Page 12 of A Gifted Earl

“My apologies, Mullard. Eventually I’ll get used to this, and manage to make it easier for you.”

The valet waved a hand.

“I’m sure you will, my Lord. In truth, it’s a pleasure to dress you, for you’ve a good figure on you, and look well in your clothes – unlike many a gentleman I’ve worked for in the past.”

Morgan smiled, then stilled himself again as Mullard went back to work on the cravat. The end result was remarkable – a knot that Morgan could not have tied himself, ever. He studied himself in the mirror, and concluded that, overall, Mullard was right – he looked good in quality clothes. It was something he was grateful for, as it gave him more confidence when walking into a room full of the ton, beneath the eagle eyes of the gossips who controlled the social status of one and all.

But that consideration brought his thoughts back to the fact that he would be expected to marry one of the young ladies who were found at such events, and to do so relatively soon. As an unmarried Earl who was reasonably young, healthy, and quite good looking, he was automatically a target for those women seeking a good match.

It rather amused him that not one of them would have looked at him twice, just three months ago…

*****

Venetia shivered, not because the evening was cold, but because she was three steps away from being greeted by the hosts of the Ball. Three steps away from seeing ‘that look’ on their faces, as they took note of her scar. It was a look she had already seen on the faces of the people either side of them in the receiving line, on the faces of people who had passed her in the street when she went out with her mother – on the faces of every person who saw her.

She dreaded it more with every passing day.

And tonight, at her first Ball, she would discover whether she would be shunned completely or not.

If she was lucky, perhaps a gentleman would take pity upon her, and dance with her – but she doubted that. Still, her mother knew many ladies, even if she had not seen them for some years, so perhaps there was some hope of her at least being included in conversation.

The people before them stepped away and, all too soon, they stood before their hosts, Lord and Lady Cotteridge. Her mother spoke, even as Lady Cotteridge’s eyes traversed Venetia’s face.

“Thank you for the invitation, my Lord, my Lady – might I present my daughter, Lady Venetia Chater?”

Venetia curtsied.

As she rose, her eyes went to Lord Chater’s face, where an expression of distaste had appeared, then she looked again at Lady Cotteridge, whose expression was one of pity. The Lady spoke.

“I am delighted to meet you, Lady Venetia. I knew your mother when we both first came out into society – it is good to see her again.”

Lord Cotteridge gave a rather insincere smile.

“Delighted to see you again, Lady Hardenwell, and to meet you, Lady Venetia.”

He didn’t sound in the least delighted.

They moved on, towards the ballroom, as the next in line stepped up to greet the hosts.

At the top of the steps which led down into the large room, an usher stood, announcing the new arrivals. Each announcement caused a momentary lapse in conversation in the room as those present turned to observe the new arrivals. This time, as the eyes of all of those people took in Venetia, that pause lasted longer than the previous ones, and then, when conversation resumed, it resumed as a wave of whispers, flowing out across the room from where they stood.

It was excruciating, and it took every scrap of courage she had not to just turn and run from the building. Her mother gripped her arm, and squeezed it gently, then led her down the steps, her head held high.

Venetia tried to emulate her mother’s confident manner, but she was quite sure that she had gone dreadfully pale. People whispered behind fans as they passed, and Venetia saw a number of gentlemen turn away with expressions which clearly indicated that they found the sight of her face repugnant. There was nothing she could do but ignore it, and allow her mother to lead her – wherever they might be going.

Which turned out to be a group of older ladies standing near a cluster of potted palms and floral arrangements in a corner of the ballroom. The ladies watched them approach with somewhat puzzled expressions, until one of them, as they got closer, broke into a smile and stepped forward.

“My dear Lady Hardenwell! It has been so long since we’ve seen you! And this…?”

“Is my daughter, Lady Venetia. This is her first venture into society, as her come-out was delayed by our mourning for my husband… I do hope that you will all make her feel welcome.”

Ventia curtsied, and tried to remember the names of the women, as her mother introduced each one that she knew, and the others introduced the few that her mother had not previously met. Most of them regarded her with pity, after a first shocked look, but one or two seemed almost offended by her appearance.

Those, she would need to watch.

“Of course. Some of us have our daughters here as well – they are dancing now – so many gentlemen seek their company.”

The words were said innocently enough, but they struck to Venetia’s heart – would anyone want to dance with her at all?