Font Size:

“Quite refreshing, thank you.”

Eliza smiled, using his question as an excuse to take another sip of her drink.

She wasn’t sure what to say or how to feel about these introductions. They seemed to be nice enough people, of course, but really, what good could come of a girl like her suddenly finding herself the centre of attention?

Lord Gabriel studied her unflinchingly, with a sort of keen interest that made Eliza’s skin crawl.

“I thought it must be, because I haven’t seen you more than a few steps away from the refreshment table all night long.”

Eliza very nearly choked on the orgeat, but managed to swallow it and meet his gaze. His blue eyes danced with mischief, but there was interest there, too, as if Lord Gabriel enjoyed observing people and dissecting their motivations.

Eliza offered Lord Gabriel a wry smile and a small, easy shrug.

“If I may be frank with you, Lord Gabriel, I find myself the subject of far fewer vicious, mocking barbs and pitying glances in the shadowy recesses near the refreshment table than when I hover hopelessly at the edge of the dance floor.”

It was at that moment that His Grace, the Duke of Elkington, stepped around Lord Gabriel in one fluid motion, so the two of them neatly traded places, and he gently nudged his twin toward Lady Matilda, making sure he did not throw Gabriel off balance in the process.

“Speaking of the dance floor, will you do me the honour of joining me for a dance, Miss Wingfield?”

Eliza felt herself flush to roughly the colour of a tomato, and she struggled to find her voice, but bobbed a curtsey and nodded. Finally, she cleared her throat.

“Of course, Your Grace. It would be my honour.”

“The honour is all mine, I assure you.” The Duke bowed, and as he took her hand, Eliza could have sworn she heard Lord Gabriel mutter something that sounded an awful lot like well played, indeed, brother as His Grace led her toward the dance floor. He leaned down, so close to her ear that his breath sent a shiver down Eliza’s spine, and muttered so that only she could hear him. “Do you really stay away from the dance floor to avoid unkind remarks and pitying glances?”

Eliza sucked in a surprised gasp at his candour and pressed her fingers to her lips to mask it. Well, if he wanted to be direct, then she would do the same. Eliza lifted her chin a fraction of an inch and met his gaze, refusing to flinch under his curious scrutiny.

“Yes.”

“One would think that you might stand a far better chance of being asked to dance by a genuine suitor if you were to make yourself seen near the dance floor, rather than trying your best to melt into the wall and become invisible.”

Eliza barely managed to stifle the inelegant snort of laughter which tried to burst out of her at that.

“A genuine suitor? For me? I’ve been the subject of enough vicious ridicule since coming out in society that I hardly dare hope for such a thing. Many of the other young women have made me well aware of what I look like, Your Grace, and that I hardly meet the ton’s standards for beauty. Not the Calthorpes, of course. They are all lovely people, especially Lady Matilda. Still, a girl can only take so many snide remarks before she decides it might be best simply to stay out of the other ladies’ way. And then there’s the pity, and that’s worse—”

“Pity isn’t what motivated me to ask you to dance.”

The Duke’s voice was sharp, as if the mere thought that Eliza might have assumed that he’d asked her to dance out of pity somehow wounded him.

They faced each other on the dance floor and Eliza winced, horrified at herself for wording things so poorly.

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you had asked me to dance out of pity, Your Grace, though I do see how you could easily have interpreted it that way, in the context of our conversation. I fear I am quite awkward when I am nervous. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

The Duke chuckled, shaking his head as the string quartet started to play, never taking his eyes off Eliza. She bit her lip, feeling herself flush again, but could not say anything until the dance allowed them to pass close enough together to speak.

“What is so amusing, Your Grace?”

“I find your candour deeply refreshing, Miss Wingfield.” Just as quickly as it had come, the good humour on his face faded, and his expression sobered. “But it pains me to think that you allow the other young ladies to bully you into hiding in the shadows and hoping that you simply will not be noticed because that is easier than putting up with what they are willing to subject you to, in order to have you out of their way.”

Eliza felt the colour drain out of her face and she grew a bit lightheaded at just how observant he was, just how well he saw through her, how truly on the mark he was. They moved apart again, following the steps of the quadrille as second nature, all the while Eliza swallowed hard and tried to gather her thoughts. Finally, when she’d recovered, she looked up at him.

“How did you know?”

“When my mother waved Gabriel and me over to be introduced to you, you looked exactly like a fox run to ground by a pack of hounds. It wasn’t hard to deduce from your reaction that you find the thought of being noticed terrifying.”

They fell silent again, moving through the steps of the dance, and Eliza’s mouth twisted in another wry smile as they moved back toward one another.

“And yet here we are, dancing, and I don’t think there’s a single soul in the room who hasn’t noticed us.”