She vowed to play her role as best she could to support Milton, for his mother’s sake. When this ball was over, she wouldallow her anger full force again, but tonight she would perform with grace.
Elizabeth exchanged vague pleasantries with whomever approached, while inwardly upbraiding herself for the loss of the jasper gemstones. How had she not realized their significance? Nor recognized the Duke’s invitation for what it was: an abject insult. Although if Lady Stanton had been the one to?—
“Lady Milton, may I have this dance?”
Elizabeth looked into a face oddly familiar.
“Lord Marley, madam,” the gentleman introduced himself. “I believe you met my brother, this evening’s man of honor, at the Denbigh ball.”
Ah,Lord Mathers, Milton’s half-brother and her own all-too-rude dance partner that night.
Meaning Lord Marley was her husband’s other?—
They were interrupted by Milton himself, who pulled Elizabeth away without a backward glance at his half-sibling.
“Why were you speaking with that man?” His fingers dug into her arm.
“Because he spoke to me, sir. Should I behave instead as ill-tempered as you?”
He tightened his grip and dragged her to a row of side tables. “You will stand here”—he positioned her beside a potted palm—“and drink punch with all the other married ladies while I speak to men of business.” Milton’s face remained inscrutable. “You are to dance with no one.”
Elizabeth reined in her pique; she’d not make matters worse for her husband. Not this night. “Whatever you desire, Baron.”
“Do not test me, wife.”
“I do not, sir.” He’d misread her. “There is no need.”
He looked queerly at her a moment before she disengaged from his grasp and headed for the punch bowl, her heart and stomach heavy.
“Lady Milton!” A voice rang out behind her.
The Duke of Allendale.
Elizabeth forced herself to swallow a sip of the overly sweet drink.
“Madam, are you quite well? You look uncommonly pale.”
“Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsy. “I believed you to be in Cumberland with the Duchess. Is she well? Has she?—?”
“Charles is fantastic.” He beamed with pride. “Gave me a blonde angel this time. We named her Addie after her grandmother, though I think she’s more aMaddiethe way shehowls for her mother’s teat.”
Elizabeth smiled at the Duke’s unseemly description.
“Now where’s that bastard husband of yours? Hiding, no doubt. I can’t believe Lennox had the gall to invite him. How’s Jasp handling it? Skulking in a corner I imagine.”
The Duke took one look at Elizabeth’s face and fast led her from the punch bowl to a corner enclave. “Lady Milton, you look decidedly unwell. I’ll fetch Jasper.”
“No, I am fine. Please do not … Please,donotfetch him.”
He stopped short, frowning. “Madam, I am entirely at your disposal tonight, should you wish to leave the ball early. Or should you wish me to thrash your husband instead.”
Elizabeth hastened to amend his opinion. “Your Grace, I am—” She resorted to honesty. “You see, I now find myself in that state your wife most recently?—”
The Duke’s entire bearing shifted. “Why Lady Milton, that is great cause for celebration! And explains much. I must congratulate Jasper, and you’ll write to Charles, of course. I am only here on my wife’s orders, you see, to interfere on behalf of her…”
Only Elizabeth stopped listening. She felt nauseous again. She longed for a dark corner in which to hide, or an empty room to lie down in.
“Again, my congratulations, Lady Milton.” The Duke bowed low over her hand just as Elizabeth looked up into the face of the one person she might rightfully blame for tonight’s disaster: Sir Wigglebottom’s mistress.
