One
O
ut of mourning. It was difficult to fathom—she, Lady Virginia Maudsley was finally officially out of mourning. Well, officially it would be another month. Still, she was a widow and thrilled to be so. Ginny squelched the pinch of guilt slithering through her. Joy that her late husband was dead. Worse? She wished she’d been there to see the light go out of the blackguard’s eyes. A little shudder skittered up her spine at her venomous thoughts. But then… she’d come a long way from the naïve little fool she’d been a decade before.
Ginny ached to believe she’d matured into someone philosophical yet focused in her long-range goals. Goals that weren’t solidly fleshed out. She was the first to admit her single-minded determination when it came to her two young daughters, Irene and Cecilia. It was well known those of the upper echelon nobility spent little time with their children. Boys were sired for the purpose of carrying on a title, and girls for contracting a profitable marriage. Deep down, Ginny felt differently. Lord knows, with the love that filled her heart when it came to her daughters, she’d willingly kill to protect them.
She gave herself a mental shake, knowing that trail of thinking would undermine the necessary task ahead. Shoving out the negativity, she stood in the Peachornsbys’ arched ballroom doors and tugged at the long lace-trimmed sleeves, making certain she was covered down past her wrists. Though she wore gloves, she was self-conscious of the various scars she bore. She smoothed her palms over the forest green skirts. Hundreds of lit sconces filled the hall with a blazing heat, and with her tightened corset she dearly hoped she didn’t collapse in a dead faint for lack of oxygen.
The vast crowd of society’s upper echelon were already seated in row after row of chairs that faced a grand dais sporting a lovely pianoforte. Sometime ago, Ginny had been quite accomplished at both playing and singing. She rubbed her fingers over the catch in her left wrist. Her playing days were long since gone. Her singing days too, she feared. If she attempted to sing now, it might come out worse than the awful braying laugh that seem to erupt from her at the most inopportune moments. Heads turned in her direction, sprouting a bean of panic deep within her abdomen. Her anxiety quickly escalated to a noxious spread that coursed through her body.Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.
Disgust mingling with panic rippled over her. Her insides quaked so fiercely the silk fabrics of her skirts rustled. Having been out of the public view the last year should not give one such jitters. Normally, her ungainly height and annoying laugh had given her plenty of practice turning a blind eye and deaf ear to the gaping stares and derisive remarks she’d suffered her entire life.
Berating her self-condemnation, Ginny strove to remember that presently she was an experienced woman. A worldly woman. A woman who’d emerged from a horrific marriage mostly intact. But finding herself under scrutiny after being out of it for almost a year was unnerving. She squared her shoulders and pulled on her inner determination. She was allowed a bout of fretfulness, blast it. Anyone would be tense at reentering a cynical and mocking society that favored men, deserving or not. Her trembling hands certainly believed her.
She battened down the waves of doubt. Let people gawk at her. Not many women were free to make their own decisions without some obnoxious lout hell bent on dictating their lives. She’d earned her rights. She could do this.Besides,shehad friends.
“Oh, Ginny. There you are.” Lorelei Gray, Lady Kimpton, was suddenly at her side, drawing Ginny’s arm through hers. She was as petite as Ginny was tall, with lovely flaxen hair and eyes of cornflower. “You look lovely, dear. Come. I’ve secured us chairs at the back. I’m thrilled you made it.”
Ginny, acutely aware of her friend’s desire to see her properly settled, managed not to wince or let out a nervous laugh—only by sheer determination in clenching her jaw. She’d balked repeatedly at Lorelei insisting she abandon her widowed weeds to attend the modest musicale held. Modest? Ha. She’d wager the entire ensemble oftonwere in attendance.
With gritted teeth, Ginny planted a small smile on her face, having no choice but to follow. Lorelei’s words plowed through her head at Ginny attending this so-called “modest” event.“It’s the perfect scenario for your reemergence, darling. If you wait any longer, people will think you hold a candle for your late husband.”
Lorelei had struck the perfect chord in jarring Ginny from her period of mourning. Maudsley had been a monster, and Ginny had no desire in allowing society to believe she coveted her late husband the tiniest regard,may he rot in hell.
Lorelei led them to two empty seats in the back row. Her shoulders eased at seeing only two. Lorelei was not subtle in her determination to marry Ginny off to John Brown, the Marquis of Brockway, at first opportunity. She didn’t truly believe her friend would force her hand by placing her in a compromising situation, but still, Ginny had witnessed and been a part of worse.
True, Lord Brockway had played an admirable hero, hiding her from her own loathsome abusive bastard of a husband when the man had beaten her to within an inch of her life. At great risk to himself. A wife was considered property in the eyes of the law, after all. But she and Brock had a history.
One Ginny did not care to repeat.
Lady Alymer, Maeve Pendleton, leaned in and whispered, “How lovely you could make it, Lady Maudsley.”
“Thank you, Maeve,” Ginny murmured. Her blue eyes seemed kind, but Ginny learned long ago that trusting her own judgment of others came at too high a price. Another quiver vibrated up her spine.
The music, a haunting violin concerto by Louis Sporh, filled the hall. Ginny closed her eyes and drank in the notes until long after the last chord rippled over her. Itwasnice to hang up her drab frocks for something rich and luxurious for a change. Emerald, rather than black or gray. Ginny sat there and soaked in the festive chatter going on around her.
“Lord Brockway. How delightful to see you.” Lady Alymer’s husky resonance jolted Ginny. Her eyes flew open and she flinched under the harsh piercing stare of Lord Brockway. The tranquility the music had blanketed her in was instantly stripped away.
Lorelei inclined her head. “Lord Brockway.” Ginny envied her friend’s demure competence, her very grace. It was a beautiful thing, and so far from Ginny’s clumsy reach.
“Ladies.” Brock’s grace rivaled Lorelei’s, Ginny thought, not without a smidge of disgust. She averted her eyes but could feel his gaze, a green that was the exact shade of her dress, flaying her skin. “Lady Maudsley, how lovely to see you out and about. Perhaps you would do me the honor of taking a turnabout the room?”
Lorelei and Maeve were on their feet in an instant. “Do excuse us, Lady Maudsley. Lord Brockway.”
Well, that was subtle. Seeing no other choice, Ginny took Brock’s outstretched hand and rose.
With his trademark arrogance, he placed her left hand—gently, she noted—in the crook of his arm and guided them toward a set of open French doors. One thing a person could count on from Brock was his analytical mind and excellent memory. His was a methodical approach to life. “I should return home. Check on the girls,” she said on a hot rush of breath.
His smile, something lethal, remained in place. “We must talk.”
“I have no wish to talk,” she said through a stiff smile as Lord Martindale strolled by. His eyes widened in surprise. He recovered quickly and inclining his head. But he continued on his way.Coward.
“You’ve avoided me for the better part of a year, my dear.” Brock told her. “We are going to talk.”
“Ha! Not for lack of your knocking on my door twice weekly, regular as sunrise,” she said through a gritted smile.
“And still, you managed quite deftly to avoid me at every turn.” He also spoke through a teethy smile, but he managed to infuse amusement.
