He was going to be a father.
But it wasn’t Bess who was the babe’s mother. Instead, it was the woman who had thrown her from her home in the darkest depths of the night without a care for what would become of her.
His stomach gave a violent lurch. He had to escape the ballroom, to handle this hideous matter with as much care as he could manage to blunt the damage it would do to his wife.
Torrie nodded jerkily in the direction of one of the doors at the opposite end of the ballroom. “Come with me.”
* * *
Elizabeth had been waitingfor far too long.
Torrie wasn’t going to come to her.
Disappointment and hurt curdled her stomach as she slipped back inside the ballroom from the terrace door, trying not to feel as if she were the same unwanted wallflower of her failed Seasons.
He cares for me, she reminded herself firmly.Surely there is a reason he failed to meet me on the terrace as he promised.
Inside, the throng of revelers made the ballroom feel even more sweltering than it had when she had left, thanks to the time she had spent in the cool breeze of the night. The air was stifling, and grew only more so when she became aware of all the curious and pitying glances being directed toward her.
A lady whispered to another behind her fan, one of them tittering as she looked at Elizabeth. Perhaps it was her imagination, or her old fears, she told herself. Not everyone in the ballroom was staring at her, and they certainly must be speaking of something else.
Her ears heated with embarrassment as she made her way through the crush, small bits of conversation reaching her as she went.
Everyone knew it was a matter of time…
The poor lamb likely has no notion…
Rakes never reform…
Quite scandalous indeed…
And with Lady Worthing…
The mention of Torrie’s former mistress caught her attention, the sick feeling inside her only growing more pronounced as she found herself, inevitably, by the potted palms at the periphery of the gathering. Perhaps she could only outrun the past so far, she thought miserably.
For here she was, taking up her post on the edges of the gathering. This time, she was dressed in a stunning gown, she was married, and she had the pearls her husband had given her at her throat. But somehow, those facts gave her none of the confidence she would have hoped as she searched the crowd for Torrie.
And the more she searched for him, the greater the gnawing sense of dread clawing at her intensified.
At length, she spied the dowager nearby in an animated discussion with Lady Althorp. Where was Hattie? Another glance around the crush proved futile. Her only friend amongst this sea of disdainful faces was as impossible to find as Torrie was. But surely there was a reason he had not joined her on the terrace as planned.
Yes, there must be a good reason to keep him from her side. He had been a distinctly attentive husband through the weeks of their marriage, never far from her side. He wouldn’t abandon her on this night, when they were hosting a ball, the first of its kind for her as his viscountess. Not when they had determined to put on a united front together and blunt all the gossip surrounding them.
Her mouth was growing dry.
The room was beginning to swirl at the edges, and perspiration trickled down her upper lip, tickled an uneasy path down her spine beneath her stays and chemise. Perhaps she should have stayed in the fresh night air instead of returning to this madness.
Indecision froze her to the spot, misery miring her. Suddenly, it was as if no time had passed. She was Miss Elizabeth Brooke, wearing the castoffs of Lady Andromeda, watching the world from its periphery.
No, she would not surrender to her fears. She would hold her head high. Perhaps her mother-in-law knew where Torrie was. Despite her strained relationship with the dowager, she did not doubt the other woman would be perfectly polite to her with Lady Althorp as an audience.
Her decision made, she moved without thought, reaching the dowager’s side as if she were an automaton.
The dowager’s lips pinched together at her arrival, but to the other woman’s credit, she didn’t make any other obvious sign of dislike.
“My lady,” Elizabeth greeted. “Lady Althorp.” She dipped into a formal curtsy. “Good evening.”
Lady Althorp passed a dismissive look over her. “Lady Torrington.”
