“The British Museum?” Mama spoke up. Elowen’s stomach flipped. “Elowen loves visiting with her father, do you not, my dear?”
“I do,” Elowen answered, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.Please, let it end here,she thought. But her mother was not the sort to let opportunity pass her by—and the Duke, it seemed, was equally unhelpful.
“Then we shall all attend together,” he said decisively.
Silence followed. Elowen exchanged a look of mute horror with her mother—hers pleading for retreat, her mother’s urging her onward.
“Aunt Charlotte,” Catherine murmured, wide-eyed, “did you hear that? I believe my ears deceive me.”
“Hush, child,” the Dowager Duchess replied with amusement. “Say nothing, or he may change his mind.”
The Duke sighed. “You are all far too dramatic at times. Perhaps I should have—”
“We would be delighted to attend, Your Grace,” Mama said quickly, her smile bright with triumph. “Elowen will be overjoyed to visit the museum again.”
And I have a mouth of my own, Elowen thought. Ironically, however, she didn’t bother to use it. She’d learned the hard way how easily she could let her words get away from her, and she had no intention of saying anything that may upset or offend the Duke and his mother. They were influential figures in London, after all. And she—well, she could hardly compare with them in consequence.
“It is settled, then,” Catherine announced. “We shall all visit the museum on the morrow. An excellent idea, Lucas.”
“I am occasionally capable of them,” he replied dryly. Yet beneath the dryness, Elowen thought she heard the faintest trace of humour—a warmth she had not expected from him.
How foolish she was to have presumed to know his character at all. They had shared but one dance, and she had spent the past three days thinking of it—ofhim. It had been her only pleasant dance of the evening, pity-born though it may have been. She had no reason to imagine that the handsome, wealthy Duke of Beaushire could spare a second thought for a woman such as herself.
And yet she had thought of him—of his laughter, of the steadiness of his hand, and of the faint scent of sandalwood that seemed to linger in her memory. She dared not allow her thoughts to wander further. Still, she could not drive him from her mind.
And now she was to visit the museum with him and his family? Elowen could not decide whether to be alarmedor secretly delighted. The attention of the Beaumonts might improve her standing—or ruin what little peace she still possessed. She had no fondness for being noticed, particularly when attention was seldom kind.
“Miss Tremaine—”
“Good afternoon, everyone.”
Elowen halted, glancing at the Duke, who—she was almost certain—had been about to speak to her. But now his attention shifted to the newcomer. His jaw tightened, his easy manner vanishing at once.
“Good day, Lord Cherrington,” said the Dowager Duchess pleasantly. “How do you do?”
“Exceedingly well on such a fine afternoon, Your Grace,” replied Victor with a practised smile. Elowen forced her gaze from the Duke and toward the marquess—the only other gentleman who had paid her much attention of late.
“I trust you are well also, Miss Tremaine?”
“Quite so, my lord,” she said, schooling her tone into polite neutrality.
Victor’s smile deepened. Reaching for her hand, he bowed and brushed a kiss across her glove. The act, perfectly proper in form, nevertheless drew every eye. Whispered speculation stirred around them like a chill breeze.
The last thing she wanted was to be the centre of attention—again.
“It is a pleasure to see you once more, Miss Tremaine,” he said. “Might I join you?”
“Of course you may, Lord Cherrington,” Mama answered before Elowen could protest. She managed not to sigh aloud.
The marquess’s grin broadened as he moved to her side, slipping easily into step beside her and guiding her a little ahead of the others. Her mother, predictably, made no effort to reclaim her.
It was all rather vexing. But then, the entire Season had been nothingbutvexing. And so she did what she had learned to do best—she smiled, said nothing, and waited for the gentleman to fill the silence.
“I have not been able to keep you from my thoughts since our dance, Miss Tremaine,” he began, his voice low and smooth. “You have quite consumed me—heart and soul.”
“It is a wonder how one dance should have such an effect, my lord,” she replied before she could stop herself.
“That is how remarkable a lady you are. But surely, I am not the first to tell you so.”
