“I—”
“The damage has already been done,” her stepmother snapped. “Do not bother defending yourself. We shall all attend Lady Roland’s tea party, and you will be the most exemplary version of yourself.”
With that, her stepmother stood up from the table, tossing the invitation onto the tablecloth, leaving it behind. Only when moments passed after her exit did Elinor hastily go over andpick it up. Idly, she traced overbetrothed,feeling the embossed cursive.
“Elinor,” Joanna whispered, glancing toward the doorway, as if she thought her sister or mother might have lingered. “Are you truly happy?”
“I … am,” Elinor managed.
“And your engagement … it is worth their fury? You truly wish to wed His Grace?”
Elinor forced a smile, her heart aching for some reason when she thought about the wedding that would never happen. “I do. He makes me very happy.”
Joanna nodded, smiling. “Then I shall support you. I am only sorry I cannot always do so in front of them.”
“They are both quite a handful,” Elinor laughed helplessly. “I would not recommend it, either way.”
Joanna laughed along with her before she dug back into her breakfast.
Elinor found herself without an appetite, though, and quietly excused herself, tucking the invitation into her dress pocket.
“Lady Elinor,” Lucien greeted several days later, taking her hand to kiss. “It is good to see you again. I see our good news has spread well and truly through the ton.”
“I assume your invitation read similarly to mine, then,” she answered, smiling a little, too aware that her stepfamily stood around her.
“That you are now a highly ranked guest? Indeed, it did, and you deserve such praise.”
He stood up properly, eyeing her stepmother, who curtsied.
“Your Grace,” she greeted, but there was an edge to her voice that perhaps only Elinor might notice from being around her so much. Yet Lucien’s expression flickered, as if he found offense in her tone.
“Lady Morland,” he greeted in return. “Lady Belinda. Lady Joanna.” He nodded at them both. “I heard you were both rather successful at the most recent ball last week, that your dance cards practically ran out of room. You must both feel rather pleased with yourselves.”
Once again, he was delivering a slight laced with compliments, pointed at Belinda’s attention and that it ought to turn elsewhere.
“It was,” Belinda preened. “Unlike Lady Elinor’s, I must admit.”
“That was because I took over as her primary dance partner.” Lucien shot a persuasive grin, glancing at Elinor. “I couldn’t stand the thought of her attention being snagged by another suitor.”
“Surely a duke cannot be bested,” Elinor’s stepmother cut in curtly.
“Who knows? My betrothed may have found somebody else more suited to her, regardless of my title.”
He looked at her pointedly, and Elinor forced a soft laugh.
“You are the most suited to me, Your Grace,” she murmured, drawing closer to him, playing her part.
Nerves still stirred in her stomach at the act of it, of wondering if she was doing something wrong, or if her acting was clumsy.
Most of all, though, she felt slightly humiliated at the flirting, of having to fake that part, of pretending to have his affection.
“I am glad you think so. I feel the same.” He gave her a secretive smile, and she returned it, knowing it was because they were fooling everyone well. “Like I said to my friend—who will be present here today, actually—when a man like myself knows, he knows. Now, Lady Morland, if you do not mind, I must steal Lady Elinor from you so I may take her for a turn around thegarden. There are people I know who are rather eager to meet her.
“As you please, Your Grace.” Elinor’s stepmother’s thin smile said enough that she was grateful to have Elinor taken off her hands, but she was not pleased with the circumstance.
Lucien offered his arm to Elinor, who slipped her hand through it.
He tugged her close, and her breath caught at the sudden closeness.
