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“Get up.”

“What?”

“I said get up.”

When Viscount Stonehaven clambered to his feet, he was immediately bent in half, courtesy of a solid punch to the gut.

“I am not 15 years old. You might be the heir, but I am not one of your Mayfair wastrels. This was your one warning. The next time you mock me like that, the punch will be to your face, and I will leave you to explain it to your soft society friends. And our parents.”

He stalked from the room, leaving his brother still trying to catch his breath. Unfortunately for Richard, all he had done was make his brother ever more determined to capture the attention of Lady Napier. After all, he was the more consequential Fitzwilliam.

--

“Lady Matlock, could I trouble you for an introduction?”

The Countess looked at Elizabeth who nodded. This aspect of her station in society was still something she was getting used to.

“Lady Napier, this is Mr. Stephen Evans. Mr. Evans, allow me to present Lady Napier, widow of the 7th Baron.”

“Charmed. May I have the honour of a dance?”

Elizabeth’s entry into society had gone almost exactly as the Matlocks had predicted. Just being herself stopped most of the unkind comments, even if they were not yet silenced completely. The Countess of Matlock had granted Baroness Napier her consequence, she was a regular guest at Matlock House, and inviting Elizabeth to travel with her when on social calls.

From receiving no visits, never mind any kind of invitation, Lady Napier found herself suddenly deluged. She received so many conflicting invitations that she had requested Lady Matlock visit and assist her in determining which events she should attend. Elizabeth was aware that it was easy to give unintentional offence. But having sifted through all the invitations she now had a full social calendar. She had just arrived at this Ball and her card was already close to full.

Elizabeth handed over her dance card, with Mr. Evans taking one of her two remaining dances. With a bow he departed leaving Elizabeth standing beside the Matlocks, her unofficial sponsors. Harriet stood to her rear, carefully watching the room.

“Another full dance card, or close to it. There is just one dance left.”

“Surely you are not still surprised?”

“Perhaps we can talk of it one morning this week. It is probably not a conversation for the ballroom. There is part of me that thinks I will always be slightly surprised.”

A shadow of sadness fell across Elizabeth’s face. The sole reason for her popularity was the fact she was the widow of Baron Napier. It had been a purely platonic relationship of less than six months, but she missed her husband.

--

Elizabeth had trouble falling asleep that night, and it was not until sitting over a late breakfast that she was able to talk to Harriet. In hindsight, she should have talked as soon as they were home.

“You were out of sorts by the end of the Ball.”

“I was, despite doing my best to hide it.”

“What triggered this?”

“The questions, the blunt intrusiveness, from most of the gentlemen. Not all of them, but at least half of the men that I danced with made no secret of the fact they viewed me as a source of wealth, rather than as a young woman they wished to dance with.”

“They were that crass?”

“Yes.”

She sipped her coffee and calmed slightly.

“Are there no good men?”

“There must be, but it is the desperate that are waiting at the door, almost rushing to secure one of the dances. I have thought some of them would come to blows over who got the supper set, a chance for them to work ‘their magic’.”

Elizabeth shook her head in despair.