Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“You will not embarrass me again, Elizabeth,” Lady Grisham said, her smile razor-sharp as she waved to a passing acquaintance. “We’ve discussed this several times.”
Elizabeth held her hands tightly together in front of her, her gloves soft but already damp from the tension in her palms.
“Yes, Lady Grisham. Charm. Manners. Grace,” she murmured. “Let them lead the conversation. Never me.”
Her stepmother’s painted smile didn’t budge. “Good. Do not bring up your opinions on Chopin or your fascination with the harpsichord. You’re not here to lecture some poor gentleman into a slumber.”
No, Elizabeth thought bitterly. Just here to be quietly impressive until I’m no longer interesting at all.
“I remember everything,” she said aloud, her tone flat but obedient.
“Then act like it,” came the sharp reply. “You are slouching again.”
Elizabeth straightened her spine at once.
“You’re not here to blend into the wallpaper.” Lady Grisham’s voice lowered to a hiss. “You've already caused enough damage at the Rippentons’ garden party. Tonight, for once, be… passable.”
They were moving now, sweeping slowly into the drawing room.
Wilhelmina trailed behind, oblivious to the exchange, as Lady Grisham continually ensured. She was always careful to keep the barbs meant for Elizabeth under her breath or whisper them in Elizabeth’s ear.
Elizabeth had thought of telling Wilhelmina about her mother’s words but ultimately felt that this revelation would turn the Grisham townhouse into a battlefield.
And the twins didn’t deserve that. Wilhelmina didn’t deserve that either; she was younger than Elizabeth, for heaven’s sake. She needn’t carry Elizabeth’s burdens.
For every moment that Wilhelmina stood up for her, Elizabeth would keep her sister safe from this knowledge. Even if Lady Grisham’s words stung. She’d do it for her sisters.
Then, Elizabeth’s gaze lifted to the chandelier, letting its brilliance soothe her for just a moment.
If she could secure some sort of future, a respectable, acceptable one… then Lady Grisham would leave her alone. That was enough.
But as they stepped further into the room, she could feel the shift around her. The murmurs. The stares.
They remember.
Of course they did. A fall in the mud, laughter, a ruined dress…and now she was back, somehow trying to hold her head up as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't been laughed out of the garden.
“Smile, dear,” Lady Grisham’s voice cut in sweet and venomous. “Do not ever forget what is at stake. If they see you can recover, they’ll believe Wilhelmina and the girls have hope. Otherwise…”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
Elizabeth obeyed. She curved her lips into a pleasant, practiced expression. One that did not reach her eyes.
A smile for Wilhelmina. A smile for the twins.
A smile to protect them both.
And later…
A lesson with the Duke.
Whatever that meant.
Elizabeth glanced to her right and saw Wilhelmina beaming girlishly at everyone.
“Yes, I am absolutely delighted to be here!” Wilhelmina declared, her voice clear and sweet. “Though I must admit, I didn’t realize a musicale could double as a corset-tightening competition.”
“Wilhelmina,” Lady Grisham hissed through her teeth, not breaking her smile. “You are slouching. And you’re starting to follow your sister’s ways.”
That one stung.
But Wilhelmina, unbothered, tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, if Elizabeth’s ways include not fainting from boredom or strangling myself with etiquette, then I should like to follow them more often.”
Lady Grisham’s nostrils flared, but Wilhelmina had already turned her head toward the gathering crowd, fluttering her fan with mock delicacy.
Elizabeth almost smiled. Her sister was everything she wasn’t: bold, quick, impossible to tame. But at that moment, that sharp tongue of hers felt like the only shield between them and the marchioness’s icy disapproval.
And the fact that Wilhelmina wielded it with charm? That was a gift.
“I do love a good possibility for scandal,” Seth murmured beside him, his voice full of mirth as he surveyed the assembly like a wolf scenting easy prey.
Across the hall, Alasdair stepped inside without ceremony, moving with the unbothered stride of a man who’d long stopped caring about approval. Especially from Englishmen with polished boots and rotting hearts.
He scanned the crowd, his jaw tight. The same painted smiles. The same brittle laughter. The same gentry who’d sneer behind their gloves and call him savage when they thought he wasn’t listening.
Alasdair knew what they looked like to this crowd. A rake and a Highland brute. Not the most arrogant men in the room, no, but perhaps the most unpredictable. That alone stirred whispers. And tonight, he couldn’t deny the dark pleasure in knowing his presence unsettled them.
“Is that how ye make yer entrance every time, then?” Alasdair drawled.
“Yes,” Seth replied shamelessly. “You must know where to look. For example, do you see that young widow by the pillar? She’s looking your way, and she’s already blushing. There’s also Lady Sophie, on her third season and looking at you as if she’s peeling off your breeches.”
“Mm,” was all Alasdair said, giving the women barely any attention.
Curiosity? He had it for them, possibly. But interest? No. He was only interested in one woman tonight.
His eyes scanned the crowd for a blonde who would more likely hide than seek him out.
Anger slowly rose in his chest at the sight of Lady Grisham glaring at Elizabeth.
“Ah,” Seth murmured, as he followed Alasdair’s gaze. “So, you prefer a challenge. I call her the White Rose. Ever so pale and delicate.”
Alasdair turned sharply at his friend.
“Ye’ve got yer eye on her, have ye?” he asked, although he knew it should not be his problem.
He was supposed to help Elizabeth find a husband, not a lover, especially not a rake like Seth.
“Don’t fret, Sandy boy,” Seth purred, and Alasdair narrowed his eyes, resenting the nickname, “I like my women a bit more experienced. Besides, I would never touch anything that’s of interest to you.”
Seth’s look was searching. His brow was lifted. He wanted to know just how much interest the duke had in the lady. However, Alasdair had no intention of revealing anything.
“She does look like she’d rather be at a funeral than huntin’ for a husband here,” Alasdair observed, not commenting on his friend’s words.
His lips twitched, thinking of the work he had to do to help her.
“I can’t blame her. Lady Grisham is a dragon who acknowledges her daughters when she’s parading them like prized heifers at an auction. The eldest escaped with a love match, and to a duke, no less.”
“It’s a right shame she’s still not learned how to fight back,” Alasdair murmured, though the image in his head was far from shameful.
He imagined her standing her ground, flushed and breathless, fire flashing in those wide eyes…her wrists caught in his hands, not in resistance, but in something far more heated.
A lesson in control, in power, in surrender.
Hell. What was he thinking?
He wasn’t supposed to want her. He was meant to teach her. Help her navigate the same society that had trampled her dignity.
But damn it all…he needed her, too. Needed the glimpse she gave into this world of perfumed lies and smiling cruelty. She wore the ton’s scorn like silk draped too tight, both beautiful and suffocating.
If anyone understood the venom of polite society, it was her. A victim, yes. But one who still hadn’t learned the bite behind the bloom.
And he was just reckless enough to show her.
“Where are you going?” Seth asked, with a knowing grin.
“Oh, explorin’,” he replied casually.
He hadn’t even noticed his feet moving until he was already halfway across the room, leaving Seth behind.
Across the crush of silks and smug smiles, Alasdair saw her.
Her expression shifted from resignation to something sharper. Alert. Like a doe scenting the oncoming storm.
Did she sense him?
Then, their eyes met.
It was like striking flint to stone. Every time it happened, it sparked something raw in him. Unexpected, unwelcome.
Gooseflesh prickled across his arms beneath the fine sleeves of his coat. Damn peculiar. He’d never been so moved by pretty faces or nervous glances. His interactions with women were kept to the minimum before they moved to a bed. Or a chair. Or a wall.
But Lady Elizabeth…
Heavens help him, he’d have to stay away from her to honor their agreement.
Only their bargain. Nothing more.
Her lips parted slightly, then pressed closed. She glanced to where her stepmother held court among the older lords, likely plotting her next pawn’s move.
She looked back at him.
And that was all the permission he needed.
Alasdair smiled, slow and knowing.
It was time for their first lesson.