Several people turned to look. Murmurs rose. A young gentleman coughed into his gloved hand, uncertain whether to intervene.
“That’s enough,” Lady Grisham said quickly, grabbing Wilhelmina’s wrist in a vice-like grip. Her smile returned, brittle and bright. “We will not cause a scene at our host’s home.”
“I think the scene’s already been caused,” Wilhelmina shot back.
“Mina, you don’t need to—” Elizabeth began to say, but the debutante who had shoved her shrank back into her group, pink with embarrassment.
Some nearby ladies turned away awkwardly, but Wilhelmina’s voice rose again before Elizabeth could finish.
“I saw you, Miss Hartley. Don’t hide behind your friends,” Wilhelmina warned, her eyes so fierce it made Elizabeth’s heart sing for her half-sister.
Yet people were starting to stare. And that was Lady Grisham’s nightmare.
“That is quite enough, dear daughter,” Lady Grisham intoned softly, pulling Wilhelmina by her side, then whispering in the young woman’s ear. “You will not disgrace me by shrieking like a fishwife in the middle of a garden party.”
“Someone already has,” Wilhelmina muttered darkly.
“Mina, it is quite all right,” Elizabeth croaked. But Wilhelmina’s frown told her that her sister did not fall for her lie.
“Come,” Lady Grisham snapped, dragging her away. “You may act like a servant if you wish, but I’ll not have youlooklike one.”
Elizabeth couldn’t take it anymore.
She took two steps away from Lady Grisham, and then…
She fled.
She fled, looking for a room to clean her dress. She knew it would be futile, but what could go even more wrong?
She entered a side door, heart pounding from the humiliation and from fear that she might be discovered by someone else.
Finally, when alone, she dabbed at the mud with her lace handkerchief. As expected, the stains merely spread. She was at her wits’ end, and her tears felt hot and about to escape.
She knew Lady Grisham would remain furious. That was a given. But what about Wilhelmina? Would she be ruined? Surely, after this display, gentlemen would steer clear of her. Yes, her outspoken younger sister was not a simpering debutante by any means, but Elizabeth had no right destroying her debut like this?—
Creak.
Elizabeth’s ears perked up at the sound.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
That voice.
Deep, rough-hewn, carrying the music of the Highlands in every word.
She didn’t want him to see her right now. Not when she looked so defeated.
“Go away,” she muttered, trying not to raise her voice.
Slow and measured steps continued to approach. “What’s the matter, Lady Elizabeth?”
She turned, and there he stood. Taller than most men she knew, with broad shoulders that seemed carved from the rugged Scottish hills themselves.
His autumn-hued hair tumbled freely, wild and untamed, framing a face that was both sharply handsome and raw with quiet strength. His verdant eyes held a mischievous glint, but beneath that, she glimpsed something deeper: an unyielding fire tempered by a surprising gentleness.
She straightened her spine and met his gaze. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I would prefer to be left alone just now.”
He took another step closer, his voice low and steady, “Ye’re nae so easily dismissed, lass. I’m nae leaving till ye tell me what’s ailing ye.”