Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Aurelia did her best to focus on the playing, not the many eyes glued to her.
In this recital hall, she had expected to feel nearly invisible, but now that felt like a foolish, na?ve imagining.
What new duchess, during her first Society appearance—her first proper Society appearance ever, would not be an object of curiosity?
And Sebastian, too. The duke, who had remarried without so much as venturing a foot into London.
If anything, Sebastian seemed to feel the burden of the attention even more than she did, his arm stiff against hers, and his eyes hard.
She knew that he was not the man his reputation claimed him to be, but watching him now, she could almost believe it.
There was a simmering violence in him, a sense that if someone pushed too hard, he might explode into fury.
Coming here had most definitely been a mistake.
The music wound around them. Bach, fast and impatient. Ordinarily, she would have been charmed and delighted—it was an experience she would never have had living at home—but she could not escape the pressure of the eyes on her.
This was nothing like the masquerade.
At long last, the interval came, and the musicians bowed, filing back through a side door and away. Footmen appeared with refreshments on trays, and many members of the audience rose, stretching their legs.
Two young ladies placed themselves beside Aurelia, their hair perfectly curled and their dresses exquisitely cut. Looking at them, she was immediately certain that they were the leaders of this year’s debutantes. They had that snide, sharp edge to them.
Sebastian’s attention was snagged elsewhere, and Aurelia had nothing more she could do but smile at the new arrivals. They smiled back, but there was nothing charming about the expressions.
“We simply had to come and introduce ourselves, Your Grace,” the first chirped, ignoring the fact that it was improper for them to introduce themselves, especially to a duchess, without a mutual acquaintance introducing them first. Evidently, they did not feel as though she deserved that honor.
“After all, you are the most exciting thing to happen in months.”
That did not sound like a compliment.
“This is Miss Davenport,” the second girl chimed, gesturing to the first. She had dark hair and stunningly blue eyes; the first had blonde hair and hazel eyes. “I am Miss Peterson.”
“Miss Peterson is engaged to the Marquess of Litchfield,” Miss Davenport said with a false giggle. “And I am engaged to the future Duke of Chelmsford. So you see, we are almost your equals.”
By the look in her eyes, she considered them both far above Aurelia’s equals.
Aurelia forced a smile. “Then I’m sure it is an honor to meet you both.”
“Tell me—for I have been so very curious—how did you meet the Duke of Ravenhall?” Miss Davenport giggled again, but the humor didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve heard some dreadful things, but of course they must not be true.”
“If they were,” Miss Peterson said with a simper, “I simply could not imagine a lady of good breeding entering into a marriage with him.”
“Of course, he is a duke.” Miss Davenport paused for effect, holding up a single finger. “So I suppose there is a reasoning there.”
“And I have heard he owns a great deal of land,” Miss Peterson added her own finger.
“Precisely. So, truly, that would be understandable if you were to stoop down to marry him despite his reputation.”
Aurelia clasped her hands so tightly together in her lap that her knuckles turned white. She feigned a smile. “And what reputation is that?”
Miss Davenport sucked in a breath that was almost genuine. “You can’t tell me you don’t know!”
“I only know what I have experienced, which is a kind and handsome man as my husband. But please, tell me what his reputation is. Is he a rake?” With difficulty, she kept her smile in place, daring the other lady to say it.
Another, perhaps, might not have done—but it was clear Miss Davenport did not shy away from a challenge, particularly when it involved harming another person.
“Why, my dear! Everyone knows the duke murdered his first wife!”
So she went there. Aurelia gaped at the girl in near disbelief. She had always thought rumors spread slowly, insidiously, like a disease shared only in whispers hidden behind fans and false smiles.
Not like this, in blatant confrontation.
Then again, what did Aurelia know?—this was her first foray into the ton proper.
Aurelia gasped mockingly, putting a hand to her mouth. “Murdered? How so?”
“Well.” Miss Davenport shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know the precise details.”
“But if you know he murdered her, surely you must have insights into the manner in which he did? Is there proof?”
“We know she was dreadfully unhappy,” Miss Peterson interjected on her friend’s behalf. “And that he was so angry with her that he killed her!”
Aurelia drew her brows together in an expression of polite disbelief. “Angry with her? For whatever reason?”
Miss Peterson coughed delicately into her white kid glove. “I must say, I have not been briefed on the finer details.”
“Then how do you know she was unhappy? Were you close?” Aurelia shifted closer, doing her best to make her eyes gleam as though this gossip was fascinating to her. “Were you acquainted when she married the duke?”
Miss Davenport scoffed. “Of course not. That was before our time.”
“But everyone knows it to be true,” Miss Peterson nodded like a hen pecking at grain.
Aurelia adopted an expression of polite confusion.
“I simply don’t understand precisely how you can know something to be true when you have no proof and were not there to speak with either of them.
You were not close with the late duchess; you certainly are not close to the duke if you accuse him of murder.
And you cannot even tell me how she died. Hmm. Sounds like—”
“She was poisoned!” Miss Peterson declared dramatically.
Miss Davenport hit the other lady’s arm, her brows descending. “Hush!”
Aurelia surveyed them both, her anger congealing into something hard and unforgiving. All they had been intending was to sow discord—though for what reason she couldn’t ascertain. Really, it didn’t matter.
“She was not poisoned,” she said coolly. “She left the house in a storm and lost her way. The duke had nothing to do with it, and he was devastated by her death. I can hardly speak for the quality of their marriage, or her happiness, but I can say definitively that she was not poisoned.”
Miss Davenport rolled her large, expressive eyes. “Forgive us, Your Grace. Miss Peterson has a habit of getting over-excited.” She dug her elbow into the other girl’s side.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Miss Peterson laughed awkwardly. “That’s my mistake, of course. And I can understand why you would be inclined to defend the duke despite his scandal.”
“You must consider yourself extremely lucky,” Miss Davenport said. “To have captured his attention.”
“I’m surprised you don’t consider him to be fortunate to marry again despite the rumors.” Aurelia curled her fingers around the seat of her chair, fighting to keep her temper. “Or are you referring to my family?”
“Oh, yes.” Miss Davenport smirked. “Or rather, who is your family?”
Aurelia took a deep breath. Sebastian was elsewhere, sucked into conversation with some loquacious lordling hoping to grow his circle of influence.
Surely the intermission would be over soon.
She’d imagined this would be a better option than a ball, given the lack of possibility for conversation, but they were trapped in this small room with no escape.
If they left now, people would know they were fleeing. A sign of weakness, and the ton sniffed out weakness the way sharks smelled blood in water.
“What does that matter?” she asked. “I’m a duchess now, and there have been far more scandalous marriages than mine.
Unless you were hoping he would return to London’s drawing rooms and find a new bride amongst the debutantes there?
” She made a show of looking the ladies up and down.
“Is that why you are so opposed to his having married another lady?
“If so, I’m afraid you would have been disappointed—even if he had re-entered society to find a new bride, he would not have selected one of you simpering peacocks.”
The ladies’ faces turned a very similar shade of puce. “You ought to be careful,” Miss Davenport hissed. “You do not want to make an enemy of us.”
“I hadn’t intended to come here and make an enemy of anyone.
But you seem to have decided that for me.
Calling into question the honor of my husband, the validity of our marriage, and my birth.
Do you think he deserves better?” She tilted her head as though in contemplation.
“Then who ought he to have married? You believe him a murderer.”
Miss Davenport and Miss Peterson both rose, their noses in the air. “We shall be taking our leave,” Miss Davenport muttered. “We know where we are not wanted.”
Aurelia smiled. “It is a wonder you came to sit with me, then.”
The two ladies took themselves off in a flurry of skirts and raised chins, and Aurelia sat back in her chair. So far, she had made enemies of a duchess, a soon-to-be-duchess’s wife, and the future wife of a marquess.
Hopefully, Sebastian had been having far better luck.