He noted the tension in her shoulders, the slight stiffness of her smile. He saw the way her gaze flickered periodically toward the clusters of laughing debutantes who passed without acknowledgement, the matrons who looked through her as though she were glass. He watched a gentleman approach, speak a few words, and then retreat with an expression of polite discomfort when he realised to whom he was addressing himself.
The Ashcroft name, it seemed, remained poison.
“—and naturally, Castlereagh believes the matter will resolve itself, but I have my doubts. Blackwood? Are you attending?”
Thaddeus pulled his attention back to Stirling. “Forgive me. The noise is considerable.”
“Indeed.” Stirling followed his gaze across the ballroom, and something knowing flickered in his expression. “Lady Maribel Ashcroft. I had heard she was staying at your estate. Helping with the boy, they say.”
“They say correctly. I needed a governess.” This, they had decided, would be the answer to the inevitable questions.
“A generous arrangement.”
“A practical one.”
Stirling hummed noncommittally. “She was a favourite of my wife’s, once. Before the business with her father. Clever girl. Sharp tongue. Not unlike yourself, in that regard.”
Thaddeus said nothing. Across the room, Lady Maribel had moved on from the elderly woman and now stood alone, her champagne glass held like a shield before her. A group of young ladies passed nearby, their laughter pitched deliberately high, their whispers not quite quiet enough to escape notice.
He saw Maribel’s spine stiffen. Saw her chin lift with that familiar, stubborn pride. Saw her turn away as though the slight had not registered, though the colour in her cheeks betrayed her.
Though he had no time for the woman, it did not sit well with him to see society punish her for her father’s errors.
“If you will excuse me, Stirling.”
He set down his glass and moved into the crowd.
The ballroom was a battlefield, and Thaddeus navigated it with the strategic precision of a man who had learned warfare in bloodier theatres. He nodded to acquaintances without pausing, deflected attempts at conversation with monosyllabic responses, and kept his path indirect enough that no observer could have said with certainty where he was headed.
He was not going to Lady Maribel. He was simply... circulating. As was expected of a man of his station.
“Your Grace!”
The voice arrested him mid-stride. Lady Forsythe materialised from the crush, her considerable presence adorned in enough feathers to constitute a small aviary. Behind her trailed two other matrons whose names Thaddeus could not immediately recall, their expressions bright with the particular hunger of women who trafficked in information.
“How delightful to see you here this evening,” Lady Forsythe continued, positioning herself so that escape would require actual rudeness. “We had begun to wonder if you meant to spend the entire Season buried in the countryside with your... domestic arrangements.”
The pause before those final words was surgical.
“I find London increasingly tiresome,” Thaddeus replied. “The countryside offers peace.”
“Oh, indeed, indeed. And how is the little orphan? The Talbot child? Such a tragic situation. We were all quite overcome with sympathy when we heard.”
“He is well.”
“And adjusting to his new circumstances? It must be so difficult the poor dear. Of course, a motherly… companion… is rather necessary to help rear him. I am sure you understand the importance of a good feminine influence on a child.”
Thaddeus pursed his lips. “I am not certain I understand your implication, my lady.”
The woman had the good sense to blush. “I only mean… the Ashcroft woman. I understand she has taken up residence at Blackwood. As a... companion of sorts.”
“Lady Maribel has graciously offered to assist with the child’s care during his transition. Her connection to his family makes her uniquely suited to the role.”
“Herconnectionto his family.” Lady Forsythe exchanged glances with her companions. “Yes, we had heard rumours of some connection. Though the nature of it remains rather... unclear.”
“That nature is none of your concern, Lady Forsythe.”
He had not raised his voice. He did not need to. The temperature around them seemed to drop several degrees, and Lady Forsythe’s companions took a collective step backward.
