“So. Ye’re ending it,” he said. “Have ye found someone else?”
She shook her head. “A husband will be found for me. That’s how it works. We charm dowagers and hope they pass us on to their sons.”
“Is that what ye want?” he asked, his voice sharp now.
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, standing straighter. “What matters is what’s expected. What’s necessary.”
He stared at her, eyes dark and searching.
But she couldn’t let him sway her again. She turned and walked away, her spine rigid, her hands trembling.
Every step away from him felt like punishment.
But every step toward a husband felt like surrender.
And Elizabeth didn’t know which would break her first.
Later that afternoon, Elizabeth returned to duty.
She pasted on a smile and folded herself back into the role expected of her. Gracious, charming, eager. She laughed lightly at the appropriate moments, feigned delight at opinions she didn’t share, and tried her best to recover from the earlier confrontation with Alasdair.
At her side stood Lord Felix, a portly man nearing forty, who had taken an immediate interest in her after a polite introduction. She steered the conversation toward music, one of the few topics she truly enjoyed, and tried to draw him out with questions about his tastes.
“I’m very glad you like Mozart,” she said, genuinely hoping they’d found common ground.
“Oh yes, very much,” Lord Felix replied with an approving nod. “His brushwork is exquisite.”
Elizabeth blinked. “His… brushwork?”
She could feel Lady Grisham’s eyes burning into the back of her neck. There was no room for mistakes now, no time to be visibly confused. She fought to keep her tone light.
“Brushwork?” she repeated, still unsure if she’d misheard.
“Indeed,” Felix said with a confident puff of his chest. “His paintings. Quite stirring. I saw one once, it was full of color and emotion.”
Elizabeth hesitated. Surely this was a joke?
Before she could formulate a reply, Wilhelmina stepped in smoothly. “He was a composer, my lord. Mozart never painted, not professionally at any rate. I believe my sister was asking about your musical preferences.”
Lord Felix’s cheeks flushed bright red. Whether from embarrassment or indignation, it was difficult to say.
“Mina,” Elizabeth murmured, her tone gentle. “I’m sure his lordship was thinking of another Mozart. A distant cousin, perhaps. The name is not exactly uncommon.”
Felix gave her a grateful, almost sheepish look, seizing the lifeline. Lady Grisham, watching from a short distance, nodded once in approval.
But Elizabeth’s good fortune did not last.
The next gentleman introduced to her was Lord Milbourne, a young earl reputed to be both wealthy and highly eligible. He stood tall, his posture rigid as if carved from marble, his sharp features set in a permanent expression of barely concealed disdain. His dark eyes fixed on Elizabeth with an intensity that was more challenging than flattering.
Elizabeth forced a polite smile and dipped her head slightly as she approached.
“Lord Milbourne,” she began softly, her voice gentle but carrying the practiced ease of a debutante. “I’ve heard much about your estates in Hampshire. They say the grounds there rival the finest in the kingdom.”
Milbourne’s lips twitched briefly, but no smile followed. “Hampshire has its uses,” he replied, his tone clipped, as if dismissing the topic. “Though I prefer the city for its… convenience.”
Elizabeth nodded, searching for a thread to pull him out of his cold reserve.
“London does have its charms,” she agreed. “Especially this time of year, with the garden parties in full bloom.” She glanced at a nearby flower arrangement, then added lightly, “Though I must confess, I fear the bees more than the gossip.”