The room fell silent except for the delicate clink of china and the whisper of silk as several ladies shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Lady Ashford's eyes had taken on a glitter that suggested she was thoroughly enjoying the entertainment, even if it was at her guests' expense.
"How refreshing," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness, "to see such loyalty among friends. Though one must wonder, Miss Fairweather, whether your defence stems from genuine conviction or from concern about your friend's rapidly deteriorating position in society."
"My defence stems from knowing Miss Whitcombe's character and capabilities," Harriet replied with admirable composure, though Eveline felt her friend's hand find hers beneath the table, squeezing gently in warning. "Unlike some, I don't form opinions based solely on drawing room whispers and malicious speculation."
"A pity, really," Mrs. Carmichael sighed from her position near the fireplace, where she'd been observing the proceedings with the air of a connoisseur of social bloodshed. "The ton would have welcomed Miss Whitcombe warmly, had she chosen to present herself in proper company rather than sequestering herself with musty books and a duke of dubious temperament."
"Dubious temperament?" Eveline couldn't help herself from responding, her protective instincts flaring despite her better judgment. "His Grace has been nothing but professional and appropriate in all our interactions."
"Oh, my dear," Mrs. Carmichael's expression was almost pitying, "professional men don't typically allow young ladies access to their private libraries unchaperoned. Nor do they continue such arrangements when gossip begins to circulate. The fact that he hasn't dismissed you suggests either remarkable progressive thinking or..." she paused meaningfully, "other motivations."
"Perhaps," Eveline said, her chin lifting despite the burning in her cheeks, "His Grace simply recognises that books demand more loyalty than the ton ever could. They certainly offer more substance than this conversation."
The ladies tittered, a sound like disturbed birds that made Eveline's skin crawl with irritation. Her mother, seated across the room, had gone pale and was attempting to catch her eye with increasingly desperate expressions that clearly communicated 'stop talking immediately.'
"Such wit," Lady Ashford observed, though her tone suggested she found it more amusing than witty. "However one wonders whether His Grace appreciates your... spirited nature... as much as your cataloguing skills."
"I wouldn't presume to know what His Grace appreciates," Eveline replied stiffly.
"No? How modest of you," Miss Harrington interjected with false surprise. "But surely after all these weeks of intimate...I mean intensive, work together, you must have formed some opinion of his character? We're all simply dying to know what the mysterious Duke of Everleigh is really like. He's been so reclusive since that unfortunate business with Lady Juliette."
The mention of Lady Juliette sent another ripple through the room, this one tinged with the particular excitement that came from approaching genuinely scandalous territory.
"His Grace's personal affairs are none of my concern," Eveline said firmly, though the memory of his fingers tracing her jaw, his voice rough with desire in the candlelit library, made her words feel like lies.
"How remarkably discreet," Lady Thornwood observed. "Though discretion does suggest there's something requiring... discretion, doesn't it?"
"Or it suggests that Miss Whitcombe possesses the radical notion that her employer's private life is actually private," Harriet interjected, her patience clearly wearing thin. "If His Grace sought amusement, he could have any lady in London. The fact that he chose to hire Miss Whitcombe for her intellect, a quality few here would dare acknowledge, let alone possess, speaks to his priorities rather more clearly than your insinuations."
The table fell briefly silent at Harriet's boldness, several ladies exchanging glances that ranged from shocked to admiring or to calculating. Eveline squeezed her friend's hand in gratitude, though she could feel the weight of every gaze in the room pressing upon her like a physical thing.
"Well," Lady Ashford said finally, setting down her teacup with a decisive click, "this has certainly been an illuminating afternoon. Miss Whitcombe, do give His Grace our regards when next you... catalogue for him."
The dismissal was clear, and Eveline rose with as much dignity as she could muster, her mother following suit with the expression of someone who'd just survived a particularly harrowing naval battle.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Ashford," her mother managed with admirable composure. "The tea was delightful."
"Was it not?" Lady Ashford replied with a smile that suggested she'd enjoyedevery moment of the social carnage.
They made their escape with Harriet in tow, none of them speaking until they'd gained the relative safety of the street outside. The afternoon sun seemed harsh after the calculated dimness of Lady Ashford's drawing room, and Eveline blinked against it like someone emerging from a cave.
"That was a disaster," her mother said flatly once they were out of earshot. "An absolute, unmitigated disaster."
"I thought it went rather well," Eveline replied with false brightness. "No one actually threw anything, and I managed not to quote Latin even once."
"Eveline, this is not a matter to jest with," her mother said, her voice tight with worry. "The things they were implying..."
"...were exactly what we knew they would imply the moment I took this position," Eveline interrupted gently. "Mother, you knew this would happen. We discussed it."
"Discussing it in theory and experiencing it in Lady Ashford's drawing room are rather different things," her mother replied, pausing at the corner where their paths would diverge. "I must pay a call on Mrs. Morrison. Harriet, would you see Eveline home?"
"Of course, Mrs. Whitcombe," Harriet replied, linking her arm through Eveline's as her mother hurried off with the determined gait of someone preparing for battle.
They walked in silence for several minutes before Harriet spoke, her voice quieter than usual. "I defended you today, but gossip spreads like fire, Evie. You must think carefully about what you're doing."
"I'm cataloguing a library, nothing more."
"You know that's not true," Harriet said gently. "I saw your face when they mentioned him. There's something there, isn't there? Something beyond books and professional arrangements?"
