Lady Bitterwood often confided in, and gossiped with her housekeeper, Mrs. Bessie Harding, in this way. Those who disliked Lady Bitterwood said that Mrs. Harding was Lady Bitterwood’s only friend in the world, because she was paid well to be so, and that if her wage had not been so handsome, she would not have tolerated Lady Bitterwood, either.
“What has she done now, my Lady?”
Mrs. Harding arched a brow and leaned forward, knowing her role in this and playing it well. They’d been doing this for years, after all.
“Well… she must have discovered that I had instructed my dear Edward to court Miss Eliza Wingfield, because last night her eldest son, the Duke of Elkington, danced with Miss Wingfield — a waltz of all things. I simply could not bear the sight of it. Was it not enough that the Duchess won the Duke’s favour and his hand? Must she also rob my youngest son of a good marriage prospect as well, just to spite me?”
Lady Bitterwood simply could not bear the thought of Miss Wingfield marrying her fiercest and most vicious enemy’s son, rather than her dear, dutiful Edward. It simply would not do. Wilhelmina Stewart, nee Avery, may have bested her and won the Duke of Elkington’s hand when they had competed for the late Duke’s affections so many years ago, but Lady Bitterwood was not inclined to lose to Her Grace ever again, especially not in this matter.
“Awful woman.” Mrs. Harding clicked her tongue and shook her head disapprovingly. “What are you going to do, my Lady?”
Lady Bitterwood stood and paced around the family sitting room, sipping a piping hot cup of tea as she plotted her next move. She paused by a window and looked out on the bustling street below with a satisfied smile, before turning to face Mrs. Harding.
“It is simple, really. I am going to trap Miss Wingfield into marrying Edward, and darling Edward is so dutiful, he surely will not protest.”
“Trap them?” Mrs. Harding gasped, her eyes burning with genuine interest, now. “How do you plan to do that, my Lady?”
Lady Bitterwood tapped a thoughtful finger against her chin.
“I do not have a fully fledged plan just yet, but I think I shall have to do it at a Ball. There is no hurry, though. I have plenty of time to plan and push Edward in that direction quietly. Who knows? Perhaps a trap may not even be necessary, if only we can manage to keep Edward firmly between Miss Wingfield and the Duke of Elkington.”
* * *
THISTLEWAYTE HOUSE, LONDON, VERY LATE NOVEMBER 1812
“Has he really not spoken to you again since that waltz you shared at the Mowbray Ball?” Lady Matilda frowned over at Eliza, clearly shocked and disbelieving. “His Grace looked ready to make you an offer of marriage on the spot that evening, and not a single word or note since then?”
Eliza nodded and gave a palms-up gesture.
“If you had seen the Duchess’ face when she saw us waltzing together at that Ball, you would not look nearly as surprised as you do right now, my friend. She was positively furious, and must have reaffirmed her decision to forbid him to see or pursue me after that night.”
“The whole situation is wildly unfair.” Matilda groaned dramatically, pacing over to study a case full of miniature statues in Thistlewayte House’s library, which was filled with such things – as bookends, and in cases like this one. “How is it that your sister helping my sister achieve a love match has prevented us both from being able to see or speak with the first men we’ve ever found interesting and pleasant enough to coax us out of our wallflower ways?”
Eliza let out a humourless chuckle and shook her head.
“I couldn’t begin to tell you. It is ironic, is it not?”
“It is painful.” Lady Matilda snorted. “I quite enjoyed Lord Gabriel’s company, and now we cannot see or speak to one another because my sister ‘stole’ his sister’s betrothed out from under her, as I heard it so eloquently put at the modiste earlier this week.”
“Do not forget that my sister was instrumental in facilitating the so-called theft, and now we are all in a fine mess. Have you told your Mama that you enjoyed Lord Gabriel’s company? Did she have any advice for ways that we could — perhaps — fix this situation with the Duchess of Elkington, so that we might be afforded the opportunity to enjoy their company again in the future?”
Lady Matilda sat up a little straighter, shaking her head.
“It had not even occurred to me to mention it to Mama at all. She has been so busy with the wedding plans for Lord D’Asti and Eugenia that I did not even think to mention this to her. I’m certain she will have heard about it, of course. She must have. The gossip is everywhere. It’s all anyone is whispering about, all over London.”
Eliza looped her arm through Matilda’s and inclined her head toward the door.
“Shall we go and tell her, just so that we are not left floundering around in the dark all by ourselves?”
“That is a very good idea indeed.”
* * *
Later that nightat the opera, Eliza caught sight of the Duke of Elkington from across the room, as people milled about during intermission. She wanted to go to him, so badly, to ask him to clarify matters once and for all, if only so she knew where she stood, but the moment she even thought about setting off towards him, Lord Edward Melthorn materialised, as if from out of thin air, with his mother at his side.
Lady Bitterwood smiled broadly, her expression artfully warm and welcoming.
"Miss Wingfield! How lovely to see you this evening."
