Georgiana was watching Eliza intently, not even blinking.
“Are you trying to convince me that you do not wish to hope for such things, or are you trying to convince yourself?”
Eliza squeezed her eyes shut and set her teacup down on the table, balling her hands into tight fists in her lap. She did not want to remember the velvet rumble of the Duke’s voice, or that his mouth always seemed to lift more at one corner than the other in a lazy half-smile which dropped her heart to somewhere in the vicinity of the pit of her stomach. She wanted to forget how easy conversation had been with him, and the warm, effervescent sound of his amused chuckle when she had threatened to haunt him if she died of the notoriety that being seen dancing with him had garnered her. It had danced over her skin and left her flushed and smiling. The Duke of Elkington’s laughter was headier than champagne.
“I don’t know.”
Eliza’s whispered answer was half agony, half ecstasy.
She certainly did not want to know what it felt like to have the Duke of Elkington’s strong arms wrapped around her. Eliza Wingfield did not wish to have the memory of her body being crushed protectively against the hard, warm wall of his chest burned into her mind for the rest of her life, but thanks to that runaway horse in the Park this morning, she was certain she would never forget the feeling of his body pressed against hers, hot and close and perfect. And his scent… he’d smelled of warm, exotic spices she couldn’t identify.
“What are you going to do?” Georgiana reached over and gave Eliza’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“I do not know.” Eliza groaned and laid her head on the back of the settee, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. All she could see was the Duke of Elkington’s face as he stared down at her in the park that morning. She chewed on her bottom lip for what felt like an eternity. “The only thing I do know is that I do not wish to be a fool.”
Do I dare hope?
* * *
LORD MANNINGFIELD’S BALL, LONDON
Eliza was far more delighted than she had any right to be when Lady Catherine Stewart sidled up beside her in the shadows near the refreshment table, a mildly ironic smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I rather thought I might find you here, Miss Wingfield.”
“I am nothing if not predictable, I am afraid.” Eliza chuckled and sipped her orgeat, giving a little grimace. Their hosts had been a little heavy-handed with the syrup and the drink was overly-sweet, leaving a thick, unpleasant sensation in her throat, but it was still preferable to thirsting to death. “The life of a wallflower has far too many comforts that those who are not wallflowers simply do not appreciate.”
Catherine nodded at the glass in Eliza’s hand.
“Judging by the face you just made, I think I shall forego the orgeat.”
“A wise choice on your part, to be sure.”
* * *
The moment Lord Edward Melthorn,third son of the Earl and Countess of Bitterwood, arrived at Lord Manningfield’s Ball, he began searching the rather small crowd for his forbidden love. It took him only moments to spy his sweet Catherine slinking through the shadows on the outskirts of the ballroom, making her way rather determinedly towards a plump young lady with blonde hair and a kind face.
With every fibre of his being, he wanted to go to Catherine immediately, but he knew he could not. Edward had to be clever and play his cards right. Their mothers hated each other so ferociously that the two of them could not even be seen speaking to one another in public without some sort of artful buffer or facade between them.
But perhaps that plump young lady with the kindly face could serve exactly such a purpose, and allow him to be near Catherine in public without their feuding mothers suspecting a thing? Perhaps he could speak to her, even if just for a passing moment, without word reaching their mothers’ ears? And if not, perhaps he could at least lay a foundation for such a thing to happen in the future, for if the kind-faced young lady was a friend of Catherine’s, then surely he could find a way to be near Catherine through her without his mother or the Duchess of Elkington finding out.
Edward cut a sideways glance at his mother, Lady Bitterwood, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling like a lunatic. She had been pressuring him of late to find a wife, preferably a wealthy one. If she thought he was expressing interest in the kind-faced young lady for the purposes of courting, she would make a point of seeing to it that he was introduced to the young lady as quickly as possible, no matter who the young lady was talking to.
Edward cleared his throat.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
Lady Bitterwood fanned herself elegantly, and artfully used the fan to hide her surprise that Edward was speaking to her when he was usually taciturn and borderline sullen at the social events which she asked him to attend with her.
“I wondered if you might procure me an introduction to the lovely blonde young lady with the rather kind expression, who is standing over by the refreshment table?”
Lady Bitterwood’s fan did nothing to hide her astonishment at her son’s request. Her mouth hung open in shock for several seconds before she gathered herself and beamed at Edward.
“Yes, of course. Anything for you, darling.” With that, his mother disappeared into the small crowd of mamas and reappeared shortly afterward with a woman who could only have been the blonde young lady’s mama. “This is the Viscountess of Gainsbourne, dear. Now, let us go and meet her youngest daughter.”
Edward’s mother looped her arm through his and pulled him along to the refreshment table so that proper introductions could be made.
