Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“Look to your right,” Wilhelmina whispered and nudged. “Incoming scoundrels.”
The melody was sweet, drifting through the drawing room like a delicate perfume, but it did nothing to lighten Elizabeth’s mood.
She sat stiffly between Wilhelmina and Lady Grisham, her usual place at these stifling events. To any outsider, they might have looked like a genteel trio, but in truth, she felt trapped, hemmed in by scrutiny on all sides.
Every movement she made was watched, weighed, and judged. There were eyes on her constantly, waiting, hoping, for her to falter.
At times, the absurdity of it nearly made her laugh.
She was being offered up like a prize mare to the highest bidder, expected to smile sweetly and appear grateful for the privilege.
The urge to giggle rose like a bubble in her throat, especially as she scratched at the infuriating itch beneath her gloves.
But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. Not here.
Not when the wolves were circling.
“It’s not the time, Mina,” she complained to her half-sister, forcing a smile.
They tried to enjoy the musicale as it was meant to be enjoyed, even though she knew she and her sister were still the object of cruel gazes.
“You know that I have eyes at the back of my head… well, more or less,” Wilhelmina whispered, even as she appeared to be occupied by the performance.
“And?”
“Turn around.”
Elizabeth turned and didn’t know if she should’ve regretted it.
There, a few seats back, was the tall Scotsman she met at the gallery.
“I am certain that he is looking at you directly,” Wilhelmina mused under her breath.
As her gaze met his, Elizabeth silently pleaded with him not to speak of their encounter, though she wasn’t certain he’d understand the unspoken request. His expression, steady and unreadable, seemed meant to reassure her.
But should she feel reassured? Or wary of a man who had seen her in a moment so unguarded?
“You do remember how to breathe, dear, don’t you?” Wilhelmina mumbled to her.
Elizabeth returned her focus to the performance as she replied, “I am breathing, Mina.”
“Mm, I’m not certain. You look like someone has challenged you to a duel.”
“Well, you’ve irritated enough mothers and daughters in this room that I just might receive a challenge one day.”
Wilhelmina leaned in slightly, her tone as breezy as the fan she lazily waved. “If you do, I only ask that you let me choose your weapon.”
Elizabeth gave her a sidelong glance. “Gloves or hairpins?”
Wilhelmina tilted her head, lips barely moving. “Scimitar.”
Elizabeth blinked. “That’s… dramatic.”
A slow smile. “So is this crowd. And not in an entertaining way, tragically.”
Elizabeth smiled, then nodded towards the performance, trying to coax her half-sister into focusing on the show.
Nevertheless, the Scotsman’s presence unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She could feel his gaze lingering like a faint heat on her skin, making her heart quicken in a way that both confused and unnerved her.
It was absurd. Why would someone like him notice her, when the room was full of far more radiant and assured women? Yet, despite herself, the thought sent a quiet thrill through her.
After the performance, Lady Grisham briskly guided Elizabeth and Wilhelmina toward two elder gentlemen of the ton—Lord Ashcombe and Lord Kittridge, each accompanied by their sons.
Kittridge, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, greeted Lady Grisham with a practiced bow. His son Theodore followed, less polished but eager, though Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze lingering too long, too assessing.
“It is a pleasure to meet your daughters, Lady Grisham,” Kittridge said smoothly, his voice carrying the ease of long acquaintance. “They bring a rare light to what was shaping up to be a rather dull Season.”
Before Lady Grisham could respond, Kittridge glanced toward her with a curious tilt of his head.
“And where is Lord Grisham these days?” he asked, “I hear he’s been absent from London quite some time.”
Lady Grisham’s posture remained impeccable, her voice steady and measured. “Lord Grisham has taken to the countryside for his health and reflection. The quiet air, I believe, will do him good. He’s staying with friends of our son-in-law, the Duke of Oakmere, away from the bustle of town.”
Elizabeth concealed the awe she felt over her mother’s ease.
The truth was that her father, the Marquess of Grisham, had been forcibly exiled by Elizabeth’s brother-in-law, the Duke of Oakmere, to Scotland, to live with the duke’s family.
Her father was not to return to England until he’d changed his ways.
Elizabeth and her sisters doubted that day would ever come.
Kittridge nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I see you. I noticed you were absent last season as well. London felt quite the emptier without your presence.”
A subtle, knowing smile curved Lady Grisham’s lips.
“Last season required my attention elsewhere, but one cannot neglect one’s duties entirely.
Now, I am quite glad to be back and attending to matters here.
” She turned her gaze to Wilhelmina, adding with practiced warmth, “Wilhelmina has grown into such a refined young lady; her love of music is quite exceptional.”
Lady Grisham’s deft shift in conversation left no room for further questioning, and the men nodded, clearly satisfied. Elizabeth always marveled at her stepmother’s ability to slink through the probing of the ton.
Lady Grisham then introduced them to Lord Ashcombe, whose cheeks glowed a deep red from port.
“I must say, the conductor did wonders managing the orchestra in such a cramped room,” Ashcombe declared with slurred enthusiasm.
Lady Grisham inclined her head. “Yes, quite. My Wilhelmina made the very same point. Didn’t you, darling?” She cast a glance at her daughter, the faintest hint of pride in her eyes. “Elizabeth, too, shows a keen eye for art.”
Elizabeth almost raised an eyebrow. When had her stepmother begun noticing her at all?
Peter Ashcombe, the son, fixed his gaze on Elizabeth with clear interest. She tried to summon the usual flutter of excitement people spoke of at such events, but nothing stirred.
What was wrong with her? Was it that she simply didn’t know how to play the part? After all, weren’t musicales and balls the proper places to meet one’s future husband?
Easy laughter burst from nearby. She saw the Scotsman and his friend approached them.
The other man walked directly toward her group, looking as relaxed as Elizabeth was tense.
How did people act a certain way? The proper way? She needed to know their secrets.
“Forgive us for our incursion, my lords and ladies, we didn’t feel it right not to introduce ourselves.
I am Seth Curnley, Earl of Whitton, and this is my very good friend, His Grace, Alasdair McLoughan, the Duke of Redmoor.
I believe His Grace was just saying how he’s losing his heart to our string quartets. ”
Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat.
He’s a duke!
The mystery Scotsman was a duke. Oh dear.
The rest of the group met his introductions with chuckles. However, Kittridge’s expression had not changed. It seemed that he was well-versed in keeping his emotions in control. He did bow, recognizing the duke’s title.
However, it was clear that the bow was not enough to welcome the man behind the title. As expected, Kittridge’s son Theodore followed his father’s example.
“Lord Kittridge and Lord Ashcombe,” the Duke of Redmoor greeted, inclining his head politely.
Elizabeth couldn’t shake the strange impression that he was more soldier than courtier. It wasn’t just his broad frame; it was something in the way he carried himself, sharp and unyielding beneath the polished surface.
She recalled calling him a brute, the way his smirk had held a knowing edge. Her fingers fluttered nervously, and she found herself fanning her cheeks a little faster.
Lady Grisham, of course, took the opportunity to entrust herself, Wilhelmina, and Elizabeth to the two newcomers.
Just like while they were watching the orchestra earlier that evening, his eyes wandered toward her. It was a brief glance, leaving too early, making her feel an inexplicable disappointment.
It seemed that the duke was eager to hold the older gentlemen’s attention.
Of course! What was Elizabeth thinking? A man of his station might have been amused by seeing a girl watching scandalous paintings but was most likely here due to business. He and his friend seemed to be backing each other at each turn, though she imagined seeing impatience in his half-smile.
Elizabeth did not claim to know anything much about the minds of men. However, she noticed that the Duke’s gaze kept drifting toward her. She met his eyes each time, and during each connection, she felt a flutter inside her, like an instrument strung too tightly.
Finally, he decided to address Elizabeth directly. “Lady Elizabeth. How did ye find tonight’s musicale?”
Her throat felt too tight. She didn’t know that the duke would be asking her a question in front of everyone else. Somehow, it felt like a test. She listened enough, but not how she normally would a performance. She was too aware of him behind her.
Everyone’s eyes were on her, including Lady Grisham’s. Elizabeth knew then that she should give a safe answer, but his gaze urged her to tell the truth.
“I found it engaging, Your Grace,” she replied, with a lift of her chin. “I especially loved the second movement. Some might find it too bold, but it was refreshing to hear something so vibrant after several languid waltzes.”
“Ah, indeed. I was wonderin’ if the conductor rushed the allegro a wee bit, but maybe haste is what’s called for in this sort of case.”
“The tempo was improper,” Peter said, frowning. “Novelty does not make good music. Finesse does.”
“Novelty.” The Duke seemed to savor the word while looking at Elizabeth. “I’ve quickly come to learn that London’s got little patience for it.”