It amazed Sarani what got out through perfectly solid, closed doors. Then again, she wasn’t surprised. The duchess’s declaration had floored them all.

“I am grateful,” she said. “But that’s not the reason I’m leaving.”

“Then why?”

Because the duke does not love me.

That was part of it. It had everything to do with the letter he’d written her years ago and her place in his world. They’d both made mistakes, and though he’d written those sentiments in anger and apologized, that didn’t make them any less true. The truth was, a union like theirs was destined to be doomed, and if he did not love her, nothing on earth would save it.

Her heart squeezed. “Because I must stand on my own two feet, and I don’t belong here. Regardless of the duchess’s changed feelings toward me, she wants only to protect her family. The scandal will die down if I am gone, and soon the fact that the Duke of Embry was engaged to a woman of my petrifying ilk will be forgotten.”

“What about Lady Ravenna?”

“She’s promised to write and to help you write letters as well.” Sarani grinned and chucked him in the arm. “I expect to hear wonderful things about your excellent marks and your new school.”

Ravenna had not taken well to the fact that she was leaving. Sarani had sworn her to secrecy. She would tell Rhystan herself when she was ready…when her heart and mind were both prepared. In truth, if he asked again whether she would be his paramour, Sarani wasn’t sure she would have the strength to say no.

She had to stay the course and do what was right.

Even if it felt like dying.

“Don’t pack that one,” Sarani told her maid, pointing to a heavy, magenta-colored gown with intricate gold embroidery. “I’ll wear it for the ball tonight. Go out fighting, as the pugilists say.”

Asha’s dark eyes widened. The dress had not been acquired here in London. In fact, it’d been designed in Joor as a coronation gown, and Sarani had not wanted to leave it behind. It had cost a small fortune. If worse had come to worst, she’d planned to sell it. But for now, she’d wear it with pride.

It was undeniably the most magnificent gown she’d ever owned. Part European, part Indian, the dress had seemed to bridge both her halves. A fitted bodice with heavily embroidered, scalloped edges curved down toward her waist where a heavily embroidered stomacher adorned with gold flowers, connected the top with the bottom.