Chapter 33 Livy
Livy
Livy stood with her aunt, fingers clenched on her fan to keep from fidgeting.
They were just outside the Duke of Ironcrest’s box at the theater.
She still couldn’t believe they had received an invitation from the dowager herself.
Livy was certain she hadn’t spoken to Her Grace at Lady Rutledge’s dinner party, and her aunt had said they’d only spoken briefly when the ladies had retired after supper.
But, shocking as it was, she was thrilled with the opportunity.
Someone knocked into her from behind, and she flinched. Aunt Mellie gripped her arm, pulling her closer. Livy squeezed her eyes shut tight. Perhaps not completely thrilled. She drew in a long, slow breath.
An ascending series converges when the value of x is very small.
Aunt Mellie’s soft, concerned voice reached her. “Are you sure this isn’t too much for you? I can make our excuses, and we can return home.”
Livy shook her head. “No, we cannot possibly refuse an invitation from the Dowager Duchess of Ironcrest.” She smiled weakly. “I will be fine.”
Her aunt huffed, tapping her fan agitatedly on her hip as she watched Livy from the corner of her eye.
Livy didn’t believe herself either. Livy wasn’t fine, and she wasn’t going to be fine, but this was an opportunity too important to give up.
And she wouldn’t back down. She wouldn’t let that vile man win.
It had been almost a sennight, and the only thing that had healed in that time was the red mark on her cheek, and only partially.
Aunt Mellie had done an admirable job hiding it behind face powder.
Just like Livy had done an admirable job of hiding away in their rented rooms, taking comfort in her books.
And then the dowager’s invitation had shown up.
The dowager was a patroness of Almack’s.
If Livy could just make a good impression tonight, she might be able to secure her voucher.
A part of her wasn’t even sure why she was doing this any longer.
Her mind and her chest were a tangled mess of confusion.
Everything had dulled, appeared meaningless, even as she knew deep down that what she was striving for did matter.
Seeking comfort wasn’t meaningless. But she wasn’t certain she would ever feel comfortable again.
What she did know was this—the plan, having an objective—was a distraction. And she needed distraction.
Another guest pushed up against her as they moved through the thick crowd in the hallway leading to the private boxes. A frigid, prickling sensation skittered over her skin.
A descending series converges when the value of x is very large.
She would get through tonight. She must. If she had to recite the entire treatise on differential and integral calculus, she would.
The doorway to the box cleared, and Livy pasted a smile on her face as she entered with her aunt. Fortunately, Lady Rutledge was standing just beyond the entrance, attired in a striking silk gown adorned with delicate lace trimmings, its raven-black hue matching her artfully arranged tresses.
Lady Rutledge squealed softly as her gaze landed on them.
“Oh, what a wonderful surprise to see you here tonight.” She leaned forward.
“I was a bit put out with Lady Pennington’s absence, given recent events…
” She cleared her throat, her gaze darting around the box.
“Well, I am sure you have heard about her husband’s passing.
” She straightened, pulling her pristine white chiffon shawl tightly around herself, her smile brightening.
“But now with you both here, we will have the best time!”
“We are so pleased to see you, my lady,” her aunt replied as they both sank into curtsies.
“None of that, if you please.” Franny waved her hand. “You do not need to stand on ceremony with me. Livykins knows that.” She threw Livy a wink. “Now do go greet the dowager so you can hurry back, and we can chat!”
A smile pulled at Livy’s lips. Franny was so bubbly; it was hard to not have one’s mood brighten when in her presence. Even after the reminder of Pennington and his…death. She didn’t believe for a second that his death on the wake of the attack was a coincidence.
She hadn’t heard from Lord Dunmore since that night. A part of her feared for his welfare, knowing the struggles he dealt with. Struggles he hid from the world. She wanted to find a way to reach out to him. Ensure he was well.
They stepped over to the other side of the box where the Dowager Duchess of Ironcrest stood in a resplendent midnight blue gown trimmed in gold, a matching sheer gold shawl wrapped around her.
Despite Livy towering over the dowager by at least three inches, the regal woman managed to peer down at them over her small sharp nose.
She studied Livy, her deep brown eyes almost contemplative.
In that brief moment, under that scrutinizing gaze, Livy felt as if her entire person was being assessed, her worth calculated.
Swallowing through a throat gone dry, Livy lowered her gaze as she sank into a low curtsy. The pale pink petals patterned on her ivory dress glimmered in the candlelight. “Your Grace,” she greeted softly.
“We are most honored and grateful for your kind invitation, Your Grace,” Aunt Mellie said.
The dowager stepped forward and placed a finger under Livy’s chin, lifting Livy’s face gently for her perusal.
Livy couldn’t quite hold back her flinch at the dowager’s touch.
Though subtle, the dowager’s eyes narrowed on Livy.
She silently chastised herself. She could get through tonight.
She would get through tonight without embarrassing herself.
The dowager examined Livy silently before saying, “Beautiful. I had hoped to further our acquaintance at Lady Rutledge’s dinner, but alas, there was not time. Come, let us look out over the balcony together.”
Livy glanced wide-eyed at her aunt. Aunt Mellie nodded encouragingly while stepping back in Lady Rutledge’s direction.
“I would be honored, Your Grace.” She followed the dowager the few short steps to the gold ornate banister of the box overlooking the packed theater.
“Have you been to the theater before, Miss Forester?” The dowager lifted her opera glasses to her eyes and scanned the theater, homing in on the other boxes.
“I have not.” Livy looked out at the masses of people, the deep, rich colors of various ladies’ dresses contrasting with the pale whites and ivories of others.
Jewels glittered in the candlelight, and a sea of black top hats and elaborate ribbon-filled coiffures flowed through the bustling crowd.
She tried to drum up excitement; tried to feel awe.
She tried. But even an event as grand as a night out at the Theatre Royal only stirred trepidation.
“I am quite looking forward to the play.”
The dowager turned to her, tilting her head slightly. “One doesn’t come to the theater to watch a play. One comes to see or be seen.” She paused before adding, “I imagine you know that.”
Livy’s cheeks grew warm as she gave a small nod. Was it obvious she was hoping to improve herself by association with the dowager?
“I have been told it is your first season. Have any gentlemen caught your eye?”
Livy waved her fan at her burning cheeks. She wasn’t sure what the etiquette was when talking about love interests with a dowager duchess.
The duchess chuckled low, a glimmer sparkling in her eye, softening her autocratic nature.
“Do not worry, my dear. While I may have claws, you are safe from them. I meant what I said. I would like to become better acquainted with you. From what I’ve heard, you made quite the impression at the dinner party.
Mr. Hodge couldn’t stop speaking of your insightfulness.
” A small smile spread across her face. “Beauty and brains. The gentleman you marry will be extremely fortunate, and most likely completely unaware of it.”
“Why, th-thank you, Your Grace,” Livy stammered, failing miserably at covering her shock. The way the dowager spoke, it was as though she believed it was a positive thing that Livy enjoyed academic pursuits. “I cannot begin to express my gratitude—”
The dowager waved her hand in the air, cutting Livy off. “Yes, yes. But we are friends now, so there’s no need to be so formal. Let us discuss gentlemen.” A grin spread across the dowager’s face, a gleam glinting in her eye that gave Livy pause. But one didn’t deny a duchess, nor a dowager duchess.
“There is one gentleman. Mr. Warren Thorton,” she said hesitantly.
“Hmm.” The dowager studied Livy but said nothing.
The dowager spun toward the crush and raised her opera glasses again.
“We will just have to invite him to the box, won’t we?
If I am right—and I always am—I know exactly where he will be.
” She scanned the boxes directly across from theirs and one section lower.
“Ah yes, there he is. Quite the striking young lady on his arm.”
Livy lifted her opera glasses and searched in the area that had garnered the dowager’s attention until she came across a familiar head of short blond waves. The dowager was right. There was a beautiful brunette on his arm.
She waited for her heart to constrict, for her stomach to tighten. She waited for something uncomfortable and ugly to slither its way through her. Instead, she felt…a sorrowful longing. The longings of the young woman Livy used to be. One she didn’t think she was any longer.
Lowering her glasses, she glanced at the dowager. The woman was watching her.