How would I support us? “Fix this.”
“It will wear off by tomorrow. Pretty sure.” He picked up the empty blue vial. “Rest, and then go tell the woman you love your heart. That even without music, you’re determined to find a way to make things work. Not everyone is brave enough to make that promise.”
Not knowing what to say, I staggered to my feet. “Let’s stop Livingston. And then let her know I didn’t do this on purpose.”
Torrance dipped his fingers in a little bit of the spill and rubbed it across his palm. “Just joining you for moral support.”
The duke grimaced, steadied me, then went to the door. “Let’s go to the garden. Walk you around in the fresh air. Steele will stop Livingston. Then you and Miss Wilcox will talk.”
I hoped Georgina would understand not performing. I’d never let her go up against the ton alone. I prayed she’d forgive me for everything and listen once more to my rambles of loving her.
Chapter 42
GEORGINA—THEPERFORMANCE OF ALIFETIME
Afootman brought in lit candles, extra ones for the sconces behind the pianoforte, directed by the Earl of Livingston. I guess he didn’t want anyone to miss the next performance.
He announced that a special song would be performed. Then signaled for me to be ready.
Oh. Mark and I would return to the pianoforte in front of this gossiping crowd.
“It will be fine.” Katherine rubbed my arm. “Lively night, but you and Lord Mark will ease everyone’s apprehension.”
“Where is he? You don’t think he went with his awful father.”
A dutiful son might.
A fellow that felt obligated to his family and feared for the family name would definitely wish to help.
What we’d witnessed was horrible.
The Marquess of Prahmn and his repugnant life were exposed. Everyone saw, even the newspapermen in the crowd. Gossip would be everywhere.
Poor Mark. “I don’t want Lord Mark tarnished too.”
“Men fare better in scandal,” Katherine said.
Scarlett gave her a sour-lemon look that saidCould you not be bitter this once?“Just give a performance as beautiful as how you two have practiced. That will save you and him. And no one will believe the two of you would be together . . . not with a father like that.”
Mark wasn’t his father. I hoped he’d never be him.
The end of the next selection would soon come.
That was my notice to come to the pianoforte again.
My pulse raced in time with the music.
But my heart searched for Mark. He needed comfort.
I was ready to exhibit, ready for this ball to be done. It wasn’t midnight, but this Vasilisa, Cinderella, needed to run away. Then she could leave with her gold slippers and not think of this night of scandals again.
* * *
A young lady sang and played the pianoforte, while my sisters and I held our positions in the rear.
“Miss Lydia Wilcox has gone to bed.” The personal maid the duke assigned to our girl bowed and dipped away. She disappeared in a crowd that was sated with champagne, choice meats, and all kinds of baked puddings and kartoshkas. Those chocolate-dusted truffles enfolded with cream tasted so good. No wonder the duke loved them.
I wiped my gloves free of the powdery cocoa. “At least Lydia went to bed thinking me brave, a hero for surviving the bad man.”
