Eliza was quiet for a long moment, warring with herself. Part of her wanted to refuse, to stay hidden in the safety of their townhouse. But another part, the part that had run away from home, that had survived weeks as a maid, that had stood up to her parents, that part knew Morgan was right. She couldn’t hide forever.
“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll go to the ball.”
Morgan’s face lit up. “Are you sure?”
“No. But I’m doing it anyway.” She managed to smile. “Besides, I have you. And if anyone dares to say something cruel, my husband is a duke. That must count for something.”
“It counts for a great deal, actually.” Morgan’s smile turned wicked. “And if anyone is foolish enough to insult you in my presence, I’ll make sure they regret it.”
“My hero,” Eliza said, only half-teasing.
“Always, darling. Always.”
As Morgan returned to his newspaper, Eliza sipped her tea and tried to quell the anxiety churning in her stomach.
A ball. I am going to a bloody ball as the Duchess of Kirkhammer. No hiding. No running. Just me, Morgan, and whatever the ton throws at us.
Eliza stood before the mirror in her chambers, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her.
The gown was exquisite, a deep sapphire silk that brought out the blue rings in her hazel eyes, with delicate beading that caught the light from the fireplace. Mary had styled her hair in an elaborate arrangement of curls and pearls, and the Kirkhammer sapphires. They had been Morgan’s gift to her that morning and they glittered at her throat and ears like celestial beings. She looked every inch a duchess. Yet, she felt like she might be sick.
“You’re beautiful,” Morgan said from the doorway.
Eliza turned to find him watching her, resplendent in his black evening coat, his emerald eyes warm with admiration.
“I’m terrified,” she admitted.
“I know.” He crossed to her, taking her hands in his. “But you’re also brave. You’ve survived far worse than a ballroom full of gossips.”
“Have I?”
“You escaped Whitfield. You built a new life from nothing. You faced down your parents.” He squeezed her hands. “And those are just the beginning of your accolades. A few cutting remarks from bitter society matrons? That’s nothing compared to what you’ve already overcome.”
Eliza managed a weak smile. “When you put it that way…”
“Besides,” Morgan’s expression turned fierce, “I’ll be with you the entire evening. And if anyone and I meananyone, dares to insult you, they’ll answer to me.”
“My fierce protector. My lion. My husband.”
“Always.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, shall we? Our carriage is waiting.”
Eliza took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “Yes. Let’s go show the ton what we’re made of.”
“That’s my girl.”
The Ashford ball was in full swing when they arrived, fashionably late. The ballroom glittered from the chandeliers that hung over them like diamonds, the air thick with perfume and gossip. As they were announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Kirkhammer, and Her Grace, the Duchess of Kirkhammer” a hush fell over the assembled guests. Every eye turned to them.
Eliza felt her steps falter, but Morgan’s hand was steady at the small of her back.
“Chin up,” he murmured, so quietly only she could hear. “Let them look. Let them see that you belong here. That you belong with me.”
She lifted her chin and met the stares head-on. The whispers began immediately. She could hear snatches of conversation as they moved through the room.
“Scandalous circumstances, did you know…”
“She was working as his maid, can you imagine!”
“She forced him into marriage, no doubt some ploy…”
