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April 1811

Caroline Comhar, the eldest daughter of the Duke of Remington, believed that theaters were deliberately made to be dark so a fine lady could effectively hide a yawn, and she did just that with her gloved hand discreetly covering her mouth. Her eyes watered, blurring her vision of the woman on stage currently belting through her windpipe what others would perceive as a beautiful, emotional melody.

"This is a total bore," she murmured under her breath to the man sitting to her right. He hid a chuckle by clearing his throat and taking her right hand in his, squeezing it to relay a message: be patient.

But he knew she was never the patient one, and she told him so by squeezing his hand back.

"Quiet. This is a climactic moment," chirped a small, hushed voice to her left.

Caroline rolled her forest green eyes before slanting it toward her twelve-year-old sister. "Of course, it is, the poor woman is about to pass out," she murmured back in a graceful voice. "Her face is red with all that..." she looked down at the opera singer, "...howling."

Trent's hand tightened around her hand as his shoulders shook in silent laughter.

"Hush," her mother's voice warned behind them.

Camila, her sister, let out her ever-famous condescending scoff. "Some people care less for true art," the little devil said as she lifted her hand to look through her viewing glass, ignoring Caroline completely.

Caroline felt Trent lean closer. "I have been wondering for years..." he whispered near her ear as he shifted in his seat, "Whoever raised her?"

She stole her sister a quick glance. "The same devil who raised your brother, of course," she quickly replied, barely moving her lips.

Her fiancé's deep chuckle caused the other people in their box to look at the pair of them with disapproving looks. His brother, twelve-year-old Jamie, was silently fuming beside Trent, his lips pursed as he openly showed them that he was having a hard time focusing on the performance.

"Hush," Caroline's mother once more said behind them.

Caroline took a deep breath and slowly stood up. "Come," she whispered to Trent, pulling her hand from his.

"Where are you going?" Camila asked, frowning as her gaze followed Caroline.

"Nowhere a child should know," Caroline replied, and to her mother, she said, "I feel faint, Mother."

The Duchess of Remington looked at her knowingly before she turned to Trent and said, "Do not wander far, the two of you."

"Of course, Your Grace," Trent replied, bowing at the woman before he joined Caroline out into the empty corridor.

"Oh, good Lord, my eyes are in tears at how horrible this show is!" Caroline said, wiping her eyes after another big yawn.

Trent rubbed his hands over his face and through his brown locks, shaking his head, blinking his eyes. "I think I need a bloody drink."

They walked to the nearest drawing room and found it empty. "It is either the people in attendance are deaf, or they find this drawing room a horrible hiding place," Caroline said as she settled in a settee while Trent walked to the nearest liquor cabinet. "Oh, God, my ears are still ringing. You heard the same horrible sound, yes?"

Trent nodded, closing his brown eyes and shaking his head again. He walked back to Caroline and she grabbed his brady and took a sip. When he settled beside her and reached for his glass, she swerved, settling her legs over his thighs. "My legs fell asleep," she said, giving him back his glass. He downed the bottle and massaged her legs over the thick skirts of her dress while she tidied a lock of her light brown hair. "I suffered the entire afternoon with Mary doing my hair. Let alone getting into this dress. All to suffer more hours of howling singers. I do respect them, of course, for most of them I find wonderful."

He absently nodded as he continued to massage her legs. "I quite agree. Last week was better."

"It was marvelous, Trent."

Silence reigned between them for a while and none of them was bothered by it. They were used to it. Too used, in fact.

Growing up together, knowing they were bound to be husband and wife in the future, their childhood was centered around each other. They were the best of friends in Caroline's opinion. He could read her mind before she could even articulate what she wanted to say. She knew all of his secrets and he knew hers.

They were the perfect pair. She was from a royal family. He was from a powerful one. They both knew when to act proper and when to be careless. But there was one tiny problem: they were not in love.

They do love each other, of course. She would die for him. But she could not see him as anything but a friend.

"Father has told you?" she asked, breaking the silence.

He nodded. "He said the king has suggested we announce the engagement soon."

She nodded then sighed, staring at him dryly. "And what do you think of it?"

He blinked and frowned at her. His hands stilled. "I think the white one is too much," he replied.

She slapped his arm, eyes wide with wonder and triumph. "That is the very same thing I said to Mother! And she would not listen! Wearing the white dress to the ball would not only be embarrassing—"

"It will be detrimental to your reputation," he agreed, nodding his head.

"Precisely! See?" she asked, lifting her hands, palms up in the air. "I am not the only one who thinks it! What would the other ladies think?"

"That you are too eager to shackle my legs."

Caroline's forest-green eyes widened even further as she nodded her head vehemently, some of her brown curls falling over. "Oh, good heavens, my hair is not cooperating..." she said, reaching up behind her to free her hair from its pins, depositing each one into his already open palm. "And not only that, they will think that I am trying to get more attention."

"Which you plan to do," he said, nodding his head.

"Yes, but only subtly, to show the self-absorbed brats that you are willing to marry me after all."

"Which I am," he added.

"Of course, you are." She leaned back to let her curls hang behind her and scooped them up with both hands. "Oh, if they only know how we have been planning for this bloody wedding."

"Don't tie it," he suggested. "Just put the pins back."

She let her hair go and gathered a finger's breadth of locks to start pinning her hair to the side. "We have figured out the layout for our estate because I will not be living in Battenwell, we have a list of staff we will need, the names of flowers and shrubs I wish to have in our gardens, and I have already chosen the curtains for the rooms!"

"The mirror," he said, pointing to the mirror at the corner of the drawing room. She lifted her legs off his lap and jumped from the settee. He followed her to the mirror and leaned against the wall with an amused smile on his lips, opening his palm as she reached for another pin.

"This hair is horrible," she murmured, peering at herself. "Perhaps I should just tie it."

"Do you wish to look like a broom with a face?" he asked, frowning at her thick waves.

"At the very least, it shall be a pretty face," she murmured, turning to work on the other side of her head. "Do you know how to do a chignon?"

"No, why would I ever want to learn that?"

She shrugged. "I simply figured..." she looked around, "you have learned a thing or two from your Belle."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "We have agreed not to talk about her whenever we are outside."

She threw him a teasing smile. "Do you miss her already?"

"I do not miss anyone whenever I am with you, my dear friend," he said, grinning at her. He pushed away from the wall and walked over to a nearby vase. She watched him pluck a red flower and reached out her hand as he offered it to her. Pinning it at the side of her head, she turned to him. "How do I look?"

"You looked better earlier, but as you have said, you have a pretty face."

"Thank you," she said with sarcasm. "You always patronize my beauty."

"But we have to do something about your white dress. I would hate to walk around the ball with you clad in it."

Caroline growled and slumped back into the settee. "You have to talk to Mother."

His eyes widened. "Why would I bloody do that?"

"Because I do not think—" she paused and blinked. "How long have we been gone?"

"We should not even return. It is a crime to hear any more of this bloody show," he said, pouring himself another glass.

She took a deep breath and stood up. Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders. "As a proper lady, I should endure it."

They stared at each other and burst out laughing.

As her laughter died, she cleared her throat and straightened her back once again. "But truly, I should return or Camila will never let me forget this dishonorable act against art." She paused at the door. "One last glass, Trent. Then you will help me through this thing."

He bowed to his hips. "Yes, my lady."

With a smile on her lips, Caroline left the drawing room to return to their box. The sound of singing made her close her eyes and groan, tempted to return and finish the bottle of brandy with Trent. But then she froze as she felt a presence nearby.

It was not because someone was there—it was the feeling that someone was there, yet deliberately hiding from her, following her.

She continued walking.

She was nearing their box now, but she deliberately walked past it and turned to the only corridor that led to the stairs and stopped.

Her stalker was taking time so she leaned against the wall and played with a lock of hair, patiently waiting.

A woman walked past her. Red hair, heart-shaped face, thin lips, and a few inches shorter than her. She did not have to look closer for she knew the face too well.

Caroline pushed away from the wall and followed the woman down the stairs, along the hallway, and into another corridor. The redhead's pace slowed and then quickened. Caroline bit a smile and deliberately closed the distance between them.

"I can do this the entire evening, if you must know," she said behind the woman, her voice filled with amusement.

The woman stopped; shoulders stiff. Her face was soft and innocent, but her grey eyes were nearly as bright as her hair, regarding Caroline with restrained fury.

"Follow you, I mean," Caroline said before the woman could say anything. "Like how you have been following me since I arrived in Coulway a few weeks ago."

The redhead scoffed at her in disbelief, then her face instantly changed as she blinked, her eyes suddenly registering innocent bewilderment. "I fear I do not know what you are talking about, my lady. Perhaps you have the wrong lady."

Caroline's lips stretched into a big smile. "You are Jade."

The woman's face tightened.

"Trent's Belle from Belcourt."

Jade blinked. "You are mistaken—"

Caroline lifted her hand and released a long sigh. "Please, I hate it the most when people assume that I am only a pretty face. I may have terrible hair, but I also have a bright mind." She cocked her head to the side. "You must have been following me for a few reasons."

Jade started to turn away but Caroline was quick to block her path. "One, you are jealous. It is reasonable for any woman in love to be jealous, I believe."

"Again, my lady, I do not know what you are—"

"Two, you are intimidated by me."

Those words made Jade stop and let out a scoff, instantly insulted.

Caroline cocked her brows. "Then you are not intimidated."

The woman's thin lips curled, baring a tooth or two as she looked Caroline up and down. "To be the subject of desire of the very man who is obligated to marry you, I do not find any reason why I should be intimidated by you, my lady."

Caroline may think she was beautiful, but she must admit that other women were better equipped in using their charms and she was facing one. Jade was not only older, but her status as a Belle allowed her to experience more things than Caroline ever could in her lifetime. And despite being a Belle, Trent had always believed Jade to be a charming, innocent woman trapped in Belcourt.

But lately, Caroline was beginning to fear that Trent may land himself in trouble because of his Belle. As she looked at Jade now, Caroline was afraid that she had coaxed something different out of the woman, something she was afraid Trent was not aware of.

"Ah, yes. I know Belles are quite confident," Caroline said, nodding her head, causing Jade to frown at her in confusion. "Then you must only be... obsessed."

"I am not—"

"Not with me, of course... with Trent."

"You have a wild imagination—"

"Then let us agree that you are merely curious. You know very little about me, after all. Trent, I am certain, refuses to discuss me or our relationship. All he has ever truly told you is that he is bound to be married soon."

Jade's jaw hardened.

Caroline stepped closer, face now utterly serious. She was done playing games. And she had run out of patience. "Now, while I care very little about what Trent does while he is with you, I care very much about my privacy and reputation."

"I have not been following you," Jade insisted.

Caroline looked down at Jade. "As I have said, do not take me for a fool, Jade. I can draw from memory the look of your carriage that has been passing by our villa every night since we arrived in Coulway, but fortunately for you, I am terrible at any form of art. You have inquired our modiste for the kinds of dresses I ordered and the one you are wearing now is very similar to one of them, or am I wrong?" She looked down at Jade's mint green dress, silently admitting that the bloody dress looked better on the woman.

Jade opened her mouth, but Caroline was not done. "You went for tea every time I did. You have been to the bookshop I frequent and procured similar copies of all five books I did. I only hope you read them as well." As Caroline spoke, Jade's expression turned grim. "The only places you were not in were the royal balls I went to because they very rarely invite Belles. Should I go on, Jade? I have the entire evening, you see. I find that I enjoy this more than the performance on the stage."

Jade just looked at her for a while. Caroline smiled, amused by the woman's resolve. "I follow you around because I cannot fathom why he is willing to waste the rest of his life in an arranged marriage. We are no longer in the age where such things are done."

"For common folks, yes," Caroline replied, stepping closer until Jade was forced to take a step back. "But for us with royal blood, an arranged marriage is like tea—common and necessary."

Jade's expression hardened even more.

"Trent shall remain with you for as long as he wants, Jade, so cease your obsessive stalking."

"Your statement sounds like a threat, my lady," Jade said through her teeth, eyes welling with tears. In their depths, Caroline could read hatred, fear, and desperation—but mainly fury. "Mayhap you should share the consequence should I not heed your advice."

Caroline sighed. "Oh, darling, you are one of those who have a constant need for affirmation, I see." She stepped back. "The consequence, of course, if you do not cease, is that I will tell Trent."

Jade chuckled. "He would not bat an eye. He loves me."

Caroline nodded. "Of course, he does." She sighed, looking at Jade. "He has a soft spot for the misjudged and vulnerable."

A tear of anger dropped from Jade's eye. "I am neither."

Caroline shrugged, no desire for debate. "He never told me, but I have had a feeling he does fancy you more than he expected to, but I would not be overly confident if I were you, darling, because for Trent..." she said, smiling sweetly, "I am the choice."

The smile on Jade's face froze.

Her forest green eyes searched Jade's grey globes. "And we do not want Trent to make a choice, do we, Jade?"

The woman remained silent, lips and eyes quivering with intense rage. For a moment, Caroline pitied the woman. She was only in love.

"Thank you for understanding," she said as she stepped back and turned.

As she walked away, she wanted to return and ask Jade what else she knew about her. How far did she dig into Caroline's past?