Eliza felt as though the walls were closing in.
A hundred guests. Members of the ton. People who might recognize her. People who knew her parents.
“Miss Graham? You’ve gone awfully pale.”
Eliza forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just… thinking about all the work it will entail.”
“Oh, that’s true enough. We’ll be run ragged, that’s certain. But Mrs. Dawson says we’ll all get an extra half-day off afterward, so there’s that!”
Eliza nodded mechanically, her mind already racing.
She couldn’t leave. Not now, two weeks before the ball. It would be too suspicious, too obviously running away. She’d have to stay. Survive the evening. Make herself invisible.
She’d attended enough balls to know the rhythm of them. The servants who moved through the shadows, refilling glasses, clearing plates, attending to the endless needs of the guests without ever truly being seen. She could do this. She had to.
The two weeks passed in a blur of preparation. The house was scrubbed until it gleamed. Flowers were ordered by the cartload. The ballroom, a space Eliza had only glimpsed before, was transformed into something magical, all golden light and polished floors and crystal chandeliers.
Eliza volunteered for every behind-the-scenes task she could find. Kitchen duty. Coat checking. Anything that would keep her away from the main ballroom, away from the guests.
“You’ll be helping serve refreshments,” Mrs. Dawson informed her the morning of the ball. “Along with Mary and Catherine.Keep your head down, work quickly, and don’t engage with the guests unless they speak to you directly.”
“Yes, Mrs. Dawson.”
It was the best assignment Eliza could have hoped for. She would be in the ballroom, yes, but moving. Busy. Easy to overlook.
She spent extra time on her appearance that evening, not to look beautiful, but to look plain. She pulled her hair back severely, pinned her cap low over her forehead, and wore her most shapeless uniform.
Invisible. That is the goal. Just survive the night.
The ball was already in full swing by the time Morgan wished he could leave his own event.
The ballroom was packed with exactly the sort of people he’d hoped to appease: titled lords and ladies, political allies, social climbers, matchmaking mamas and their hopeful daughters. The orchestra played beautifully. The champagne flowed freely. By all accounts, it was a tremendous success. Yet, Morgan had never been more miserable.
He’d danced with Lady Tayham, who’d spent the entire set hinting broadly about what an excellent duchess she wouldmake. He’d danced with Miss Hartwell, a sweet but vapid debutante who giggled at everything he said. He’d even danced with the widowed Countess of Somerset, who’d pressed rather closer than propriety dictated.
And through it all, his mind kept drifting. To a woman in a plain dress and cap, moving through the edges of the room with a tray of champagne glasses. He’d spotted her three times now. Each time, she’d been looking determinedly away from him, her posture stiff with tension. She was terrified. He could see it in every careful movement, every averted glance.
And he had no idea how to help her without drawing attention to the very thing she was trying to hide.
“Your Grace, you seem distracted.”
Morgan blinked, refocusing on his current dance partner, Lady Caroline Something-or-other. He’d already forgotten her surname.
“My apologies, Lady Caroline. I was merely… observing the success of the evening.”
“It’s a lovely ball,” she agreed, batting her eyelashes. “You really should host them more often. I’m sure you’d have no shortage of willing partners.”
The implication was clear. Morgan smiled politely and said nothing. The music ended. He bowed, she curtsied, and he made his escape before she could secure a promise for another dance.
Ambrose materialized at his elbow, two glasses of whiskey in hand.
“You look like you’re being tortured,” Ambrose observed, offering one of the glasses.
“Astute as always,” he laughed as he took the glass and took a long sip.
“This was your idea, remember.”
“Don’t remind me.” Morgan drank more deeply then, scanning the room.
