no. Could you imagine? I would surely send His Grace to his grave if I showed up playing the concerned wife.'

The unwanted American shackle in his perfect London, he would likely throw her out on the street!

Astley did not bother to deny it.

'I am to return to Hartley Manor, for an extended period. I do not expect to come back any time soon.'

'Very good, Your Grace. And if Sir Richard Penn comes calling?'

'I expect he will be a little busy getting married, Astley.' She raised her eyebrows at his audacious question. 'Your subtlety is astounding.'

'I aspire to do my best, Your Grace.' He replied cheekily.

The blasted old man knew she was too fond of him to dismiss him.

'Please have some flowers sent to my husband. I shall give you a letter shortly, post it in the morning as well.'

'Of course.'