“It is I who should be thanking you.” And just like that, the grin was back. “First, I learn that you have no designs on my sister; and now this. All in all, this has been a rather fruitful evening.”
Lucas smirked. “Are you so opposed to the idea of my interest in her?”
“If it is any consolation, Your Grace, I was impressed by how well you managed to hold your own against her this evening. But she’s always been cynical, and the way the ton has treated us has only made her worse. I do not know if there is anyone capable of tearing down the walls she has built up.”
They looked at Elowen at the same time and, as if she sensed the weight of their eyes, glanced in their direction. Even from a distance, he saw the tiny twitch of her brows as if she was trying not to scowl.
“For her sake, though,” William went on. “I rather hope there is.”
***
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Catherine asked, leaning in to whisper even though they were far enough away from everyone else that they would not have been overheard if she’d spoken normally.
Elowen lifted one shoulder. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“I think it’s about you.”
It took all her effort not to react. She had, in truth, suspected the same—though she could not imagine why. She had been careful not to glance at her brother and the Duke, who were speaking quietly on the far side of the room. She did not trust herself not to stare.
“I doubt that,” she replied, knowing Catherine needed little encouragement to continue. She’d spent the past twenty minutes explaining to Catherine why she much preferred Benjamin West’s collection to that of Krauffman. To Elowen’s surprise, she found Catherine’s chatter almost pleasant—a feat few others could have managed.
“I know my cousin,” Catherine went on eagerly. “And I cannot help noticing that he has been acting rather oddly ever since my debut ball. He seems to value your opinion.”
“Perhaps he has simply realised that I hold valuable opinions,” Elowen said dryly.
Catherine giggled. “Perhaps—but I do not think that is the extent of it. I believe he—”
“Again, Miss Beaumont, I doubt that is the case.”
Catherine’s expression turned thoughtful, her head tilting. “Do you wish to be married, Miss Tremaine?”
“Which lady does not?”
“More than you might think. I, for one, should like to marry—but only for love. A prospect which many assure me is nearly impossible in London.” Her eyes brightened. “You, however, seem not to care for marriage, whether for love or convenience.”
Elowen hesitated. Shedidwish to be married—though she rarely admitted it, even to herself. But she had long accepted that some women were simply not meant for happiness in marriage. She had already resigned herself to being one of them.
“I mean no offence,” Catherine went on quickly. “I’m only curious.”
Elowen studied her companion properly for the first time. Catherine’s face glowed with the ease of someone untouched by hardship. She might not have been without her own sorrows, but she was still the charming, beloved ward of the Duke of Beaushire—young, beautiful, and bound to have a dozen proposals before the Season was out.
Elowen expected none. She attended the Season merely to appease her hopeful parents.
“I do wish to be married,” she said at last—and realised with a start that it was the first time she had ever said the words aloud. “But I know better than to presume I shall.”
“Why wouldn’t you? You are very pretty, and far more intelligent than most ladies of the ton.”
“Beauty and intelligence only go so far, Miss Beaumont. In most cases, not quite far enough to reach the altar—unless one possesses the former to excess and none of the latter.”
Catherine raised her brows slightly. “How surprisingly pessimistic of you, Miss Tremaine.”
“Surprisingly?”
“Yes, surprisingly.” Catherine explained no further, studying Elowen as if she was an enigma she was trying to understand.
Elowen didn’t particularly care for it, especially since Catherine was not the only one who seemed to want to peel back the many layers she’d draped over herself. The other one was standing across the room, whom she was trying her best to ignore.
“Enough about me,” Elowen tried to escape. “Tell me about you and Lord Westbrook.”
