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and spirits. The party was over, the ballroom empty of guests. During the season, balls and soirees lasted until the morning hours, but the chime of a clock indicated the hour to be just nine.
    Several gentlemen donned their hats and coats and pushed out into the night, where their drivers waited to convey them home.
    “Good night, Fox,” Vane said to the man beside him, with all the cordiality he could summon.
    He was sorely tempted, however, to plant his fist in Lord Havering’s face. For the entirety of the evening, Sophia’s childhood friend had submitted him to a ceaseless barrage of acidic barbs and black glares.
    Without the slightest acknowledgment, Fox continued walking, unsmiling and with his gaze fixed forward. Under his breath he muttered, “It’s Lord Havering to you.”
    Accepting his hat from the footman, he disappeared into the night.
    Vane’s cheek twitched, but he held himself in check. He deserved the man’s disdain, but his jealous heart seethed over the idea that Havering should in any way play the part of his wife’s protector. Clearly, breaking the man’s face would only hinder his efforts to win Sophia back, so Vane instead turned to his wife’s grandfather.
    He had always admired the earl, but perhaps because of the difficult relationship he shared with his own now-deceased father, he’d never been comfortable fully expressing that respect. Though Wolverton had remained cordial throughout the evening, Vane perceived a mistrust in the elder man’s eyes. Certainly, the state of his eldest granddaughter’s marriage was no secret and must be a grave disappointment.
    A footman approached, as if to convey his lordship to bed.
    “Wolverton, if I may have a word with you,” said Vane.
    The earl lifted a staying hand, and the servant retreated.
    He tilted his head. “What is it, Claxton?”
    Vane cleared his throat, which suddenly felt as dry as sawdust, and forced himself to speak. “I’ve no desire to make excuses for myself, but I’ve misstepped where her Grace is concerned.”
    “Indeed you have.”
    “I intend to make things right with her.”
    “I am an old man, Claxton, confined to my home by illness. If talk of your lack of commitment to your marriage has reached my ears, it is widely reported indeed.” The earl uttered the words with withering calm. “No matter how valiant your efforts are now, they may come too late.”
    Age and Lord Wolverton’s confinement to a chair made him no less imposing. Vane felt like a small boy who’d received a thrashing. He felt not only shamed, but ashamed.
    “I pray not,” Vane answered quietly. “Please know that I remain as committed as ever to the duchess, even more so today than when we first wed.”
    He’d never spoken truer words. Time and distance had only proved that.
    Wolverton steepled his fingertips and nodded, unsmiling. “Then I recommend you put your acclaimed diplomatic skills to work and begin your groveling posthaste. I suspect this will be the most difficult accord you’ve ever attempted to negotiate.” The earl stared into his eyes. “That is, if you’re allowed through the door.”
    “Thank you, Wolverton.”
    “Don’t thank me,” he countered sharply. “If she decides to seek a separation from you, I’ll support her every step of the way.”
    The air left Vane’s lungs. Separation. Hearing the word spoken aloud, when his mind had only ever whispered it, created a new and unpleasant reality.
    Wolverton continued. “Scandal be damned. I’m too old and too stubborn to care what anyone in this town thinks. My only wish at this late stage of my life is for my girls to find happiness before I die. After my death, my title will pass to my nephew. An unworthy profligate if there ever was one. The man has no decency; he is wholly consumed with vice. I have made what arrangements I can to see that the girls’ futures are secure, but life will no doubt be very different for them when I am gone.” His frown