Her dance with Freddie ended, and she curtsied. After he departed to pay his respects to their hostess, she stood among a group of young ladies drinking lemonade. Beyond polite responses, they made no further conversation. It was as though the marquess had branded her as an Untouchable. Likely the only reason she had not been removed from the ballroom was due to her avoidance of the earl.
A bitter taste rose in her mouth at that. Stephen had said it was to protect her, and maybe it was true. His earlier revelation had shaken her. A man had tried to murder him, and she hadn’t let herself think about it. If that man had succeeded, she truly might have been widowed this night.
A coldness slid beneath her skin, like a blade. She didn’t want to think of being alone again. Not after all that had happened.
She stumbled into Lady Thistlewaite. The gray-haired matron wore a saffron silk gown that made her look like a large dandelion.
“Miss Emily Barrow. What a surprise to see you here.” Lady Thistlewaite studied her with eyes eager to pry out the story. “Or should I say, Lady Whitmore?” Her tight smile gleamed, as though she had claimed the greatest gossip prize in all of London.
“Lady Thistlewaite,” Emily responded, with a light nod. She remembered her mother speaking of the dowager viscountess. One of the worst rumormongers in society, she could shred a woman’s reputation faster than a pair of scissors.
“After your father’s tragedy, why, I can hardly believe you are here. Such a scandal, it was.”
Emily said not a word, but the barb had struck true. Lady Thistlewaite knew it, too.
“And you captured the Earl of Whitmore.” The Dowager shook her head in disbelief. “I can hardly believe he would marry a woman such as yourself.”
“We are married, yes.” Though the matron was fishing for more information, Emily refused to give it. She searched the ballroom, desperately hoping for an escape.
“Well…” Lady Thistlewaite paused, her gaze sweeping over Emily. “I do not wish to be the bearer of bad news, but I know you would wish to put the stories to rest. They are saying that you were caught in a compromising position, and the earl wed you to preserve your family honor.”
“That is not true at all.” Emily clenched her gloved hands around her fan, trying hard to hold back her temper. “And I do not believe our marriage is any of your business.”
Lady Thistlewaite stared back as though Emily had slapped her. With a huff of air, she continued on. “My dear, I was only trying to help. You will want to put the stories to rest, won’t you? And how can we ever do that, if you do not tell uswhythe earl married you?”
“You may ask him that yourself.” Her voice came out harsher than she’d intended, and she tried in vain to escape the matron.
“Now, now. There is no need to take offense.” Lady Thistlewaite placed herself directly in Emily’s path. “But I did think you should be warned. No one else would dare to tell you about this, but I should hate for you to have your feelings hurt. It would be a most awkward situation.”
Emily wasn’t sure which of her feelings hadn’t already been crushed by the woman’s meddling gossip, but she waited.
“The earl intended to wed Miss Hereford, long before he met you. This scandalous marriage has quite broken her heart.” Lady Thistlewaite fanned herself, tut-tutting. With a sly smile, she added, “You really shouldn’t have chased after the earl, you know. It speaks of ill breeding.”
Emily gritted her teeth. “I never chased after him.”
Lady Thistlewaite offered a sympathetic smile. “It isn’t obvious to you, I’m sure. But the earl has kept his distance from you tonight, hasn’t he?”
Emily squared her shoulders. “He did not know I planned to attend.”
The matron shook her head sadly. “My dear, it is obvious that you are in desperate need of advice. For instance, the dress you are wearing is far too plain for a gathering such as this. Lavender does not flatter your complexion. You look as though you are wearing half-mourning. Blue or rose would be better.” The woman lowered her voice as though she were about to impart the secrets of warfare. “I have a dressmaker you should see.”
Emily counted to five before answering. Losing her temper in front of the Whitmore household would not precisely endear her to the marquess. She managed to nod. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
Lady Thistlewaite lifted her hand. “Call upon me in the morning, and I would be happy to advise on proper attire. You are the daughter of a baron, after all. Since your departed mother cannot be here for you, I shall take it upon myself to instruct you. It would be my Christian duty to help you understand the necessary etiquette.” With a pat to Emily’s shoulder, the matron sailed across the ballroom to find another target.
Emily said nothing, tears pricking her eyelids. From the stares directed toward her, no doubt most people sided with Lady Thistlewaite in believing that Stephen was embarrassed by her.
She watched her husband mingle with the guests and dance with simpering young misses vying for his attention. He didn’t look at her once, though she watched his every move.
It hurt to see him pretending as though she didn’t exist. She went over to stand by the refreshment table, wishing she had never opened her mouth.
“I suppose you think to worm your way into our lives,” a deep voice said.
It was her father-in-law. And here, she had thought the evening could not get much worse. He had come to finish her off and pick his teeth with her shattered feelings.
Lovely. Just what she needed.
The Marquess of Rothburne stood just behind her, behaving as though he weren’t speaking to her. But Emily knew the remark was aimed at her.
