“Her perfume smells like desperation,” Wilhelmina whispered to Elizabeth, who giggled.
“That’s your mother,” Elizabeth whispered back.
“Oh, stand up straight, both of you,” Lady Grisham practically growled at them. “Smile.”
“We are smiling, Mother.”
Elizabeth scanned the group of gentlemen. The youngest was probably about her age, a handsome heir whose viscount father was still very much alive. Meanwhile, the oldest, a baron, looked pompous and too fond of sweets and all kinds of refreshments, his belly straining against his shirt.
“Dear sirs, Lord Huntington, Mr. Evans, Mr. Phillips, and Lord Anders, may I present two of my daughters, Lady Elizabeth and Lady Wilhelmina.”
There was the usual flurry of bows and curtsies. Even though Elizabeth felt the pressure of talking to potential suitors after her humiliating ordeal, she tried to think of Alasdair’s lessons.
Confidence.
She reminded herself to look at the men as if she cared about what they had to say. Through making them feel important, they would think she was worth their notice. It wasn’t something she completely agreed with, but she saw the point of it. Even these men had fragile egos, too.
“Did you enjoy the performance, my lords?” she asked, although she directed her gaze at Lord Huntington, who seemed to be the youngest.
Huntington looked pleased. He puffed up his chest, but not overly so, paying Elizabeth close attention.
“I did, Lady Elizabeth. Very much so. I like listening to Mozart,” he said enthusiastically.
“That was Beethoven playing, my lord,” Wilhelmina corrected.
Lord Huntington flushed red at his error. “Was it him? Oh, apologies. I think those two are easily confused.”
“Understandable.” Elizabeth came to the rescue, using a gentle tone. “Beethoven was strongly influenced by Mozart, thus the similarity in composition. I dare say he is a good addition to tonight’s performance. I am pleased.”
Huntington recovered, smiling widely. “Precisely the case! I believe I do have an ear for these things, recognizing Mozart’s influence in tonight’s selection.”
Elizabeth could not miss the withering look her sister gave her. Wilhelmina was not happy. Not at all.
But Huntington was. So, Elizabeth was successful.
She smiled at the rest of the group. “The first piece was a lovely introduction to all the other selections, but the final sonata feels like it should have been placed somewhere in the middle.”
Mr. Phillip agreed readily. “That’s what I thought, as well.”
“Did you think so, my lord?” Elizabeth asked, keeping her serene smile on her face. “I do wonder if you think that means the composer is leaving the story open for another performance in the near future. Or do you think it was a problem with inspiration?”
The gentleman was slightly flustered, tugging at his cravat, as he floundered for an answer, “Perhaps both.”
“Ah, you may be right, sir. You’ve managed to gauge the nuance in the music,” Elizabeth praised.
Lady Grisham’s face was a picture of shock, as she blinked as if the whole thing was merely a dream.
When Elizabeth turned to her stepmother, there was a begrudging look of approval on her face.
Alasdair watched the exchange from across the room, his arms folded loosely over his chest in what might’ve seemed like casual detachment. But there was nothing idle about his gaze.
His eyes tracked every movement: Lady Elizabeth’s confident posture, the way her sister held court with the young pups of the ton, even the calculating arch of Lady Grisham’s brow.
Aye, he looked still enough, but beneath it, tension coiled in his spine. He wasn’t just observing. He was measuring, marking… protecting. Though he’d never admit as much.
“You need to stop glowering,” Seth advised, truly relaxed as he swirled his brandy in his glass. “Do you even notice that you are?”
“Am I?” Alasdair asked, with a quirk of a brow.