CHAPTER 1
“You are radiant tonight, Miss Barker.”
Eleanor let her smile settle into place as if it belonged there, “You are kind to say so, Lady Calderwick.”
“Kind?” Lady Calderwick tittered behind her fan. “I am factual. Look at them. Every eye in the room is on you.”
Every eye, Eleanor thought,was a blade when it wished to be.
Around them, Penhurst House shimmered with candlelight and careful excess. Lady Penhurst had opened her ballroom in the spirit of generosity, or so the invitations claimed, though Eleanor suspected it had more to do with curiosity and opportunity in the dull days of early spring.
The Season was nearly upon them already. A well-timed assembly ensured relevance in the coming months if one was not being debuted.
And Eleanor stood at the center of a little circle that had formed around her without invitation. Because circles formed around the interesting thing. Whether it be a scandal or curiosity. It was a story that had caught Society’s teeth and refused to let go.
Lady Calderwick leaned closer, her breath faintly scented with rosewater. “We must all congratulate you. Truly. An engagement to a duke.” Her gaze darted, sharpened. “To the Duke of Langford, no less.”
The circle went unnaturally still at the mention of the Duke of Langford, curiosity giving way to something quieter and more cautious.
Lady Harrowby, younger and crueler in her gentleness, gave a soft laugh. “The Duke of Langford is not a man people collect like calling cards, Miss Barker. One does not simply… meet him in a garden and accept a bouquet.”
“Perhapsyoudo not,” Eleanor said pleasantly. “ButIhave found that men, such as he, are more willing to be met when one does not approach them like a hunting party.”
Lady Calderwick’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh! Hear that? She has wit.”
Wit was safer than honesty. Wit gave them something to admire while they hunted for weaknesses.
Lady Harrowby tilted her head. “Still, it is so very sudden. You must forgive us for being curious. No one has seen His Grace in town for years. Some have said he does not attend Society at all.”
“Some say he is ill,” Lady Calderwick offered, the way one offered a sweet and waited to see if it would be accepted. “Or mad.”
“Some say he is simply uninterested,” Eleanor replied. “And that is a far more common affliction than people admit.”
Lady Harrowby’s lips pressed together, as if she disliked being answered without reward. “And yet he proposed?”
“He did,” Eleanor agreed, allowing nothing more.
The pause that followed was not silence so much as a collective inhale. They were trying to decide where to press next.
Lady Calderwick fluttered her fan again. “Will you tell us, Miss Barker? The moment, I mean. I do not require every intimate detail, of course.” Her smile turned sly. “Only the parts that are suitable for a ballroom and delicious enough to repeat.”
Eleanor’s pulse did not change. It could not afford to.
“There is very little about a proposal that is delicious,” she said lightly. “It is mostly awkwardness and solemnity. I suspect gentlemen imagine it to be heroic, when in truth it is very similar to negotiating the purchase of a horse.”
Lady Harrowby blinked. “That is… a peculiar comparison.”
“It is accurate,” Eleanor said. “One must ascertain temperament, manage pride, and pray the creature does not bolt at the last moment.”
Lady Calderwick laughed, delighted again. “You are quite unlike anyone I have ever met.”
Eleanor inclined her head, accepting the compliment the way she accepted everything from theton: with a controlled hand and no expectation that it was given freely.
“But surely,” Lady Harrowby persisted, “there will be an announcement? An appearance? The Duke cannot keep his bride hidden away like a rumor.”
Eleanor held Lady Harrowby’s gaze. “I imagine His Grace will do exactly as he pleases. Dukes have that privilege.”
“Still,” Lady Calderwick said, eager, “how did he look? When you accepted?”
