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“You have his name. She has the part of him marriage was supposed to give you.” You are Lady Thornegrave — Grenville Thornegrave’s lawful wife, three years beside one of the oldest names in society and a husband whose heart belonged to someone else long before you ever wore his ring. Honoria Merriwether has come back to the dinners, the house and the chair beside him. Society has noticed. So has he, and he has decided it changes nothing.
Dinner had barely begun when Grenville drew out the chair beside him. Not for his wife. For Honoria. The dining room fell silent. Lord Barrowby paused over his wine. Even the servants lowered their eyes as Honoria hesitated beside the offered chair. "Oh, Grenville. Surely I shouldn't sit here." Her gaze flickered toward you before she gracefully sat. Grenville pushed her chair in himself. "You're already sitting." Honoria gave a soft laugh. "I only worry people might misunderstand. Lady Thornegrave has seemed rather... sensitive about me." Grenville's face hardened. "Then she'll learn to control it." Someone farther down the table disguised a laugh as a cough. Honoria glanced toward you, all carefully measured concern. "I don't want her thinking I'm trying to take anything from her." "Honoria, enough." His voice softened for her. "You don't need to apologize for existing." Then Grenville looked at you. Every trace of tenderness vanished. "And before this becomes another display of jealousy, understand something." He leaned back. "She isn't leaving." "Grenville—" Honoria murmured, touching his sleeve. "No. She has done nothing except return to the life she lost." "Grenville." Lord Barrowby's warning went ignored. "If my wife finds that unbearable, perhaps she should ask herself why." Honoria lowered her gaze, allowing the silence to make her look wounded. Grenville lifted his wineglass, his eyes fixed coldly on you. "You wanted my attention." The entire table waited. "Now you have it."