Elizabeth looked up from her work. “I believe you told Lady Westland to spend whatever she deemed necessary to attire me in the manner you expected,” she replied, hoping her tone was submissive enough to appease him.
“Aye, but this is hundreds of pounds. You do nothing to earn it—how can you feel so cavalier about spending such an astronomical amount?”
It was not as if she could seek employment. “Do I not have sufficient interest on my settlement to pay the bill?” she had asked, knowing full well she did. The interest on fifty thousand pounds was far from modest.
“That is beside the point. You cannot spend money as though it were all yours, without any thought for me. What if your extravagance deprives our future children?” Fiennes regarded her with contempt, and she felt very small.
“I am not in the habit of spending recklessly. Lady Westland chose the clothing. If she invites me to shop again, I shall decline.”
Fiennes looked alarmed. “No, there is no need. If Lady Westland believes the purchases were necessary, she cannot be blamed. I will simply have to apply limits next time, so you know to stay within a reasonable amount.”
The insult was keenly felt, but Elizabeth merely nodded.
Returning her thoughts to the present, she folded the half-written letter and sealed it in readiness for her test. If Suzanne spoke true, it mattered little whether she completed it—the missive would meet the fire before her father ever held it in his hands.
“Elizabeth, are you ready?” Fiennes entered her dressing room, looking every inch the gentleman he strove to appear. One would never have guessed he had only just begun to frequent the first circles. “I am anxious to be on time. It would not do to make a poor impression on our first meeting.” He took in her attire, his mouth tightening. “That gown will not do at all. No, you had much better wear the dark blue.”
She looked down at the burgundy silk, embroidered with delicate rosebuds—the colour most fitting for a winter ball. “I had thought to match the season’s celebrations. Do I not look well enough?”
“You are tolerable,” he returned dismissively. “That is a provocative colour. I will not have other men ogling you.”
Elizabeth’s usual reserve was now strained, and her back stiffened. “If I am merely tolerable, then you have no cause for concern.”
“Men will stare at any woman in a provocative gown. Change at once.” Fiennes’s eyes held a warning. “Hurry, or I shall leave you here.”
Weary of contention, Elizabeth rang the bell for Martha, who appeared out of nowhere and began unfastening the gown while Fiennes paced the room with impatient strides. Another was brought forth—midnight blue, trimmed with ivory embroidery on the skirt and sleeves. Once it was fastened, a shawl of blue, ivory, and rose was laid over her shoulders, and her wool cloak was draped on her arm.
“Finished?” Fiennes demanded. “Good. Let us depart. The carriage is waiting.” Without further word, he strode from the room and down the staircase. Elizabeth cast a quick glance towards the looking glass to be sure her hair had survived the hurried change before following him.
The carriage proved bitterly cold. The warmed bricks at their feet did little to dispel the chill. Elizabeth tapped her foot beneath her skirts, wishing the journey to Matlock House might be brief. After ten minutes of shivering in silence, they arrived and were ushered inside. Fiennes tucked her arm firmly beneath his, swelling with self-importance as he greeted their host and hostess.
“It is a pleasure to be here,” he announced. “My wife, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth curtsied with the poise instilled by her genteel upbringing. As the daughter of a gentleman, she knew how introductions to the titled ought to be made—though her husband evidently did not. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance, my lord, your ladyship.”
Fiennes’s courteous smile stiffened, and a flicker of reproof passed through his eyes before he masked it once more beneath renewed affability.
Lord and Lady Matlock appeared to be between forty and fifty years of age. Suzanne had mentioned that both their sons were grown men, the eldest nine-and-twenty and the younger seven-and-twenty.How curious that Suzanne had been raised alongside her nephews.
“My dear sister, Suzanne, has told me much of you,” Lady Matlock’s warmth seemed genuine, though she cast a wary glance towardsFiennes—a look that went unnoticed by him. “I look forward to getting to know you—and your husband—better.” Elizabeth was left to wonder what Suzanne had shared.
“I too have heard much of you,” Elizabeth replied.
“I shall send my card round in a few days. We shall have tea together and speak of how best to advance your position in town.”
Fiennes looked pleased as he guided Elizabeth away to make room for those still waiting to greet their hosts. “Perhaps you are not such a lodestone after all. Who would have thought that you, an insignificant country girl, could win the hearts of not one buttwocountesses.”
The insult struck home, but Elizabeth ignored him. She knew Fiennes studied her face, seeking a reaction, but when none appeared, a low sound of impatience escaped him and he steered her towards a cluster of chairs at the far end of the ballroom. “Wait here for me. I intend to dance the first with you.”
Elizabeth nodded and took a seat. Her husband vanished almost at once and did not return until dinner. Knowing better than to wander, she stayed where she was until Suzanne found her.
Lady Westland approached, her fan stopping in mid-motion. “Where is your husband? I should have thought he would keep by your side. How long have you been here?”
“It has been an hour.”
The first two sets had passed. No one had approached Elizabeth to ask for her hand, and she was grateful she need not turn anyone away.
“Well, that will not do. Fiennes will not dare defy me. Come, I shall introduce you to a few friends.”
