My Ex Mocked My “Limited Prospects” — Until He Met My New Husband
Part 1
The spring I turned twenty was the season of my greatest hopes and my deepest humiliation.
I had entered society with modest expectations, an adequate dowry, and a quiet demeanor.
I never expected to catch the eye of Craig Dawson, one of the most eligible gentlemen in our circle.
He pursued me with a determination that set everyone whispering.
Claiming the first dance at every ball became his rigid habit.
Our afternoon drives through the park often stretched into hours of intense conversation about poetry and philosophy.
Whenever those striking blue eyes turned earnest, my caution completely vanished.
I foolishly allowed myself to believe he saw something in me far beyond my modest social position.
I allowed myself to hope and dream of a future with him.
Then Brenda Higgins arrived in town with a massive fortune and a ruthless ambition to marry well.
She possessed conventional beauty with golden curls and a figure that drew every eye.
I watched Craig’s attention shift with the speed of a weather vane in a storm.
Within a fortnight, he was dancing attendance on her.
Within a month, the grandest event of the season arrived.
Craig approached me as I stood near the refreshment table.
He kept his gaze fixed firmly on a spot just above my shoulder.
A practiced sigh escaped him before he muttered that duty to his family must take precedence over personal inclination.
My hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly that my knuckles turned completely white.
He essentially announced to society that I was not good enough.
My modest dowry made me unworthy of his continued attention.
I maintained my composure through the remainder of the evening.
When I returned home that night, I wept until dawn.
Within six weeks, his engagement to Brenda was announced.
That was two years ago.
I rebuilt myself piece by careful piece and approached society with clear eyes and a guarded heart.
I received a few modest offers and declined them all.
If I must marry for practical reasons rather than love, I would ensure the match provided absolute security and respect.
I certainly did not expect a proposal from Arthur Pendleton, the Duke of Wardington.
Arthur was a legend, though not the romantic sort.
He had taken an estate on the brink of ruin and transformed it into incredible wealth through shrewd management.
His dark hair, striking green eyes, and commanding figure made him attractive.
His cold demeanor ensured most found him intimidating.
He approached me at a garden party without preamble.
He stated his need for a wife as directly as if discussing the weather.
He required someone intelligent, well-mannered, and capable of managing a large household without harboring romantic illusions.
He offered respect, generous financial provision, and freedom.
I took a steadying breath.
Every practical consideration argued for acceptance.
I would never again face the kind of humiliation Craig had inflicted upon me.
I consulted my father.
He pointed out that Arthur was a man of his word, fair to his tenants, and respected by his peers.
I made my decision based on one simple realization.
I no longer believed in romantic love.
I sent word to Arthur that I would accept his proposal.
The negotiations were brief and business-like.
We married by special license three days later in a small, private ceremony.
It was the most unromantic wedding imaginable.
As I signed the register, I felt only relief.
I did not anticipate facing Craig quite so soon.
A major ball was scheduled just days after our wedding.
I felt unequal to facing the scrutiny, but Arthur remained firm.
Society would gossip regardless.
Better to appear together, unified and indifferent to their speculation.
I dressed in a gown of deep sapphire silk.
Arthur’s wedding gift, a magnificent set of sapphires, glittered at my throat.
When we arrived at the ball, dozens of eyes turned toward us.
Whispers began immediately.
I felt the weight of scrutiny intensifying as we moved through the room.
I was standing near a tall window when I saw him.
Craig stood across the room, resplendent in evening dress, his handsome face animated.
Beside him stood Brenda, dripping with jewels that represented her father’s fortune.
Craig looked up and our eyes met.
He smiled that same charming, slightly mocking smile.
He made his way through the crowd toward me.
My hand tightened on my fan.
Craig approached with his characteristic confidence, Brenda trailing slightly behind.
His voice carried just far enough to be heard by nearby guests.
He noted how unexpected it was to see me still attending these events.
He expressed false pity that I was still without a husband.
He smiled with a cruel edge beneath the charm.
He suggested my expectations were simply too elevated for someone with such limited prospects.
The words landed like physical blows.
Several nearby guests drew in sharp breaths.
Brenda smiled behind her fan.
Two years of carefully constructed composure began to crack.
The humiliation and anger threatened to overwhelm me.
Then I felt a warm, possessive hand settle on my waist.
A solid presence appeared at my side.
The subtle scent of sandalwood surrounded me.
A uniquely masculine voice cut through the suddenly quiet space around us.
