“I’m merely saying,” Wilhelmina insisted, one brow elegantly arched like a duchess bestowing favor, “that Byron is a bit of an indulgent windbag. All tempest, no tide. If he ever discovered the art of restraint, the ton might collapse in shock. Then again, he never practiced restraint in his personal life.”
The young lord’s smile died at her words, looking utterly confused. “B-but surely, ‘She walks in beauty’ is?—”
“Let me guess. You believe it is poetic, a masterpiece. Come to think of it, even I can walk in beauty as well as many other young ladies here, after our hair has been brushed, cheeks rouged, and stays tightened.”
“Well, um, of course, Lady Wil—” The poor lad looked flustered, reminding Elizabeth of herself, but only to a certain point.
“You meant to patronize me,” Wilhelmina declared, half-accusingly and half-charmingly. “Still, I forgive you. I can see the regret in your eyes.”
“Er, um, I… Refreshments!” the young man mumbled, stumbling over his feet as he scurried away.
Lady Grisham watched the young man go with a regretful sigh. Then, she looked at her daughter, and said, “Wilhelmina, youwere not supposed to best him intellectually. They do not like that.”
“Oh. I hadn’t noticed,” was her blatant lie as she fanned herself. “Well, then, men should improvethemselves. Women should not have to bow down, make themselves subordinate.”
“You ought to be more malleable,” Lady Grisham advised in a low voice. It was a scolding, but it was not in the sharp voice she seemed to reserve for Elizabeth. “What you need is a pliant tongue. Even if you are cleverer than them, you must let them think otherwise, or they will not offer for you.”
“I understand that fully well, Mother. I’d rather get rid of them now than suffer for the rest of my life. So, if Sir Blue-Breeches wants to come back and propose, I will have to say, ‘No, thank you’.”
“He’s not coming back, Wilhelmina. You’ve humiliated him,” Lady Grisham said, sighing heavily.
Then, her attention turned to Elizabeth, unfortunately. As soon as she looked at her, her lips thinned and her whole face seemed to have tightened.
“And you, Elizabeth,” she began, with a voice humming with disdain and disappointment, “do not try to escape every opportunity. You are supposed to socialize, not skulk around like a servant.”
Relief coursed through Elizabeth. If that was the impression Lady Grisham had, then she had no idea what she had been up to.
“I was not sulking,” she explained, with the newly found confidence that seemed to be singing in her veins. “I asked permission to get some air. Crowds make me breathless.”
“Always an excuse,” Lady Grisham grumbled. “I told you what is going to happen if you don’t get married.”
The threat hung between them. Elizabeth remembered why she had followed the duke to that hidden room. That thought alone gave her a spark of courage.
She would not be pushed to the side anymore. Least of all by herself.
Before she could reply, however, a hush spread across the room. A footman finally announced the beginning of the musicale.
Was it really just about to start?
It felt like Elizabeth had lived several lives already.
Men and women rustled to find a seat.
Elizabeth followed the crowd and finally settled between Wilhelmina and a dowager she only recognized from the scentof lavender and mothballs. Anyone was preferable to her stepmother, though, and she was thankful.
She expected to finally relax for the night by listening to lovely music she could talk about with Daphne and Victoria. The latter, however, would want to hear about other things.
She spotted the Duke taking a seat beside the Earl of Whitton, his posture relaxed, yet commanding. His striking and angular features were carved into unreadable stillness.
How did he manage that quiet intensity? Was she wearing the same mask, now that she knew how?
Apparently,yes. Lady Grisham hadn’t suspected a thing.
The light of the chandelier spilled over his head, catching on the strands of his hair, which shone like aged copper burnished by firelight.
For a moment, she was transfixed. He looked like something out of a story: untamed, out of place among the gilded crowd, and yet magnetic in his stillness.
Just as she told herself he hadn’t noticed her staring, his head shifted ever so slightly. His gaze flicked toward her.