No, she hadn’t been. He’d only thought she’d married. Markham had lied, which Rhystan would have discovered if he had gone back for her. The truth hit him like a kick to the gut. Gideon was right. He could have gone back to Joor. He could have spoken to her, used his fucking name for something worthwhile. Done something, anything. He was only responsible for his own actions, and he’d chosen to do nothing.

“You’re right,” he said, sitting heavily. “Even so, I can’t marry her.”

“Why not?”

“This is London, Gideon. If the truth came out about who she is, it would most likely have an effect on Ravenna’s chances of making the best possible match, simply by association. You know how narrow-minded the ton can be. The gossip will be interminable.”

Gideon stared at him, and from the growing scowl on his face, Rhystan had the feeling that he’d just gone down a few pegs—a few dozen pegs—in his friend’s estimation. “Since when does the captain I know care about gossip or polite society?”

“Since he became duke.”

“That’s never been you, lad. The man I know would never let a person’s circumstances determine the sum of their worth.” He stood and tossed a few coins down onto the wood. “Whoever that duke is isn’t worth a scrap of the man you were. Don’t lose sight of him, my friend, or you will truly have become your father.”

* * *

After dinner at home, Asha’s low notes on the shehnai soothed Sarani’s soul. Ravenna, too, if her transported expression was any indication.

“I’ve never heard anything so hauntingly beautiful in my life. You’re very good at that, Asha,” she said, clapping with enthusiasm as the maid wrapped up a piece in the music room. “Would you teach me sometime?”

Asha glanced at Sarani, but it was up to her. Sarani gave a tiny shrug and a smile. “It would be my honor, Lady Ravenna. Here, why don’t you hold it? Familiarize yourself with the feel of the wood and each sound.”

Watching them, their heads bent together—one dark and the other auburn, so dissimilar in looks yet so unequivocally united in their love of music—Sarani couldn’t help smiling. Though she missed Joor on occasion, London was starting to grow on her. And it was all because of Ravenna. She’d never had a sister, and Ravenna had turned out to be nothing like she’d expected.

The girl was unlike any of the other English debutantes she’d met. Ravenna had laughed when Sarani had told her that and said that she hadn’t met anyone besides Penelope—arguably the worst of the bunch. The blond-haired girl who had seemed excited about the Indian princes was one of Ravenna’s best friends, Lady Clara.