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Arthur's gaze continued to sweep the ballroom in search of the Colonel, though Radnor was nowhere to be seen amongst the hundreds of glittering guests.
Laurence caught Arthur’s eye. The briefest inclination of the head passed between them, a silent acknowledgement to keep a lookout for their friend, before Arthur turned his attention back to the woman beside him.
His hand settled lightly against the small of Eliza’s back as he guided her through the ballroom, stopping every few steps to endure yet another introduction. Lords, ladies, ambassadors; each seemed no less insufferable than the last, every exchange wrapped in polished smiles and practised pleasantries.
Arthur answered where courtesy demanded it, but his attention remained fixed upon each person who greeted his wife. He watched every lingering glance. Measured every smile and listened for the slightest change in tone beneath every carefully chosen word.
Almost daring one of them to speak against her.
But society, for once, behaved itself. Whether this was born of genuine admiration for his wife or a healthy fear of the Duke of Buckingham was another matter entirely.
The orchestra filled the ballroom with lively music, violins weaving effortlessly through the constant hum of conversation as couples drifted across the floor in graceful circles whilst invitations for the Duchess seemed to materialise from every direction.
Tea. Luncheons. Country house parties. In the space of half an hour, Eliza had accepted more than two dozen invitations with warmth so effortless one would have believed she had spent her entire life amongst the ton. She listened to each lady with genuine interest and conversed as though every invitation delighted her equally.
He suspected half the women extending their hospitality were motivated solely by curiosity, yet Eliza met every one of them with the same kindness she afforded the servants at Winworth. She had no notion how rare that was.
His gaze resumed its search for the Colonel and Miss Dawson, weaving through the sea of jewels and silk until, without warning, he felt Eliza stiffen beside him. The change was slight, but Arthur followed her line of sight.
Sophia.
She stood fifteen feet away, having evidently arrived only moments earlier after travelling to London in the third carriage from Winworth. Her gown was a striking crimson, lavishly adorned with unnecessary ribbons and embellishments that demanded attention long before one noticed the woman wearing them.
The unmistakable swell of her stomach now announced itself with far greater confidence than it had even a month ago.
Sophia laughed brightly at something said by the Baroness of Upminton, a woman so relentlessly pessimistic Arthur was convinced she attended social engagements solely to ensure nobody enjoyed themselves too much.
His jaw tightened.
The older members of society attending tonight would recognise Sophia immediately. Years ago, she had been inseparable from him. There was endless speculation when rumours spread that he intended to surrender his dukedom rather than give up his childhood sweetheart.
He had permitted Sophia to accompany the household to London. He had most certainly not invited her to Carlton House. Worse still, she stood unaccompanied. If tongues had not already begun wagging, they soon would.
"Your Grace."
Miss Dawson's voice appeared at his shoulder before his thoughts could darken further.
“I am afraid I shall have to commandeer my sister.” Miss Dawson spoke softly enough that only Arthur could hear her.
Arthur opened his mouth to object, but it was already too late. Eliza’s arm had slipped from beneath his own and linked with Miss Dawson’s instead. The sisters exchanged a conspiratorial smile before retreating several paces, their heads immediately inclining towards one another in quiet conversation.
Cecily’s positioning was unmistakable. She had placed herself neatly between Arthur and his wife, her back almost entirely to him. It was a calculated move upon the chessboard, delivered without confrontation or a single improper word. A statement all the same.
She was shielding her sister.
Arthur watched the sisters disappear into the crowd, before his thoughts turned to the damage Sophia's presence might inflict upon what ought to have been a flawless debut.
He had scarcely begun to formulate a solution when the unmistakable tap of a cane sounded beside him.
"You have been avoiding me."
Arthur turned.
Colonel Giles Radnor stood at his shoulder, one gloved hand resting upon the polished head of his ebony cane. Though he leaned upon it with practised ease, he did not look frail tonight. His broad frame remained as imposing as ever, the unmistakable air of military command untouched by the injury that had forever altered his gait.
As guests drifted past, gentlemen offered respectful nods while ladies bestowed warm smiles and sympathetic inclinations of the head towards the Colonel. Then their attention would shift to the man standing beside him.
Some promptly thought better of approaching. Others offered Arthur the briefest acknowledgement before finding somewhere else in the ballroom they urgently needed to be.
