Things could hardly have gone worse, Elowen decided.
It was mortifying enough to be parading through Hyde Park with her mother—everyone they passed would surely have something to whisper—but now they had joined the Duke of Beaushire and his family. They might as well have carried a banner reading,We welcome your scrutiny!
Still, she smiled as best she could. Her mother had all but pleaded with her to promenade, insisting that no lady with hopes of marriage ought to remain hidden indoors. Elowen had long abandoned such hopes, but her parents had not; and so here she was, playing the dutiful daughter.
But why, of all families, must they have fallen in with the Beaumonts?
And why did it feel as though the Duke himself were watching her?
He must be displeased, she thought. He had not said a word, and no true gentleman would openly object to unwelcome company—he would merely suffer it in silence.
“Miss Tremaine!” cried Miss Beaumont, releasing Lord Westbrook’s arm only to seize Elowen’s with uninvited enthusiasm. “Tell me, have you met any gentleman who has caught your eye as yet?”
Elowen was not at all surprised by the boldness of the question. Mama and the Dowager Duchess were conversing ahead—no doubt still within earshot.
“Not particularly, I’m afraid,” she replied, careful to keep her tone light.
“That does not surprise me,” Catherine declared. “The selection of gentlemen this year is dreadfully uninspiring. Present company excluded, of course, Lord Westbrook.”
“Ah, my pride is spared,” he said in mock gravity, earning her laughter.
Then Catherine leaned closer, lowering her voice—though not nearly enough. “And what do you think of His Grace, Miss Tremaine?”
A rush of heat rose so swiftly to Elowen’s cheeks that she feared it might be visible. She managed, with effort, to keep her expression composed. “I should not be surprised if he heard you, Miss Beaumont.”
“Neither should she,” came the Duke’s low drawl.
Elowen straightened at once. The sound of his voice alone seemed to discompose her far more than she cared to admit. She ensured her expression was perfectly neutral before glancing up at him—but his gaze remained fixed ahead.
“Oh, goodness, you know I have never been very good at whispering,” Catherine sighed blithely. “Perhaps I shall pay you a call one day, Miss Tremaine, and we may gossip freely about the gentlemen of the ton.”
“And there is no reason that should include me,” the Duke said, without looking her way.
“Of course it must,” Catherine retorted cheerfully. “You are a gentleman of theton, are you not?”
“A reluctant one. My sole duty this Season is to act as your guardian.”
“Yes, yes—we shall see about that.”
Elowen was beginning to feel distinctly trapped between them. Their easy teasing might have amused her under other circumstances, but at present, she could think of nothing but escape.
Before she could attempt it, Catherine spoke again. “I, for one, am delighted to have found a friend with whom to endure the Season. Will you be attending the Hartwell ball, MissTremaine? It is still a few weeks away, but I am already quite beside myself with excitement.”
Elowen hesitated. The likelihood of receiving an invitation was almost nonexistent, but she could hardly say so. She was still attempting to form a polite answer when the Duke intervened smoothly:
“You are thinking too far ahead, Catherine. Have you forgotten that we are to visit the British Museum tomorrow?”
“We are?” Catherine blinked in surprise.
Elowen risked a glance up at him, but his face remained impassive.
“I had only just thought of it,” he said.
Catherine sighed theatrically. “And you assumed, of course, that I had nothing better to do than attend alongside you, didn’t you?”
“I did,” the Duke confirmed with such ease that Elowen’s lips twitched before she could stop herself.
“I have not been to the British Museum in quite some time,” Lord Westbrook chimed in. “It would be pleasant to view the antiquities again.”
