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“Yes, we are quite close. I believe they are quite honored to have a son quite like myself.”
Elizabeth looked up at him, preparing herself to laugh until she saw how utterly serious his face was. She didn’t think he was joking this time. Ah, he is hiding quite an ego, isn’t he? Goodness, I loathe this betrothal more and more by the day.
“With good reason,” she stated, hoping it would be left at that.
“I am happy you see it as well, My Lady,” Lord Horenwall gushed. “Why, just the other night…”
Elizabeth resisted the urge to sigh as the Earl delved into a story about his prowess regarding an incident with an overseas diplomat. She didn’t understand it and didn’t care to, knowing that he was only gushing about how great he was. She’d noticed during the dinner party that Lord Horenwall had quite a lot of pride in himself, but his hubris seemed to shine more brilliantly among so many other people.
Not everyone is as insecure as you are, Elizabeth, she told herself. Perhaps you should listen and learn how to gain a bit of confidence.
But doing anything other than smiling gently and nodding along to the Earl’s tale felt far too cumbersome. He asked her a few questions as well, inquiring about her life, and Elizabeth only gave cryptic responses. She wanted this dance to be over.
At long last, the song came to an end and other dancing couples began parting ways. Lord Horenwall kept close to her as they made their way back to where her father stood talking to an elderly Baron.
“Pardon me, My Lord,” Elizabeth breathed, stepping away from Lord Horenwall. She felt stifled by his presence. “I wish to fetch myself something to drink.”
“Allow me to bring it for you, My Lady,” the Earl suggested but she was already shaking her head.
“There is no need. I can do it myself.” To ease his mind, she smiled at him as she began stepping away and then disappeared into the thick of the crowd before he could say another word.
Elizabeth drew in a long breath, releasing it through her nose. Going to the refreshments table would be a short reprieve as Lord Horenwall would undoubtedly find her again. Since the wedding date had already been set a month from now, Elizabeth believed their marriage announcement was already in the papers. And if not, rumors would certainly take care of that when they were seen together for most of the night. He would certainly ask her to dance again before the night ended.
The very thought burdened her and she reached for a glass of lemonade without thinking. She paused by the end of the table, lifted the glass to her lips, and prayed she had the strength to get through the night.
“Have you heard, Lady Blackpole?” came a nosy whisper. “The Duke of Brandon has passed away.”
“Has he?” The responding voice was shocked. “Despite his age, he appeared to be quite the hearty and healthy man, do you not think? How odd that he would pass away so suddenly.”
Slightly curious, Elizabeth glanced over to see who was speaking.
It was two matron ladies standing before her, their heads bent together, each with a glass of Negus in their hand. They didn’t seem to notice that they did not speak as quietly as they should, despite them bringing their heads close to each other’s. The chubbier of the two held a fan in her hand, moving it back and forth as she watched every person that went by with intense curiosity. The other lady did the same, like two hens sizing up every person in attendance to see if they were worthy of being gossiped about.
“Healthy?” snorted the first lady, one who sported wide hips and chubby cheeks. “Do you not recall how he nearly went bankrupt last year spending all that time in the clubs? He had to sell a few of his country estates to stay afloat! I believe he must have had a heart attack when he realized he has lost all his wealth.”
“Yes, Lady Joneshire, you’re right!” Lady Blackpole expressed with a gasp. Unlike her friend, she was rather tall and lanky, her face pinched with distaste. Her maroon gown hung lifelessly off her shoulders, like the drapes hung in the drawing room of Gillet House. “Heavens, it is quite unfortunate that nearly all of London knows his private business. And have you heard the rumors? That he was once the son of the Viscount of Blackworth?”
Elizabeth went rigid. It…couldn’t be…
The Viscount of Blackworth was William’s grandfather. Since…since when had the son of the Viscount become a Duke?
“Of course, I have, though I am not sure I believe it! Wasn’t the Viscount’s son living overseas?”
“Yes, you’re right! Hm, well the Duke has certainly shown he is not one to be responsible. He should not have been so vocal about his troubles with the lightskirts he laid with at night,” Lady Joneshire twittered, chuckling as she drank her wine. She wore a more muted color, a soft blue that would have looked quite nice on her had her features not been twisted with unkindness. Her friend laughed alongside her.
