“Dinner is served.”
“My Lord?” As the hostess, but also the highest-ranking lady, Elle’s mother dipped her chin toward the marquess, who offered his arm and escorted her through to the dining room.
Elle’s father, who came as close to beaming as she’d ever seen him, took a step backward. And although officially he ought to lead Elle through, he gestured for Carter to precede him.
“Lord Edmund?” Elle tested the name, tilting her head sideways as Carter presented his arm for her to take.
“Lady Giselle?” His brows rose, and she caught a hint of teasing but also something else lurking behind those oh, so familiar brown eyes.
Beyond that, neither initiated further conversation. Wondering if she’d fallen into a twisted fairytale, Elle slid her hand into the crook of Carter’s arm and floated along beside him.
He covered her hand with his, and for the first time in hours, Elle felt like her world wasn’t spinning out of control.
But only for those few moments.
Once seated, questions ricocheted around her brain, so much so that she barely registered that the dining table had been shortened from the version they usually used for entertaining.
“I’m so glad we could all sit down together,” Elle’s mother spoke from her position at the head of the table, the marquess seated beside her. Elle’s father sat at the opposite end with Elle to his left and Carter on his right, directly across from Elle.
“Indeed,” the Marquess of Ashwood agreed from her opposite side, glancing between Elle and Carter. The arrangement proved more than a little awkward, but not nearly as awkward as Elle felt.
Why was Carter here? The answer seemed obvious, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Carter was the man her father wanted her to meet.
And if that was the case, what did it mean?
Had Carter known who she was all along? But he could not have.
Her father had begged her to trust him…
Elle unfolded her napkin with shaking hands, and when she glanced up, caught and held Carter’s gaze.
“I’m so glad you could join us this evening,” Elle’s father addressed Carter. “Your father warned me you might not be able to leave your work at the theater.”
Carter looked as though he would answer, but then dropped his gaze to his plate and frowned. And then he shook his head. “I had not planned on coming this evening.” He lifted his chin and his eyes all but burned into Elle. “But it seems fate has other ideas.”
Elle’s father cleared his throat. “I’m grateful for that.”
Elle’s mother seconded her father, and then slid seamlessly into one of the many anemic, near-scripted conversations applauded by the ton. First, the weather, of course, followed by fashion, food, the latest ball, and finally some gossip and between those scintillating topics, the two elder gentlemen inserted comments related to the betrothal they’d agreed upon. Only Elle and Carter kept mostly quiet—occasionally glancing at one another.
This dinner—it could have lasted for hours or only minutes. For Elle, time had lost all meaning. Because as the meal progressed, her brain began functioning properly again, bringing her around to the revelation that Carter was the person her father had betrothed her to, and that she—somehow—might hold the key to Carter saving the theater.
Her feet and hands tingled, and she struggled to understand the all the hows and whys. Carter could not have known? He’d looked as surprised to see her as she had been to see him. Which introduced another fear. Did he hate her for having lied to him? She knew from working with him on the manuscript that he hated liars—it was the biggest issue he’d had with Lady Drusilla’s character.
How many times had he emphasized that the heroine required powerful reasons to justify her deceptions—without which, the audience wouldn’t support her happily ever after.
Had Elle’s reasons for lying been powerful enough? Would she be allowed a happily ever after?
Thousands of questions spiraled around her head until her mother broke into her thoughts.
“Come along, Giselle,” she said. “We’ll leave the gentlemen to their port.”
Already?
She glanced down and sure enough, she’d finished eating most of her dessert. She dabbed her napkin delicately at her lips, noticing that the candles were considerably shorter than they’d been when dinner began.
“Yes, Mother.”
The footman took hold of the back of her chair, but just as she went to rise, Carter’s voice stopped everyone.
