Coming to stand next to her, Anette said, “We expected that to happen, but now everyone can move past this moment.”
“I don’t think it is that simple,” Miss Sutherland remarked.
“Regardless, there is someone that I want you to meet.” Anette went on her tiptoes and scanned the room. “There she is.”
Miss Sutherland followed her gaze. “Who?”
“Lady Lizette,” Anette replied. “I do believe she will be rather sympathetic towards your plight, considering she struggled entering high Society herself. Come along.”
As Anette led Miss Sutherland across the dance floor, Fredrick said to his brother, “Your wife has been more than gracious in helping Miss Sutherland.”
Roswell bobbed his head. “Anette enjoys helping others and it helps her avoid working on her needlework.”
Fredrick had barely released a chuckle when his attention was drawn to something across the room. A young woman with brown hair sat on a chair, engaged in conversation with an older woman. There was an odd familiarity about her that he couldn’t shake, a sense that they had crossed paths before.
As if in response to his gaze, the young woman turned her head and locked eyes with him, an unspoken challenge to see who would look away first. It was at that moment that realization struck. This elegantly dressed young woman with her fine gown and neatly coiffed hair was none other than the serving wench he had encountered at the tavern.
But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?
Fredrick broke the gaze with the young woman and turned towards Roswell. “Do you see that lady across from us, the one sitting down?”
“You will have to be more specific,” Roswell responded.
“The brown-haired one with pearls in her hair and a pale blue gown,” Fredrick said. “She is speaking to an older woman.”
After a brief moment, Roswell asked, “What about her?”
“Does she not look the least bit familiar?”
“No,” Roswell replied. “Are you acquainted with her?”
“Not exactly, but I do believe it is the serving wench from the tavern.”
Roswell stared at him in astonishment. “Surely you jest. What would a serving wench be doing at a soiree?”
“I am not one to forget a face, and I do believe it is her,” Fredrick said.
It was as though fate conspired in his favor when he witnessed the young woman stand up from her seat and make her way to the refreshment table. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for, and he had no intention of letting it slip by.
Fredrick hastened his steps and came to a stop a short distance from her at the refreshment table.
Her eyes remained fixed straight ahead, showing no interest in glancing in his direction as they wandered over the glasses of lemonade. “Do you not know that it is impolite to stare?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“I am aware, but I can’t help but wonder if our hostess knows that you work as a serving wench.”
“I do not need to work for an income, my lord.”
Fredrick reached for a glass of lemonade as he responded, “You know who I am, but I am at a disadvantage in not knowing your name.”
“Who I am is not important,” she replied.
Bringing the glass to his lips, he said, “No, but it would ensure that we are both playing by the same rules.”
“There are no rules in this game.”
“What game is that?” Fredrick asked.
The young woman retrieved two glasses of lemonade and turned to face him. Her eyes hinted at a keen intellect, yet her lips curled into a subtle smirk. “If you don’t already know, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
