Page 118
Her condition left no room for strategy. Right now, she might as well be looking into a midnight-dark window, observing her life as a mirrored image.
Yet she registered every infinitesimal cue—subtle changes in vocal inflection, the strangely foreign resonance of her own voice. She’d become both participant and spectator of her life, and she was going mad.
She feared she would have to make a choice between two impossible futures—one with a man who did not love her and one where she, and her child, were outcasts.
She closed her eyes, resisting the pull of tears. She couldn’t cry now. Not only would that draw unwanted attention, the initial rush of morning calls might commence at any moment.
Worse still, the peak would not appear until near two.
“A-hem,” Emily cleared her throat. “Leave the Chippendales to the callers, Lenora.” She patted the place beside her. “This settee is comfortable, overstuffed, and has plenty of room. Come sit near us.”
Lenora glanced at the empty space. There was only room for one.
“But,” Eliza countered, “custom dictates Lenora sit in the circle of added chairs. She and Millie are to be our épergnes.” Eliza made a graceful arc in the air, presumably imitating a large bouquet one might find in a silver stand.
From Millie’s position a safe distance from the window, she glanced over her shoulder. “Anyone who tries to stick me in the center of a table will find themselves suddenly”—she smiled sweetly—“overcome.”
For the first time all morning, Lenora genuinely smiled. She considered Emily’s offer. What was better than armor? Reinforcements.
“Eliza, if Millie doesn’t mind,” Lenora said, “I’d be more comfortable with Nettie and Emily on the settee.”
“Oh, by all means, leave me on my own,” Millie said with affected dignity.
“I wouldn’t,” Lenora replied.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Millie rolled her eyes. “Sit where you feel comfortable. My intention is to position myself near the door.”
She glanced doubtfully at Millie, not completely certain her sister was sincere. But she could not resist the call of a comfortable seat.
She sat down next to Emily.
“What’s the use of being a marchioness if no one ever listens to me?” Eliza said, though her smile suggested she was teasing.
“I know you’re nervous, Lenora.” Emily squeezed Lenora’s hand. “But I love morning calls. As you know, they’ll be a great deal of weather-talk, but not one word of the Almack’s on dits.”
Yes. Lenora remembered as much from last Season. But Lady Asquith’s parlor had been warm and homey, and she hadn’t been the one on display.
Nor had she been potentially carrying a life-altering secret.
Emily continued, “Observe which eyes notice each floral arrangement, who scans entrances for newcomers, and who tries deciphering silent messages. Those you should not trust invariably show their true colors.”
“Everyone?” Millie asked.
“Most,” Emily cheerfully nodded.
Eliza’s glance admonished, but she didn’t contradict.
William appeared at the door. “Are the ladies of the house at home to Lord Asquith and Lord Blackwell?”
“Of course,” Nettie answered.
“I believe,” Eliza said dryly, “William addressed the question to me.”
“Well?” Nettie prompted.
Eliza turned back. “Do have them come in.”
The echo of two pairs of footfalls tapped against Lenora’s stomach harder than the energetic steps of a Scottish reel. Then, Asquith and Blackwell filled the doorway.
