The fire crackled. The smoke curled.
Nothing was said aloud about the earlier tension, but Alasdair noted who drank slowly, who kept their eyes too focused on the flames, and who was already calculating the odds.
Yet through it all, his thoughts returned to her. To the softness of her gasp. The curve of her breast in his hand. The guilt in her eyes before she fled.
He hadn’t lost her. Not yet. But she was slipping from his reach. And that was a failure he would not endure.
Not quietly.
“Here we are again,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.
There was no turning back now. She’d tried, Heaven knew. But this morning, when she truly had a headache for once, she was required to return to society. Her reprieve had run out. And her stepmother’s eyes had become too sharp, her voice too sweet, her presence too constant.
“It’s only a garden party, Lizzie,” Wilhelmina murmured beside her. “It couldn’t be that dreadful. Yes, it’s another one, but at least we’ll be outdoors, in fresh air. Flowers. Lemonade. No candle smoke.”
Elizabeth gave her sister a tight smile. “Mm. Flowers. They’re only pleasant when they belong to you. When they’re in someone else’s garden, you have to worry about sneezes, bees… being watched from every angle.”
Wilhelmina sighed and bumped her shoulder. “You sound like a dying governess in a bad novel. No wonder you’ve been falling ill lately. And today, you do look pale.”
“It’s the pressure,” Elizabeth murmured. “I must find a husband. But when I do… will I like him? Will I survive the life that comes after?”
Wilhelmina hesitated before replying. “I’m not far behind you, you know. That doesn’t make it better, but you’re not alone.”
The two of them sighed in unison.
They had just stepped into the grounds of another grand estate just outside of London, one of many that blurred together.
The hedges were trimmed into shapes that were either animals or unfortunate cherubs, and the air smelled faintly of roses and dread.
Elizabeth wore a pale blue muslin dress with discreet embroidery at the hem. It was modest, a return to the old self she hoped would protect her from suspicion. She had chosen it deliberately—no more laces Alasdair could loosen with greedy fingers.
Even so, her skin still tingled with the memory of that library. Of his mouth. Of how her knees had gone weak, and her will, weaker still.
“Are you sure you’re ready for battle?” Wilhelmina asked, likely noticing her flushed cheeks.
“I’m ready,” Elizabeth lied, her voice thin.
There was no time to speak further. Lady Grisham was upon them, a pale and perfumed storm cloud. She moved like a wraith behind them, her smile brittle and false.
Elizabeth didn’t need to look to know she wouldn’t be permitted a single moment alone. Not today.
“Mother,” Wilhelmina said sweetly, “don’t you think Elizabeth and I ought to speak to some of the dowagers? The ones with eligible sons?”
Elizabeth blinked.Clever girl.
Lady Grisham tilted her head, surprised but not displeased. “Yes… Yes, that is an excellent idea.”
Wilhelmina took Elizabeth’s wrist. “Come on. There’s a cluster near the refreshment table.”
Elizabeth leaned toward her. “What are you doing?”
“Watch,” Wilhelmina whispered. “Look behind us. Her dreadful friends are heading this way. She’ll be cornered for at least ten minutes.”
Elizabeth chanced a glance. Lady Wormley and Lady Forthridge—Grisham’s favorite gossips—were approaching. Their feathered bonnets bobbed with menace.
“We’re actually going to talk to the dowagers?” she asked.
“Of course we are,” Mina whispered back. “We’ll charm them, then vanish behind the refreshment tent to catch our breath. Lemonade is the excuse. This is the execution.”