“Or such a reckless brother-in-law?” Wren asked ominously.
He sighed and shook his head.
Aunt Lilian left without further ado, and Elizabeth’s mother disappeared into the morning room to write a few hasty letters.
She could expect a small army of supporters this evening, then, Elizabeth thought. That did not stop her from breaking out in a cold sweat several times during the afternoon, however, even after she received a short but warm and gracious note from Mrs. Ormsbridge in answer to her own, assuring her that she would indeed be welcome at tonight’s ball.
She decided upon her turquoise evening gown for the occasion. It was three years old and everything about it spoke of simplicity as opposed to high fashion. The waistline was fashionably high, it was true, and the line of the skirt fashionably slender. The neckline was low enough to be in the mode, though not low enough to draw attention. But there was no scalloping or fancy trim or embroidery at the hem or about the edges of the short sleeves. Its appeal, she had always thought, lay in the expert cut. It hugged her curves to below the bosom and then swirled about her legs and hips in slim folds as she moved. The fabric caught candlelight without exactly shimmering. Her maid dressed her hair high with more curls than she wore in the daytime but not many more, and no ringlets or fussy tendrils to wave over her temples and neck.
She was satisfied with her appearance, even though her palms felt clammy as she brushed them over the skirt. One of her fears for tonight was that everyone who looked at her—and she was quite sure that everyonewould—would be searching for signs that she was trying to appear younger than she was. She was thirty-five years old and was content to look every one of those years. Not more, though. She had been just as careful to avoid appearing in any way dowdy.
Oh, how could she think of her appearance asoneof her fears as though there were only two or three more? There were so many she could write a book. For several days now she had been painted as the blackest, most depraved of villains. And now, worst of all, she had snared the Season’s most eligible bachelor, a gentleman who was rich and charming and handsome beyond words, and years her junior. Pins and needles were added to the clamminess of her hands. She could not seem to inhale fast enough to keep up with the beating of her heart.
Oh, how shehatedthis, she thought as she took up her shawl and fan and made her way downstairs to where her mother and Alex and Wren were waiting for her, looking, the three of them, as though they were steeling themselves to accompany her to the gallows. They all smiled as though on cue as they spotted her descending the stairs. She hated feeling as self-conscious as she had as a young girl making her debut into society. But she knew this evening would be many times worse than that had been.
No it would not. She was thirty-five years old, a mature woman of experience who could face down any embarrassment or outright attack. She was Elizabeth Overfield, and her conscience was clear. She had donenothingof which she was ashamed. Oh, there would be those who would be only too eager to make much of the haste with which they had become betrothed, a mere few days after the ball to celebrate her betrothal to another man. Those people would argue that they had just proved Sir Geoffrey had been right about them. But they haddone nothing wrong.Why should they wait a month or two months or a year before making their announcement just to give the appearance of a proper decorum? People must believe what they would. If thetonwas about to give her the cut direct or worse, then that wastheirbusiness. Hers was to attend a ball to which she had been invited with her betrothed—who had offered for her because he wanted to and whom she had accepted because she had wanted to. Not that those facts were anyone’s business but their own.
She smiled her genuine, easy smile, though it cost her a great deal of effort to do so.
Just minutes later they were inside the carriage on their way to the Ormsbridge mansion, and very soon after that the carriage drew up before the house. A footman opened the door and set down the steps, and they descended onto the red carpet and entered the hall, which was all bustle and noise. The people lined up on the stairs to greet their host and hostess before passing into the ballroom turned almost as a body to gaze downward upon them.
Well, Elizabeth thought, it was not as though she had not expected it. And it was too late to change her mind and dash homeward to hide beneath the largest down bedcover she could find. She smiled instead and drew upon all her inner resources of serenity.
Colin was awaiting them in the hall, looking youthful and long-limbed and golden-haired and stunningly handsome in his black and silver evening clothes. He stepped forward, smiling, and took Elizabeth’s hand in his, bowed over it, and raised it to his lips. There was an almost audible sigh from the direction of the stairs.
“It still astounds me,” he said, his voice low, “that you are going to be my wife.”
It was astounding to her too.
“Is that a compliment?” she asked, her eyes twinkling at him. “Please do not answer if it is not.”
He straightened up, her hand still in his, and took his time about answering. She might have felt anxious if it had not been for his slow smile. “How can I find the right words?” he said. “There is something about you that is not just beautiful but is beauty itself. I can scarcely believe my good fortune. I realize that I would never have won you in a million years if circumstances had not allowed me to rush you off your feet.”
Oh. And the wretched man looked quite sincere.
“How long,” she asked him, “did it take you to rehearse those words? You are quite absurd.”
“Agreed,” he said. “Make it a million and a half years, then.” He cocked his head to one side. “Nervous?”
“It is a good thing women wear long skirts,” she told him. “My knees are knocking. And never tell me you are as calm and relaxed as you look.”
He laughed softly and turned to kiss Wren’s cheek—always the one with the birthmark, she noticed—and greet the other two before offering Elizabeth his arm and leading her toward the staircase.
The very young Mrs. Ormsbridge was flushed with a very obvious excitement as she stood in the receiving line at the first ball she had hosted. But when she caught sight of them as the majordomo was announcing their names, her face lit up with an even greater pleasure.
“Lady Overfield,” she said, clasping Elizabeth’s hand and proceeding to speak very quickly and breathlessly. “Michael and I were at the Duchess of Netherby’s ball last week and I must tell you that I felt for you. What happened then and what has happened since has been unbelievably unfair to you. I hope you realize how many people agree with me on that. The people in the other camp do seem to make the most noise, but they are to be ignored, even despised, by anyone of sense. I was terribly pleased when Michael read me the announcement of your betrothal in this morning’s paper. Pleased for you and pleased for Lord Hodges, whom I consider a friend.” She flashed a smile at Colin. “And I was touched to receive your note this morning. It seemed so very like what I know of you to be so thoughtful. You are going to make my ball the most talked about of the Season, which is lovely for me but not so much for you, I would guess. It was very brave of you to come and I honor you. Michael, look who is here.”
Mr. Ormsbridge bowed to Elizabeth and said all that was proper while his wife turned her attention to Colin and, after him, to Elizabeth’s mother and Alexander and Wren.
And the moment had come. Colin offered his arm and Elizabeth took it, and they proceeded into the ballroom, where the hubbub of conversation noticeably changed tenor, first sinking to a near hush and then rushing back with renewed vigor. It was obvious to Elizabeth that word of their arrival had preceded them upstairs and everyone had been eagerly awaiting this moment.
It was, she thought, surely the most dreadful moment of her life. But even as she thought it, she knew how ridiculous that was. There had been far worse moments. And why should this be so dreadful? What had she done that she need feel this way? She turned her head toward Colin and found that he was looking back at her, his eyes steady on hers and very blue and smiling and filled with…what? Pride? His arm was firm beneath her hand.
And she realized something about him at that moment. She knew he could easily have avoided this. All of it. He had not needed to offer for her, either the day after the debacle of her betrothal ball or yesterday. He had done nothing to compromise her, nothing to make it necessary that he sacrifice himself for her sake. And, even having done so, having offered and been accepted, he had not needed to face thetonwith her in quite such a public manner. It could not be easy for him, after all, to be seen with the most notorious woman in London, however unjust the charges. It could not be easy for him, after such an abrupt announcement in this morning’s papers, to come here to face some of the young ladies who must have hoped he was beginning a courtship of them. If Miss Dunmore or her mother had had any inkling of what this morning’s announcement might have been and if they were here this evening, they might make things very difficult for him.
But he had done it all. For his own sake? Surely not. For hers, then. Because he was kind and honorable and a rock of stability and uprightness and kindness. When he had seen himself at Christmastime as an immature young man, he had been mistaken. She recalled his saying on Christmas Day that he needed to become a man. But hewasa man. One of the very best. And he was utterly trustworthy. She had wanted, above all other consideration, to marry a man she could trust, and quite despite herself she had found him.
They smiled at each other, and if she had been resisting the knowledge ever since Christmas that she was deeply, irrevocably in love with him, well, she could deny it no longer. And why should she? He was to be her husband.
