“Aren’t they magical together?” breathed another in reply.
For as much as Nora sometimes believed she disliked everything about theton, their high-flown pretensions and exaggerated self-worth and mindless consumption, she could not help but imagine what it might be like to belong. Tobeone of them. To dance with her husband in a way that others would refer to asmagical.
The wallflowers continued to whisper.
“Tonight’s invitation was a work of art, wouldn’t you say?” asked one.
“Handwritten by the duchess herself,” her friend replied. “I positively adore her calligraphy.”
Of course it was.
If the dapper gentlemen and fine ladies seemed superior to Nora, it was for good reason. They were right to deem her unworthy. Nora wouldn’t be able to read an invitation even if someone sent her one. She’d be too nervous to ever coax the letters into staying put on the page.
“I wish Mr. Grenville were here,” lamented one of the wallflowers. “He’s always the first to ask me to dance.”
“So true,” her friend said wistfully. “One’s dance card never feels complete without his name on it.”
Jealousy licked through Nora like wildfire. She clamped her arms over her stomach to cover its somersaults.
She wasn’t the only one to recognize what a stupendous catch Mr. Grenville would be. These wallflowers where the lowliest young ladies of their station, and far above Nora’s league. She looked away. Mr. Grenville was mad to waste even a moment with her, however clandestinely.
It was good she would be leaving soon. At any point, he was going to wake up and choose someone better. Someone like any other unmarried lady here.
Her pulse skittered in panic. The thought of Mr. Grenville courting the kind of girl a man of his class deserved was a punch to the solar plexus. But it wasn’t news.
She was in love.
Her breath caught. Nora’s topsy-turvy insides weren’t garden-variety jealousy of higher class ladies, but rather a soul-consuming desperation at the thought of being without Mr. Grenville forever. Her heart wasn’t just inextricably involved.
It was about to be summarily broken.
“Did you hear Mr. Grenville is on the hunt for a baroness?” whispered one of the young ladies to the others.
“I’m right here,” quipped her companion. “He’s found me.”
“He’s not here, you ninny,” said another. “And if he were, I would be first in line.”
Nora bit her tongue, uncertain whether to be sad or glad that he was absent from tonight’s ball. She wouldn’t be able to speak with him anyway, and watching him dance with a future bride would be more than she could bear.
Her heart jumped as she wondered what it might be like to peer in the looking-glass and see reflected the sort of woman Mr. Grenvillecouldtake as a bride.
What would Nora do, if she were a debutante like the others? Would she sit back here along the far wall, hoping to be noticed? Or would she fight for every scrap of time to whirl in Mr. Grenville’s arms? Hope against hope for him to steal a kiss?
She glanced at the pretty young ladies in front of her with growing unease. Had any of them been the recipients of Mr. Grenville’s romantic affection or ardent kisses? Nausea twisted her belly. She could not bear the thought of his lips on theirs. Even their mere ability to accept an invitation to dance, to waltz in his arms before Nora’s very eyes, was more than she could withstand.
Yet she could not hate them for it. In their shoes, would Nora not do the same?
Listening to the innocent, animated conversations of these perfectly normal, perfectly raised, perfectly sweet wallflowers was torture. It would be churlish to dislike them just because Mr. Grenville could court them and not Nora.
It was not their fault that Mr. Grenville could only be seen with Nora publicly if there were a cover in place. Like escorting a baroness to a gallery, or taking tea with a peer. She was something to be hidden. An embarrassing deviation from his rightful path.
“Did you know he can speak four languages?” one of the wallflowers continued. “I can barely read Latin and French.”
Her companion nodded. “With his love of geography and travel, I’m only surprised he stopped at four.”
Nora’s spine curved even smaller.
Mr. Grenville really was too good for her by every conceivable metric. He was so smart, so educated, so well-read, so respected by his peers for his knowledge and cleverness. Nora would never be able to share that with him.
