CHAPTER THREE #2
“It is such a splendid evening, is it not? We are most grateful for the invitation for tonight, my lord,” Lady Bennett said.
“Thank you for honouring our invitation. We are…privileged…that you could join us tonight,” Richard replied.
“I presume this grand event means we shall see more of you this Season,” Lady Worthington put in, smiling tightly.
“Of course. I look forward to this year’s Season. After all, Emily and I here, have Charlotte who would be debuting this Season.” Richard smiled proudly.
“Ah, yes. The young Miss Clifton,” Lady Agatha enunciated. “A true delight to behold. I’m sure you have high hopes that she’d be lucky to find a suitable match in her first Season out. Unlike many others who aren’t as lucky.” She cast a brief glance at Emily, who hadn’t spoken a word yet.
Richard’s jaw ticked and he bit back the first words that came to his mind, opting for a more polite and respectful response.
“I have every confidence that all shall be well for Charlotte. I intend to make sure of it.”
“Wonderful,” Lady Agatha replied.
“She must be thrilled to have you…and Lady Emily, I’m sure,” Lady Bennett said. She ran a quick look over the Earl’s appearance, holding back the smile that tugged on her lips.
Lord Clifton may have been in his early thirties, and while there were signs of ageing present, it did nothing to dampen his distinguished looks.
More than a foot taller than her, with a strong jawline and warm brown eyes, which she was certain her daughter would appreciate, Lord Clifton was indeed one of the finest men of high society.
Rumours had circulated time and again about the suspected reasons why he wasn’t married yet, but Lady Bennett—a devoted rumour monger—knew better than to rely on rumours.
“Say, Lord Clifton, you must join us at our country home for dinner sometime. We would be thrilled to spend the evening with you, and my husband would be delighted by your presence,” Lady Bennett proposed.
“I appreciate the invitation, Lady Bennett. Perhaps I would join you sometime when it is convenient for both of us.” He took another small bow. “If you’ll excuse us.”
It was only when they’d walked away that Emily released a breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
All the while Ladies Bennett and Worthington had been addressing her brother, she had avoided their gazes, not wanting to see their judgment in their eyes.
It would have been scandalous to throw a ball and not invite them, but a large part of Emily couldn’t care less if she tried.
Their presence alone made her distressed from a distance, and much more when she was in close proximity with them.
She hadn’t missed the advances Lady Bennett had made towards Richard, no doubt with an end-goal to matchmake him with her daughter.
Emily had nearly scoffed at her dinner invitation.
Of course, she would invite him for dinner now.
Where was her invitation when the earldom’s finances had experienced a nosedive years prior?
She and her brother were hardly seen in functions like these because they had too many problems on their hands to be bothered by the ton’s parties.
“Smile, Emily,” Richard leaned in to say, relieving Emily of her unnerving thoughts.
He took her hand in his and gave her a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t let those mothers and their unbridled tongues bother you.
Their words carry as much weight as you allow it.
You may rely on my support, Emily,” he reassured her as they reached the refreshments table.
As his words comfortingly took root in her heart, warmth unfolded in her chest. A soft smile of gratitude lifted the corners of her mouth slightly.
The sincerity in Richard’s eyes expressed the trust they shared in each other.
Her worries may have only merely taken the latter seat in her mind for the time being, but she chose not to think about them.
“Thank you, Richard.”
He gave her a lopsided grin.
“Now, I believe I spotted Lord Wilbury and his wife somewhere in this room. Shall we find them?” He held a glass of lemonade to her, and she accepted it gracefully.
They continued to mingle and interact with the guests, as good hosts should, but soon, Emily’s worries had taken root again. A number of eyes watched her, and some whispered while gazing upon her. She had never felt more like a doll on display.
They probably wondered what good she was when the one value she had as a woman had yet to be given.
Focus, Emily, she internalized.
One would need to develop tougher will to be able to worry less about society matters such as how marriageable one was.
Emily was in dire need of tougher will, and she could all but hope that the stigmatization she had experienced in that past six years would not affect Charlotte’s prospects on the mart.
Meanwhile, across the room, at the ballroom’s entrance, Marcus and his mother, Lady Holbrooke, stood. The Cliftons’ butler announced their presence, drawing the eyes of everyone to them.
“His Grace, The Duke of Milwood, and Her Grace, The Dowager Duchess of Milwood.”
For a moment, the room went into a hush, and then gradually, as Marcus and his mother proceeded into the ballroom, the murmurs began.
Marcus noticed several glances directed at him, and he swallowed, tugging slightly at his cravat.
His lips pressed into a line as he weaved himself through the sea of guests.
His face contrasted with the expression his mother wore.
He didn’t know if she genuinely enjoyed these types of events or if she had attended so many that she had gained a practised mask to put on.
The grand ballroom felt too small for him, and he almost felt like he couldn’t breathe in his attire. It wasn’t just the formality of it that unsettled him and caused him to feel restricted. It was the air of expectation and—yet again—scrutiny that was common at these types of events. He hated it.
His eyes scanned the room, his gaze narrowing as he noted the crowd of enthusiastic debutantes and their overbearing mothers. Gentlemen across the room busied themselves with polite conversation about matters he didn’t care to know about right now.
Right now, all he could think of was the solitude the home he’d left behind offered and how every single person here held the potential to be a threat to that solitude.
“You do not need to look so grim, Marcus,” Her Grace cautioned, the inviting smile on her face not faltering even as she spoke.
“I do not look grim,” Marcus defended himself, but his indifference grew.
“Your Graces.”
Marcus and his mother turned at the masculine voice, and he steeled his shoulders. He was prepared to be greeted and to greet—formally, but when his eyes landed first on the petite lady, his breath caught.
She certainly isn’t the bearer of the voice, he thought, his brows knotting.
For a moment, he was transfixed. As their eyes locked, he found himself intrigued by her warm brown eyes.
There was something about them that he couldn’t describe in one word.
Her eyes held a depth of emotion that he had never noticed in the eyes of any other person at functions like these.
It was not the superficial gaiety to which he was accustomed.
No, her eyes were anything but that, and they somehow managed to hold his gaze longer than he intended.
He expected her to avert her gaze or to have some shyness in her demeanour.
However, she didn’t, intriguing him more.
He studied her appearance, noting the lushness of her honey-blonde hair, and how it complemented her eyes.
It was only after that moment had passed that whatever spell held them bound was broken.
“Lord Clifton,” his mother addressed the man that stood next to the young woman.
He suddenly realised why she felt oddly familiar to him.
Even though he didn’t associate himself much with these events, he had heard of Lady Emily.
She and her family certainly kept the gossip mill abuzz.
As much as he stayed far away from gossip, it was hard to miss all the talk about the Cliftons’ past financial woes and Emily’s engagements that turned sour.
He thought it admirable how Lord Clifton had managed to revive the state of his family’s affairs and their standing in society in the time he did. His shrewdness in rescuing the earldom his late father had left to him had proved him to be a truly resilient man.
“Lady Emily,” his mother said to the honey-blonde-haired woman with her smile widened. “What a lovely ball you have put together tonight. The decorations are quite impeccable. Impressive taste you have got.”
Lady Emily curtsied, a graceful smile lining her lips. Lord Clifton bowed his head.
“Thank you, Your Grace. We are most grateful for your uplifting sentiments,” Richard said, smiling proudly.
“With the start of the Season, you surely have set a high standard tonight. I’m sure the duke would agree.”
Richard and Emily turned to the duke with anticipation.
Marcus might have disliked the need for his presence tonight, but he couldn’t deny the tastefulness the ballroom had.
“Lord Clifton. Lady Emily. I wholeheartedly agree with my mother. You outdid yourself tonight. Thank you for having us,” he said.
Emily clamped her smile down. Her eyes met the duke’s, and she bit her lip.
His Grace wasn’t someone anyone got to see often as he didn’t attend social functions quite often.
His presence was rather scarce even in these sorts of gatherings.
She had heard of him several times but hadn’t laid eyes on him in years.
Seeing him now, she would be a liar to say he was anything but handsome. Devastatingly handsome even.