“Does he not want to marry you?” Matilda asked in confusion.
“His marriage to me is irrelevant. Many titled men don’t curb their outside interests just because they’ve taken a wife. Usually, they try to be discreet about their affairs, but the truth of the matter is… The less time Oldfield is home with me, the better for both of us.”
Matilda repressed a shudder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m told it’s an enviable match.” Lady Tabitha’s eyes were sad, but the line of her jaw resolute.
“What’s this?” came a loud voice right behind them.
Lady Tabitha lowered her fan to her side as she and Matilda spun about to see who had interrupted them.
Miss Bernice Charlton. Of course.
“I see our little piglet wriggled out of her sty and into the hands of a modiste,” Miss Charlton observed, to the appreciative tittering of her entourage.
“That’s enough, Bernice,” Lady Tabitha snapped. “Take your claws somewhere else.”
“Oh no, girls,” Miss Charlton cooed, pressing her hand to her bosom. “I’ve been dismissed by the one person in this ballroom whose marriage prospects are so dismal, her ill luck rivals that of our little piglet.”
Matilda’s fingers curled into fists. “I’d rather be a piglet than a shrew.”
Lady Tabitha stepped forward. “I mean it, Bernice. I won’t hear another cross word against—”
“Looking forward to your marriage night, are you, Lady Tabitha? Just think of all the heirs and spares you’ll soon beget. There goes your beloved now. I’ll wave for him to come and collect you.”
“No! Don’t—”
But it was too late. Miss Charlton batted her eyes at Viscount Oldfield, which brought him running. He was visibly annoyed to be pawned off onto his betrothed instead.
“I suppose the waltz will begin at any moment.” He gave a last, lascivious glance at Miss Charlton’s bodice. “Come, Tabitha. We might as well take our places.”
He swept Lady Tabitha away.
“Oh dear,” said Miss Charlton with her most saccharine voice. “The shamelessly depraved roué who would tup any creature that moved didn’t even glance at our little piglet. I suppose even a well-made gown cannot cover up the stench of a country cow pile.”
“Your flimsy insults cannot wound me,” Matilda said through clenched teeth. “You’re patently wrong. My dance cards have been full for a fortnight—”
“Because all the lords wish to curry favor with your earl,” Miss Charlton interrupted, flashing her teeth in a vicious smile. “My mistake, he’s not your earl at all, is he? I notice his name is never on your card. Ah, well. I’ll be certain to congratulate him on his excellent taste and good judgment once I become his countess.”
She flounced off before Matilda could formulate a retort.
Lord Gilbourne was at her side within seconds. “What’s wrong? You’re making a dreadful expression.”
Matilda reached for the reticule at her wrist, then ground her teeth as she remembered she’d left it at home because it had finally run empty. “That’s my orange-peel-cravings expression. I get peevish when I go too long without sugar.”
Gilbourne pulled a small pouch from his pocket. “Would candied lemon and lime peels do?”
She grabbed the pouch from him and stuffed one of each into her mouth. “Have you been carrying this around all night?”
“All fortnight,” he admitted. “I wasn’t certain when or if you’d run out, but I wanted to be ready.”
“You’ve saved my life,” she said with feeling. “Again.”
He crossed his arms. “Now will you tell me what happened?”
“I told you,” she muttered. “One mustn’t speak ill of others.”
“And I’m telling you,” he replied. “If you don’t speak ill with full detail here and now, I will smite every person in this ballroom until I find the one who has hurt you.”
