“After all, if your charity event proves unsuccessful, there are other ways to secure your future, are there not?” Lady Corsley asked.
“I am nae sure I catch yer meanin’, Lady Corsley,” Elspeth muttered, realizing just how ridiculous the woman’s title was.
I must bite me tongue and nae hurl insults. I willnae stoop to their level.
“For example, one might contrive a scandal,” Lady Markham said, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a deliberately sharp whisper. “Or perhaps ensnare a duke, should he prove particularly attentive to one’s doings. I dare say most in town already presume it has begun.”
“How extraordinary!” Lady Wickdale exclaimed, clicking her tongue sharply in that familiar, haughty manner. “One can only imagine what sort of wild Highland spells you have cast to captivate the poor gentleman. Or perhaps ensnare him with a child of your own.”
The ladies clinked their champagne flutes, downing the last of the bubbly liquid before waving to a passing servant for a refill.
Elspeth’s eyes flashed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. “Me affairs, ladies, are precisely that:mine. And I assure ye, I have no intention ofensnarin’anyone. Me goal is to secure me independence, nae to trap a man.”
Lady Markham scoffed disdainfully. “Independence? How quaint. You are a widow, Lady Inverhall, without a family or influence. A woman alone. It is scarcely surprising that your late husband. Well, let us say that he found solace elsewhere, did he not? Even from the Highlands, whispers have pursued you, shadowing your steps all the way to London.”
“Ah, yes! I remember tales of wild bacchanals in the gardens of Inverhall,” Lady Corsley said, her voice rising in exaggerated dismay. “How unseemly!”
The words struck Elspeth like an avalanche of snow—cold, raw, and deeply painful.
She inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring. The old rumors, the accusations of witchcraft, the loneliness of her marriage to an old drunk. They were all laid bare, twisted into a cruel weapon she could not evade. She might as well have been naked, mocked in the center of the auspicious ball like a nightmare.
How do I always end up like this? What have I done to deserve their cruelty?
The room started to spin, and she sought to keep her balance. Damn the champagne, dulling her mind. The words that often came so quickly to her seemed to vanish.
She had no response. No retort. She felt like the champagne she had been sipping would come up, rising up her throat with haste.
“That is quite enough!” a fierce voice suddenly declared from behind her.
Elspeth turned to see Verity, whose face was flushed with indignation. She stepped forward to engage the women, with Marion close behind her.
“You have no right to speak to Lady Inverhall in such a manner—nor anyone, for that matter!”
“Oh, merely a trifle of ladies’ talk,” Lady Markham offered, raising her hands in exaggerated innocence. “No need to take offense, Lady Wrotham.”
“Ye are merciless,” Marion chastised, her usually cheerful face grim as a crypt keeper. “Such remarks are beneath even yer usual standards. Which is sayin’ a lot! Do ye ever get tired of such childish games?”
The women merely sniffed; the arrival of Elspeth’s friends seemed only to embolden them, as they puffed out their chests and smirked devilishly at each other.
“Ah, the Highland witch has gathered her little coven, has she not?” Lady Corsley sneered, plucking another flute of champagne off a passing tray. “I care not for your husbands, ladies. Though truth be told, I see no ladies present.”
“Nor do I,” Lady Markham sniffed, flicking her feathered fan with deliberate contempt. “Far too much ado over a Highland harlot.”
“How dare you—” Verity’s voice rang loud but quickly faded in Elspeth’s ears as she felt a massive rush of homesickness wash over her, so potent that it stole her breath like a tidal wave.
Despite her desire to maintain her composure, her knees began to tremble.
She closed her eyes and pictured the quiet hills of Inverhall, the familiar faces of the kind folk who lived there. She could see the muddy faces of children, hear the laughter of neighbors sharing bread and wine. She could almost feel the blissful solitude of running her own home, the absence of these venomous whispers.
She was so tired, bone-weary of the endless scrutiny, the judgment, the constant battle. She could not do this anymore, nor did she wish to drag her friends down with her.
“Please, Verity. Daenae waste yer breath,” she told her friend. “If ye will excuse me,” she mumbled.
She spun on her heel, leaving stunned friends and scornful ladies in her wake.
The ballroom closed in on her, bodies brushing, skirts tangling as she weaved through the crowd. The chandeliers blurred into streaks of gold, and the string quartet’s music became a distant thrum, matching the frantic pounding in her head.
I must leave.I must get away.I cannae stay here another second.
