Dahlia affected wounded pride. “I am a source of only the highest accuracy. Helena, wouldn’t you agree?”
Helena, immaculate in ivory with a fan half-concealing her smile, nodded. “Dahlia is notorious for never exaggerating.”
“Precisely,” Dahlia said, then took Celine by the arm. “Now, I must borrow the Duchess for a moment. She owes me a turn about the room.”
“Should we not linger here, where less attention is upon us?” Celine asked, aware that half the room was watching her.
Not having Rhys by her side had her nerves tightly wound.
“It’s practically required,” Dahlia said. “If you refuse, Lady Harrington will declare that you are crippled.”
Celine, feeling emboldened, let herself be led away.
“So,” Dahlia murmured as they wove through the crowd. “Where is your wolfish Duke?”
“He’s—” Celine almost saidunavoidably detained, but the words caught in her throat. “He’s always late. I expect he’ll come to collect me when the scandal reaches critical mass.”
Dahlia squeezed her arm. “Are you all right, truly?”
Celine nodded, then shook her head, then shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I feel as if I’m on display. I don’t want to fail in front of all these people.”
Dahlia laughed and tossed her copper curls for the sake of the ton. “Fail? You’re the only woman here who has not tripped, blushed, or insulted someone’s embroidery. You are an inspiration. Watch this—” She pointed at Lady Harrington, who was very obviously pretending not to watch Celine.
“Do you think she’s plotting my murder?” Celine muttered.
Dahlia considered. “No, but she might challenge you to a duel at dawn.”
Celine managed a real laugh, the first since she’d entered the ballroom. Helena and Lydia joined them, and soon Celine was surrounded by her friends, all of them outshining the debutantes and drawing the eyes of every eligible man in the room.
She was too busy keeping up with Dahlia’s jokes to worry about Rhys, or the stares, or the future.
But several minutes later, reality crept back in. Helena took her aside as the others headed toward the refreshments table.
“You’re holding up well,” she remarked. “But your hands are shaking.”
Celine looked down, surprised to find it was true. “I keep expecting him to walk in,” she admitted. “And every time the door opens—” She couldn’t finish.
Helena patted her arm. “He’ll come. And if he doesn’t, we’ll scandalize the city without him.”
Celine mustered a smile and let herself be led back to the refreshments table, where Lydia and Eliza waited with another glass of orgeat and a plate of candied orange peel.
Lady Harrington materialized at Celine’s elbow, her face a perfect mask. “Such a pity that your Duke is missing thisspectacle,” she purred. “Do you think he’s gone to the dogs? Or perhaps another woman?”
Celine turned and met her stare head-on. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Lady Harrington, that as the Duchess of Wylds, I outrank not only you but also your husband and your entire family. One would be wise not to make an enemy of a duchess.”
Helena choked on her drink. Dahlia bit down a laugh so fierce that she had to look away.
Lady Harrington’s smile remained, but her eyes went cold as a fishmonger’s cart.
“I shall remember that, Your Grace,” she said, then stalked off.
Celine watched her go, feeling a surge of vindication. But then the momentary exhilaration crashed, leaving her with nothing but fatigue and an ache behind her eyes.
The evening blurred on. There were more dances, more conversations, more rounds of congratulation or thinly veiled envy. The ton orbited around her, drawing closer with each pass, as if testing to see whether she would crack.
She did not. But as the night deepened and the doors remained closed, her smile became harder to maintain. She found herself checking the entrance between every set, her fan fluttering faster, her hands white-knuckled on her reticule.
Helena and Dahlia remained at her side, but she could feel her composure cracking with each minute. It was as if the world had conspired to keep Rhys away, to see how long she could last before she shattered.
