“… it almost feels like exploitation, doesn’t it,” Lord Barrington continued with an amused chuckle. “I will just have to try not to enjoy myself.”
The mystery red head vanished inside and Marcus, coming back into himself, turned on Lord Barrington.
“Exploitation?” He spoke coldly. “I do not intend on exploiting anyone.”
Lord Barrington blinked. “I… well, obviously, I did not mean it like that.”
“And how did you mean it? Other than how it sounded. Where you might be happy to bully some poor young woman into marrying you, Lord Barrington, I will not be a party to such things. This entire affair…” He shook his head with distaste. “It is beneath all of us.”
It was just then that Lady Fairvale singled for the men to follow her inside. Marcus, done with Lord Barrington, and wanting toget this over with so he could go home, stepped around the slimy lord and walked ahead.
I will show my face, make it look as if I am interested and engaged, and then leave. That ought to satisfy my sister, at least, and hopefully dull some of the guilt that I feel.
Tonight would be a short, dull affair. Of that, Marcus had no doubt.
* * *
“Lady Whitcombe,” a valet hissed at Lucy. “It is your time, my lady. Quickly now.”
There was a small part of Lucy that had hoped she had been forgotten. Having spent the last fifteen minutes hiding away in a spare bedroom, she had dared to believe that with all the excitement happening just outside the door, that she might be able to leave tonight without being involved in this farce.
Alas, it was not to be.
The valet stood by the doorway, beckoning her to walk through. His eyes were wide, and he looked panicked because she was taking her time. Beyond the door, Lucy heard her name being spoken, and she sighed, took a deep breath, and committed to what she knew that she had no choice in.
As she made for the doorway, she dared a final glance at her outfit in the full-bodied mirror. Dressed in green, her red hair worn in tight ringlets, make-up applied sparsely so that her eyes were the center of all things, she looked stunning.
I wish that I did not. Perhaps I should have worn a potato sack, for that would make this a whole lot simpler.
Through the doorway, Lucy walked. Down the short hallway. A moment later she found herself at the top of the staircase, which opened and spread into the foyer below.
Standing in the foyer, eyes gawking, smiles wicked and hungry, were two dozen lords. They looked on her as one, the whispers began, while a few of them elbowed one another and pointed at themselves as if to claim the first right.
“The Honorable Lucy Whitcombe,” Lady Fairvale announced, “daughter of Lord Whitcombe, the Viscount of Southport. At the tender age of twenty and two, she is ripe for the plucking. And where I do not need to say as much, as you each have eyes, the word beautiful falls agonizingly short in describing her.”
Lucy forced a smile as she started down the staircase; one hand rested on the banister, she took small steps. Her chin was raised high, her poise was perfect, and to look upon her one would see a true lady and daughter of the ton.
The reality, as it played out in Lucy’s mind, could not have been more different.
It was no secret that Lucy did not want to be here. And while she had no choice in the matter, what she did have was a choice in how she planned on behaving. Refusing to be treated as some sort of prize to be won, Lucy was certain that by the time this night was through, not a single lord would want anything to do with her.
That thought alone… it saw her smile grow.
“And there we have it!” Lady Fairvale announced once Lucy reached the bottom of the stairs. There, the other two dozen woman stood lined up and waiting. She joined the end of them, not once acknowledging or looking at any of the men. “As I told it, each of these young ladies is a true beauty and each of you esteemed lords will surely be blessed for a mere chance to meet them. So, let us be about it, shall we. Let the evening commence!”
Lucy and the other women were led from the foyer and into the nearby hall. It was a large room, an open plan, with waiters roaming already; on their hands were balanced trays of food and drink. An orchestra played in the corner. The lighting was dim. And no sooner did the enter were they encouraged to spread themselves and wait.
Lucy found a back corner to stand in.
She then watched as the lords hurried into the room and began their attack. They each wore malevolent smiles of unbridled joy, and their eyes searched hungrily for the women they planned on trapping.
Stay still, Lucy. Act invisible. With any luck, you might go unnoticed.
For a time, she did. So eager were these men that they threw themselves at the first woman that they saw. They surrounded them like a pack of hyenas, and Lucy watched on, sadness taking her to see some of the other young ladies suffocate.
It was always hopeful to believe that Lucy would go unnoticed. For a few wonderful minutes, she was, but eventually she caught the eye of one rather grotesque lord. He had a long nose, a flat chin, and plump lips that when he smiled revealed crooked teeth. Worse too, he came straight for her.
“What are we doing over here?” he purred as he approached her. “Hiding, I see.”
