Chapter 31 The Ball #2
She remained hidden until the butler had returned inside and the street was empty again.
For a long moment, she considered marching up to that imposing front door and demanding to see Edgar, demanding an explanation.
But pride and heartbreak held her back. If he was indeed courting Miss Hargrove, if their relationship had been nothing more than a pleasant diversion before he fulfilled his ducal obligations, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain.
By the time she reached her own modest lodgings, tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.
How could she have been such a fool? To think that a duke would choose a common-born writer over a lady of impeccable breeding and fortune?
She had let his tender caresses and passionate declarations blind her to the harsh realities of their different worlds.
Yet even as her heart broke, a part of her remained defiant. She would attend his house party. She would hold her head high and face whatever truth awaited her there. She owed herself that much, at least.
*
Three days later, Elisha stood before the mirror in Madame Delacoure’s exclusive fitting room, hardly recognizing the elegant woman who stared back at her.
The crimson silk gown transformed her completely—its rich color brought out the warmth in her complexion, while the expert tailoring emphasized curves she hadn’t known she possessed.
“Magnifique!” Madame Delacoure declared, adjusting the fall of the skirt with practiced hands. “You shall be the belle of any ball, mademoiselle.”
Beside her, Amelia practically glowed in her own creation—a confection of pale blue silk that made her eyes sparkle. “Oh, Elisha, you look absolutely stunning. Surely no gentleman could resist such elegance.”
As they admired their reflections, voices from the adjacent fitting room drifted through the thin walls, and both women fell silent, unconsciously straining to hear.
“Did you hear about the Duke of Lancaster?” a woman’s voice asked, pitched low but carrying clearly in the quiet shop.
“Oh yes,” another replied with obvious relish. “They say he’s finally bowing to family pressure to secure the succession.”
Elisha felt her blood turn to ice, though she forced herself to remain motionless as Madame Delacoure continued her adjustments.
“About time, I should say,” the first voice continued. “And what a match it will be—the daughter of that transportation magnate. What was his name again?”
“Hargrove,” the second voice supplied helpfully. “Olivia Hargrove. They say she’s an absolute beauty, and her father’s company would complement the duke’s holdings perfectly.”
“I heard from Lady Binbrook that the duchess is positively beside herself with joy,” the first voice added with obvious satisfaction in sharing such choice gossip. “Apparently, she’s already begun planning the wedding breakfast. Talk about counting one’s chickens!”
A tinkle of laughter followed. “Well, when you’re the mother of England’s most eligible bachelor, I suppose confidence comes naturally. Oh, to be a guest at that announcement!”
Elisha caught Amelia’s concerned gaze in the mirror, seeing her own distress reflected there.
The gossip confirmed everything Steven had suggested, and everything she’d feared since witnessing Miss Hargrove’s departure from Edgar’s townhouse.
Her chest felt tight, as if the elegant corset had suddenly become a vise.
“Elisha?” Amelia’s soft voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “You look rather pale. Would you like to sit down?”
She forced a bright smile, though it felt like it might crack her face. “I’m perfectly fine. Just… surprised by the latest gossip, I suppose.”
“It’s only gossip,” Amelia said gently, but her eyes remained worried. “We mustn’t put too much credence in drawing room chatter.”
Before Elisha could respond, Madame Delacoure stepped back with a satisfied nod. “Voilà! You are both transformed into goddesses. Such gowns deserve to be seen at the finest gatherings.”
As Elisha allowed herself to be helped from the elaborate gown, her mind kept returning to the overheard conversation.
The pieces seemed to fit together with devastating clarity—Edgar’s distance since London, the business investments, Miss Hargrove’s intimate visit, and now Society’s expectation of an imminent announcement.
She had been naive to think their passionate interludes could overcome the immense barriers they faced. He was a duke, after all, with responsibilities to his family name and holdings. What was one besotted writer compared to a strategically advantageous marriage?
*
A week later, Elisha stood in the receiving line at Lancaster Hall, her crimson silk gown rustling softly as guests moved past in a glittering procession.
The ballroom beyond sparkled with the light of a thousand candles reflected in crystal chandeliers, and the air hummed with music and refined conversation.
Edgar stood at the head of the line with his family arrayed beside him in order of precedence.
Lady Hargrove hovered nearby with obvious satisfaction, while her daughter Olivia’s golden head was bent intimately close to the Duchess of Lancaster’s as they whispered together like old friends.
The sight made Elisha’s stomach clench painfully as she remembered the morning’s gossip sheets: “Duke of Lancaster Expected to Announce Engagement at Autumn Ball.”
“Ready?” Steven asked quietly beside her, his steady presence providing the only anchor in what felt like a storm-tossed sea.
She managed a serene smile that she prayed concealed her inner turmoil. “Of course.”
They joined the queue, and Elisha tried to ignore how the bold crimson of her gown suddenly felt too presumptuous, too attention-seeking. What had possessed her to choose such a striking color? She wasn’t here to compete for a duke’s attention. Was she?
As they drew closer, she watched Edgar greeting his guests with practiced charm, looking every inch the aristocrat in elegant evening black that emphasized his tall frame and broad shoulders.
When his gaze found her in the line, something flickered in those blue depths that made her treacherous heart skip a beat.
“Miss Thornton,” he greeted Amelia first, his manners impeccable.
“Your Grace,” Elisha managed when her turn came, sinking into a curtsy that she prayed disguised her trembling limbs.
“Miss Linde.” He took her gloved hand, and she tried desperately not to notice how his touch lingered a moment longer than propriety dictated. “I’m delighted you could attend this evening.”
The warmth in his voice seemed genuine, but Elisha forced herself to remember Miss Hargrove’s disheveled appearance, the whispered speculations about wedding plans.
“I must say, Your Grace,” Steven interjected smoothly, his hand coming to rest protectively at the small of her back, “Miss Linde looks particularly enchanting this evening. I daresay she’ll be the belle of the ball.”
Elisha watched something dark and dangerous flash in Edgar’s eyes before his expression returned to diplomatic neutrality. “Indeed,” he replied with careful politeness. “Though I’m certain all the ladies present will shine tonight.”
His gaze drifted meaningfully toward where Miss Hargrove stood in her cloud of pale silk, and Elisha felt her chest tighten with fresh pain.
“Mr. Thornton flatters me beyond my merit,” she said quickly, grateful for Steven’s steadying presence. At least one gentleman in her acquaintance could be counted upon to lend her support when needed.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Edgar said with a slight bow, “I must continue greeting my guests.”
As Steven guided her into the magnificent ballroom, Elisha refused to look back, though she could feel Edgar’s gaze burning between her shoulder blades.
She had her own concerns to focus on—her career, her reputation, her heart’s preservation.
Let Edgar Lancaster announce his engagement to Miss Hargrove.
She had a literary feud to engage and books to publish, and no time for dukes who played with women’s hearts.
But her treacherous pulse still quickened when she turned to glimpse at him, his expression unreadable as he watched her retreat on Steven’s arm.
The ballroom was a vision of opulence that took her breath away.
Crystal chandeliers cast dancing light across polished marble floors, while the walls were lined with gilt-framed mirrors that multiplied the brilliance thousandfold.
The air thrummed with the gentle strains of a string quartet and the cultured murmur of England’s finest families.
“Quite the spectacle,” Steven remarked, guiding her toward the refreshment tables with practiced ease. “I daresay the duke has spared no expense for this particular gathering.”
“Indeed,” Amelia murmured, her eyes wide as she took in the seemingly endless parade of silk, jewels, and inherited wealth surrounding them.
“I suppose when one is planning to announce an engagement…” Steven let the implication hang in the air like smoke.
As the evening progressed, Elisha found herself grateful for her companions’ unwavering support.
They formed a protective triangle among the swirling dancers and scheming socialites, taking turns fetching glasses of champagne and offering wry commentary on the various dramas unfolding around them.
Steven proved surprisingly observant, his dry wit making Amelia giggle behind her fan as he noted Lady Worthington’s increasingly desperate attempts to secure an introduction to the Foreign Secretary.