Nevertheless, the Scotsman’s presence unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She could feel his gaze lingering like a faint heat on her skin, making her heart quicken in a way that both confused and unnerved her.
It was absurd. Why would someone like him notice her, when the room was full of far more radiant and assured women? Yet, despite herself, the thought sent a quiet thrill through her.
After the performance, Lady Grisham briskly guided Elizabeth and Wilhelmina toward two elder gentlemen of the ton—Lord Ashcombe and Lord Kittridge, each accompanied by their sons.
Kittridge, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, greeted Lady Grisham with a practiced bow. His son Theodore followed, less polished but eager, though Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze lingering too long, too assessing.
“It is a pleasure to meet your daughters, Lady Grisham,” Kittridge said smoothly, his voice carrying the ease of long acquaintance. “They bring a rare light to what was shaping up to be a rather dull Season.”
Before Lady Grisham could respond, Kittridge glanced toward her with a curious tilt of his head.
“And where is Lord Grisham these days?” he asked, “I hear he’s been absent from London quite some time.”
Lady Grisham’s posture remained impeccable, her voice steady and measured. “Lord Grisham has taken to the countryside for his health and reflection. The quiet air, I believe, will do him good. He’s staying with friends of our son-in-law, the Duke of Oakmere, away from the bustle of town.”
Elizabeth concealed the awe she felt over her mother’s ease. The truth was that her father, the Marquess of Grisham, had been forcibly exiled by Elizabeth’s brother-in-law, the Duke of Oakmere, to Scotland, to live with the duke’s family. Her father was not to return to England until he’d changed his ways.
Elizabeth and her sisters doubted that day would ever come.
Kittridge nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I see you. I noticed you were absent last season as well. London felt quite the emptier without your presence.”
A subtle, knowing smile curved Lady Grisham’s lips. “Last season required my attention elsewhere, but one cannot neglect one’s duties entirely. Now, I am quite glad to be back and attending to matters here.” She turned her gaze to Wilhelmina, adding with practiced warmth, “Wilhelmina has grown into such a refined young lady; her love of music is quite exceptional.”
Lady Grisham’s deft shift in conversation left no room for further questioning, and the men nodded, clearly satisfied. Elizabeth always marveled at her stepmother’s ability to slink through the probing of the ton.
Lady Grisham then introduced them to Lord Ashcombe, whose cheeks glowed a deep red from port.
“I must say, the conductor did wonders managing the orchestra in such a cramped room,” Ashcombe declared with slurred enthusiasm.
Lady Grisham inclined her head. “Yes, quite. My Wilhelmina made the very same point. Didn’t you, darling?” She cast a glance at her daughter, the faintest hint of pride in her eyes. “Elizabeth, too, shows a keen eye for art.”
Elizabeth almost raised an eyebrow. When had her stepmother begun noticing her at all?
Peter Ashcombe, the son, fixed his gaze on Elizabeth with clear interest. She tried to summon the usual flutter of excitement people spoke of at such events, but nothing stirred.
What was wrong with her? Was it that she simply didn’t know how to play the part? After all, weren’t musicales and balls the proper places to meet one’s future husband?
Easy laughter burst from nearby. She saw the Scotsman and his friend approached them.
The other man walked directly toward her group, looking as relaxed as Elizabeth was tense.
How did people act a certain way? The proper way? She needed to know their secrets.
“Forgive us for our incursion, my lords and ladies, we didn’t feel it right not to introduce ourselves. I am Seth Curnley, Earl of Whitton, and this is my very good friend, His Grace, Alasdair McLoughan, the Duke of Redmoor. I believe His Grace was just saying how he’s losing his heart to our string quartets.”
Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat.
He’s a duke!
The mystery Scotsman was a duke. Oh dear.
The rest of the group met his introductions with chuckles. However, Kittridge’s expression had not changed. It seemed that he was well-versed in keeping his emotions in control. He did bow, recognizing the duke’s title.
However, it was clear that the bow was not enough to welcome the man behind the title. As expected, Kittridge’s son Theodore followed his father’s example.
“Lord Kittridge and Lord Ashcombe,” the Duke of Redmoor greeted, inclining his head politely.
Elizabeth couldn’t shake the strange impression that he was more soldier than courtier. It wasn’t just his broad frame; it was something in the way he carried himself, sharp and unyielding beneath the polished surface.