However, when they saw Octavia on his arm, the atmosphere, as well as the respect paid, shifted very quickly.
“Ignore them,” the Duke said when he saw Octavia grimace. “Who cares what they think?”
It was easy for him to say that, as he was not the one who they watched and judged. And while Octavia was confident in herself, she was not so much when beaten with the ire of those who she knew to be better than her.
They watched, and they scowled. They shook their heads and gasped. The Duke led Octavia through the crowd, toward theentrance, and Octavia could not help but notice and hear the whispers that followed them.
They know what I am… and they know that I do not belong.
Octavia tried her best to dismiss these judgements, but she was only so strong. She was reminded a little too clearly of the Duke’s social drum from last week, the way that she was rightly ignored, not to mention reminded constantly that she did not belong in this scene.
Even if the Duke saw her differently, even if he did not care, what would he do when people started to question him to his face about her? He was, after all, a staunch believer in expectation, and while he claimed that he was trying to change, could someone change that much?
Things got worse when he led her inside and to their seats.
Their seats were some of the best in the house. Above the stage, and protruding off the wall, was a small box that they had to themselves. To enter this box, they were forced to walk a hallway where a valet stood to usher them inside. And gathered along this hallway in wait were dozens of lords and ladies.
They had been chatting among themselves as they waited to be shown to their seats, but as soon as Octavia and the Duke arrived, the conversation ceased, and all eyes turned on them.
“Good evening,” the Duke said as he led Octavia down the hallway to their private box.
“Your Grace,” a few of the other guests said.
“Your Grace, it is nice to see you,” more added.
No one greeted Octavia. Even in her fine gown, even on the arm of the Duke, they somehow knew what she was. It made Octavia want to turn and flee, to forget this night and hurry home to where she belonged. Never before had she been so embarrassed.
“Your Grace…” As they reached the entrance to their private box, an elderly woman swept in beside them. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Lady Redgate,” the Duke greeted simply. “Nice to see you.”
“As it is nice to see you…” She looked him over with a discerning gaze. “I did not know you were a fan of the Opera.”
“I enjoy it from time to time,” he said. “Just as I like to keep people guessing about me.”
She snorted and looked down at Octavia. “And who is your friend?”
“This is Miss Finch…” The Duke spoke loudly as if he wanted everyone to hear him. “She is my son’s governess and here tonight on my invitation.”
“Is that right?” Lady Redgate spoke as if her tongue spat acid. “A governess.” She curled her lip at Octavia. “This must be quite the treat for you, dear. Rubbing shoulders with your betters.”
Octavia offered a smile and looked away.
“As I said, she is here on my invitation,” the Duke spoke with a growl. “And I would expect you to treat her as you would me.”
“I am merely noting the obvious,” Lady Redgate dismissed. “I did not mean anything by it…” As she spoke, Octavia sensed the elderly lady watching her closely. “Miss Finch… Might you be so kind as to look at me when I speak to you.”
Octavia grimaced and forced herself to look up.
Lady Redgate had a cruel face. Her lips were thin. Her cheeks were sunken. And her eyes, as black as bottomless pits, stared directly at her as if she was trying to scare away a mouse that had scampered into her home without invitation.
However, as Lady Redgate looked down at her, something happened… a shadow passed behind her eyes, her brow furrowed, and she tilted her head as if in confusion.
“Miss Finch… who did you say your father was?”
Octavia blinked. “I… I did not say.”
“Well?”