A stuffed alligator resided in the drawing room, and the family peacock screamed warnings at any time of day or night.

Marie had been raised to be a member of the peerage. She hadn’t blinked an eye at miles of bookshelves, tottering retainers grown old in service to the duchy, fourteen sets of china.

But Ophelia?

She had created a home for her daughter: a beautiful, graceful place.

His heart settled like a stone. He couldn’t do this to her. She might come to blame him, perhaps even to hate him. He had been spoiled by the fact that Marie had instantly responded to his proposal with enthusiasm—but also by the fact that she had been raised to be a duchess.

Her mother had accompanied her to the castle and lived there for the first six months of their married life, making certain that her daughter successfully took over the household. Marie had dived into everything with joy and was never happier than when she announced she was carrying a child a month after their wedding (in truth, she must have carried Horatius up the aisle, which spoke to their mutual enthusiasm about the marriage).

By contrast, Ophelia was enthusiastic about bedding, but not about him. He frowned, not sure what happened . . . Hadn’t they discussed being friends? He didn’t want to be friends with her.

He wanted to be her husband.

But now he had the idea that she didn’t even wish to be friends.

In the end, he didn’t storm the nursery. He sent his gratitude by way of her butler, accepting Fiddle’s explanation that Lady Astley never received callers before noon.

He returned to his townhouse and fell blindly into the work involved in running one of the largest duchies in all England. He went to the House of Lords. He went to court, registering that Ophelia would probably loathe such pomp and circumstance. Or would she? He hardly knew her. He went to the opera at Covent Garden, noticing how every member of the audience swiveled his or her head when he entered the Lindow box.

He put on his pink suit and went to another ball. He danced with an eligible daughter of a marquess, who giggled and told him that she loved kittens more than life itself. He translated kittens into children, bowed, and walked off without another glance.

Next he danced with the Dowager Countess of Webbel, who told him, in so many words, that she was too old for children. She cast condescending looks in all directions when he danced with her for the second time, and then made the fatal error of asking, in a sweetly poisonous tone, about the whereabouts of his sister, Lady Knowe.

His twin was part of his household; the children thought of her as their mother. He would divorce again before he wedded a woman who would drive her away.