They turned to find Ambrose and Imogen approaching, both smiling warmly.
“Thank God you’re here,” Ambrose said. “I was about to die of boredom.”
“We arrived ten minutes ago,” Imogen pointed out.
“Ten minutes too long.” Ambrose turned to Morgan and Eliza. “You both look spectacular. And I see you’ve already run the gauntlet of whispers and stares.”
“With grace and dignity,” Imogen added, embracing Eliza. “I’m proud of you. I know how difficult this must be.”
“It’s getting easier somehow,” Eliza said. And surprisingly, it was true. With Morgan beside her, with friends nearby, the whispers seemed less sharp, less painful.
“Dance with me,” Morgan said suddenly.
Eliza blinked. “What?”
“Dance with me. Right now. Let them see that we’re happy, that we have nothing to hide.”
The music was just starting, a waltz. Perfect timing.
“I’d be honored,” Eliza said.
Morgan led her onto the dance floor, and as his hand settled at her waist, as they began to move together in perfect synchronization, Eliza felt the last of her anxiety melt away.
This is so right.
They moved together as though they’d been dancing all their lives, anticipating each other’s movements, lost in their own world.
“You’re an excellent dancer,” Eliza said. “You move in perfect time with the music.”
“So are you. Though I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. You were raised for this, after all.”
“I was raised for a lot of things. Most of them involved sitting quietly and looking decorative.”
“Well, you’re certainly decorative. But you’re also brilliant, brave, and far too good for a ballroom full of people who can’t see past scandal to the remarkable woman in front of them.”
Eliza felt tears prick her eyes. “Morgan…”
“I mean it. Every word.” He pulled her slightly closer than propriety dictated. “I’m the luckiest man in this room. In all of London. And I don’t care who knows it.”
As the waltz ended, Morgan brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her gloved knuckles. The gesture was intimate, romantic, and utterly unmistakable in its meaning. Around them, Eliza saw faces soften. Whispers shift from scandalous to intrigued to… envious?
“They do look quite happy… perhaps there is such a thing as a happy ending?”
“They are a handsome couple…”
They’d done it. They’d faced the ton together and emerged victorious.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of dancing, conversation, and champagne. By the time they climbed back into their carriage near midnight, Eliza was exhausted but elated.
“That wasn’t so terrible,” she admitted as Morgan helped her with her cloak.
“I told you it wouldn’t be. You will always be under my protection.”
“You were right. For once.”
“For once?” Morgan’s eyebrows rose. “I’m right quite frequently, I’ll have you know.”
“Keep telling yourself that, darling.”
