Elspeth’s heart sank.
A new proposition?More lessons? More dreadful tea parties? More painful than posture drills?!
The days that followed the ball were filled with posture practice, language lessons, social calls, and the like. She was very much looking forward to a respite, even if it was her dreadful attemptat cross-stitch. For a fleeting moment, she looked out the window, her eyes catching the sun shining on a radiant green elm.
“Indeed, Yer Grace,” she said as she rose and bobbed a small curtsy. “I am at yer disposal.”
The Dowager Duchess settled into a chair, her sharp eyes assessing Elspeth, who had sat back down. “Excellent. Beyond the usual marriage mart, there is another avenue for a lady to solidify her social standing, particularly one in your… unique position. The annual Benefactress of the Year competition. I assume you have heard of such a thing?”
Elspeth furrowed her brow. “The Benefactress of the Year? Erm, aye. I have heard of such a thing, I think?”
Sure, she had heard whispers of it. It was a grand charity event that seemed to consume the energy of the ton’s most prominent ladies.
Another frivolous display, no doubt. More pointless social climbin’ and schemin’…
“Precisely,” the Dowager Duchess affirmed, a glint in her blue eyes. “It is a prestigious event where ladies compete by throwing the most successful, fashionable charity affair of the Season. I, myself, have won it many times. Of course, that was some time ago. It is a sport for the young,” she said, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I see it as the perfect battleground to truly polish you. To demonstrate your capabilities to the entire ton, not just ahandful of eligible, albeit dull, gentlemen. You need to win over the ladies as well as the matrons, you see.”
Elspeth felt a familiar wave of resistance rise within her, as strong as the monster in Loch Ness.
A competition? To prove me worth by throwin’ a bloody party? This is precisely the sort of superficial shite I despise. How I would love to take them all back to Inverhall, to show them what a real party is like.
Her mind immediately conjured images of endless planning, forced smiles, and the sheer artifice of it all. How she longed for the days of playing in the mud with the young children of Inverhall, feeding families, and making sure they had warm beds to sleep in.
“Well, Lady Inverhall?” the Dowager Duchess prompted, smacking her fan in her hand.
Why cannae I just be left alone? Why must I constantly perform for these English people?
“Yer Grace,” Elspeth began, her voice carefully neutral. “While I appreciate yer enthusiasm, I dinnae think a charity competition is the most direct route to findin’ a suitable match. Time is really of the essence here, and I fear I am overstayin’ me welcome as it is. And frankly, I have little experience in hostin’ such grand affairs! Ye have done enough miracles with the likes of me?—”
The Dowager Duchess merely raised an elegant hand, cutting her off. “Ah, but this is where you are short-sighted, child. Consider this: if you merely attend balls and accept callers, you are at the mercy of who approaches you. You arechosen. But if you excel in this competition, if you prove yourself capable, resourceful, and charming in a truly public forum, you will elevate your standing considerably. You will be seen as a woman of influence, a woman of substance, not merely a Scottish widow with a dubious past.”
A woman of influence… a woman of substance.
The words resonated. Elspeth could not deny that those were things she had always wanted.
The Dowager Duchess continued, pressing her advantage, “If you win, Lady Inverhall, or even rank high, you will not merely find a husband. You will get topickyour husband. You will have a choice, I promise you that. You will be able to snatch a man of your own choosing, instead of the most desperate and despicable fellow there is, as I so eloquently put it before. It is worth repeating—it is only your life in the balance.”
A choice.
The word hung in the air, glittering like a precious jewel.
That was what Elspeth truly craved. All she had ever wanted was agency, control over her own destiny. To be able to choose, rather than be chosen. To escape the trap of another cold, passionless marriage.
She shuddered at the thought.
Then, the idea of outwitting Hugo, of achieving her freedom on her own terms, suddenly felt within reach. This competition, for all its absurdity, could be a means to an end.
Perhaps this was finally it? Could it be her path to Inverhall, to the quiet freedom she longed for?
One that would last.
“And whatexactlywould this competition entail?” Elspeth asked, her voice betraying a newfound interest. “More specifically, ye see…”
“You will be assigned a charity,” the Dowager Duchess explained, a slight smirk playing on her lips. “And you will organize an event to raise funds and awareness for it. The most successful and fashionable event wins. It requires wit, charm, excellent organization, and a certain… flair for the dramatic. I think you could do quite well, my dear. You should know me better by now. I would never suggest something I did not think you could do. And I daresay, my reputation precedes me.”
Elspeth nodded slowly.
Wit, charm, organization… I have those. Sort of. Perhaps not the ‘flair for the dramatic’ in the London sense, but I can learn.
