By the time she’d managed to get him out the door, Edward had left once more and her chance to talk to him had vanished. And she needed to talk to him. His words had plagued her all night. She had been surly that afternoon while their portraits were painted in part because she’d not slept.
I wanted to marry you.
She’d been so hurt by that evening’s conversation that she’d lashed out. Now, every time she closed her eyes, the way he’d recoiled from her words played through her mind. She’d hurt more than his pride; she was sure of it. But she didn’t know what that meant for them.
So a cloud hung over her, making it all the more difficult to focus on what mattered. Tonight’s ball was crucial. Both Viscount Chester and the Earl of Livingworth would be there.
William’s old clothes had been tailored to fit Fi perfectly. Bessie had added subtle shoulder padding to the blue tailcoat to create a masculine silhouette. The wide lapel and voluminous frill served to hide any hint of swelling around the chest. Fiona was grateful for the design. It allowed her to loosen her chest bindings a fraction so she could dance without fainting from lack of air.
The breeches had been sewn to snug tightly to her legs, as was the current fashion. As she sat in the carriage, thigh to thigh with Edward, Fiona hungered for the layers of skirts and petticoats that would have provided a more stringent barrier between them.
She could feel the tension in him. It seeped into her bloodstream, causing her heart to thrum and the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. Sitting so close, his scent was pervasive, occupying her nose, her lungs, her brain—fogging up her thoughts to the point that the practiced words of her pitch scattered like birds following a gun shot.
I would ne’er have married ye anyway.
Was it even the truth? She didn’t want to be a duchess, but back then, in the full bloom of passion, would that have stopped her? Or would she have trusted in their love to see them through? Even now, her body ached for him—as though he were a missing part of her—not caring that it betrayed her in the process.
It had ached for him that morning as she was forced to sit there and watch while his potential wives vied for his approval. They had every trait Charlotte and William had stipulated. All traits Fiona lacked.
“Finley, you seem nervous,” Charlotte said, a concerned expression on her face. “You shouldn’t be. Your dancing is perfectly acceptable. A few more hours and you’d out-dance most men of theton.”
Fiona tried to give a smile, though it felt distorted. “Less nervous about the dancing and more fearful of bollocksing up the pitch to Lords Chester and Livingworth. It’s hard enough remembering each point when I’m in the quiet of an office. I can’t imagine how badly a ballroom will distract me.”
She had been trying to practice her caseall day. In her earlier meetings she’d had test results, sketches, and a working prototype. Tonight, she would have nothing. All she had to rely upon to convince these men to invest thousands of pounds were her words.
“You’ll be fine,” Edward said—the first words he’d uttered since they’d entered the carriage. “Livingworth likes to be reminded of how benevolent he is, so be sure to mention that you’ve heard of his reputation for taking on worthy causes. And Chester hates sycophants. Be casual in your approach with him.”
Rather than easing her nerves, the information agitated them, because neither of those points had been in her plan. She suddenly felt very, very foolish. Edward had had a wealth of information. If this went wrong tonight, it would be her fault for refusing to tap into it.
“Well, I can introduce you to the Earl of Livingworth,” Charlotte said, “but William or Edward will need to introduce you to Lord Chester. He’s not one debutantes spend time with.”
“Not me,” said William, shaking his head. “I…uh…Chester and I aren’t speaking. I might have…Never mind. Edward, it’ll have to be you. Just don’t tell him I’m here.”
Edward looked at Fiona. The small smile he gave her was encouraging, both that she might actually succeed tonight, and that he might one day forgive her for her words the night before.
Charlotte patted her on the knee. “You’ll be in good hands with Ned. You’ll see.”
***
The butler announced them. His Grace the Duke of Wildeforde, Lord William Stirling, Lady Charlotte-Rose Stirling, and Mr. Finley McTavish.
All heads swiveled in their direction. The general hubbub of a room talking quieted for a moment and then broke out in furious whispers. As Fiona looked around, she could see women at the back of the room craning their necks to see the newcomers, the feathers in their hairpieces bobbing and weaving like a flock of mating flamingos.
“Do you always attract such attention?” Fiona murmured to Charlotte.
“It’s Edward. He attracts attention all the time, but no doubt word has gotten out that he’s looking for a wife this season. Be prepared for the onslaught.”
Just as Charlotte predicted, the four of them were mobbed within seconds. A horde of middling-aged women appeared, each towing at least one daughter in their direction—young women dressed in various shades of white, some with their heads gracefully high, others trying their best to hide behind their marriage-minded mothers.
Charlotte was like a torch that had ignited. Her eyes gleamed and her smile shone bright on every person she looked at. She pressed people’s hands, bestowed on the congregated masses breathless air kisses, and let her infectious laugh roll over every person who approached. Clearly, she was in her element.
While each of the girls was gracious as Charlotte introduced Fiona—Finley—they each had their attention fixed on Edward, whose smile was oddly frozen in place. He responded to their flirtations with acknowledgments that felt forced in their jauntiness.
“He doesn’t seem to be enjoying this,” Fiona murmured to William, who had stepped beside her.
William snickered. “He doesn’t have to enjoy it. He’s the duke. It’s his duty.”
Damn his duty.If he hadn’t been so beholden to it, perhaps she could have convinced him to live a different life, with her. And damn these women and the predatory way in which they circled.
