This success feels meaningless without him. He hasnae come by me side, nae once! And this is his home… I am lucky no one has pointed it out.
She scanned the crowd, her eyes searching for him again. She saw him standing by the large window with the Marquess of Sarford, a stoic sentinel in his own home.
He had made his choice, and he was sticking to it. She would not waste her energy on him, not tonight. She listened as the guests whispered about her success, murmurs of admiration spreading through the room.
She had been so distracted that she had almost forgotten to mingle with her friends.
“Verity! Marion!” she called out when she saw them seated at a table, enjoying cordials.
“I wanted to come see ye, but every time we went to speak with ye, ye were with some important person!” Marion said with a smile. “Ye are the talk of the ton, Elspeth. Ye are a sure winner of this competition. Ye should be so proud.”
“Aye,” Elspeth agreed as she hugged them both.
“Go, mingle with your happy guests,” Verity urged. “This is your night, dear friend. You have earned it.”
“I cannae tell ye how much it means to hear ye say that,” Elspeth said. “Please come see me before ye leave with yer husbands!”
“I do think that Lord Middleby cannot stop staring at you,” Verity noted, tugging on her shoulder and casting a glance in his direction.
He was deep in conversation with a group of ladies Elspeth did not recognize.
“Aye, I have bigger fish to fry,” she said. “If I am lucky, I willnae have to speak with him.”
“Oh, Elspeth.” Marion let out a laugh. “To be so important!”
Elspeth gave a playful wink to her friends before she went to walk around the room again, listening to the conversations of the guests around her.
“Did you see her with those boys? She is a miracle worker,” one said.
Aye, they used to call me a witch. I much prefer Miracle Worker.
“She will have a dozen offers by morning, you mark my words,” another voice whispered. “She will have her pick of the ton!”
A part of her appreciated their kind words, yet she registered none of them. Even as the organizers of the competition counted the donations, she was numb. All she heard was his voice from that morning, cold and final.
“I will never fall in love, you see.”
“It is with great pleasure that I announce,” the Dowager Duchess of Tarwood called over the din, “that Lady Inverhall is the winner of the Benefactress of the Year competition. She has surpassed the frontrunner by fifty percent. We are grateful for your charity and for a most delightful evening. Let us all raise a glass to Lady Inverhall.”
The applause that followed was a distant, meaningless sound. Elspeth had won the competition, but she had lost her heart.
The room dissolved into a cacophony of meaningless noise. The cheers, the clinking of glasses, the Dowager Duchess’s booming voice, all of it faded into a dull roar. The crystal award felt heavy in her hands as they gave it to her, a hollow prize.
Her head spun, the room suddenly feeling too hot, too crowded. She smiled, a brittle, fragile thing, and nodded her thanks.
A passing footman pressed a glass of champagne into her hand, and she took a long sip, the bubbles doing little to settle the turmoil in her chest.
I have done it. I have actually won this bloody competition.
For weeks, she had poured every ounce of her energy into this cause. It had been her purpose, her focus, even more than a way to prove to a cynical society that she was more than just a Scottish woman with a strange past. And she succeeded.
“Congratulations, Lady Inverhall,” a voice said beside her.
It was Lord Middleby.
She turned, her smile stretching thin across her face as fatigue began to set in.
“Lord Middleby,” she returned, her voice a practiced melody of polite indifference. “A most pleasant surprise to see you here.”
