Page 78 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

“I am not going,” Corinna whispered, her stomach twisting violently. “I cannot stand in that room and watch them. I will not subject myself to that humiliation.”

“I am not asking you to be humiliated. I am asking you to be brave.”

“Brave for what?”

“Because there is a plan,” Arabella said simply.

Corinna stared at her, the words echoing in the silent, dark study. “A plan? Arabella, what are you talking about?”

“I cannot give you the details. If I do, Cecily will see it in your eyes. She will know we are moving against her. I need you to walk into that ballroom completely blind, and I need you to trust us.”

“You are asking the impossible.”

“I am asking you to fight for him,” Arabella pleaded, her grip tightening on Corinna’s hands. “Because he is finally ready to fight for you. Will you come?”

Corinna looked at the chessboard between them. She looked at the trapped king. She thought of Edmund’s desperate, burning eyes in the garden, and the way he had confessed his love before the world had crashed down upon them.

“What if the plan fails?” Corinna asked softly.

“Then my brother marries a woman he despises, and you lose the man you love,” Arabella said. “The board is already lost, Corinna. We have nothing left to sacrifice but the King.”

Corinna took a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs. “Two days.”

“Two days,” Arabella confirmed, a resolute smile touching her lips. “Wear your finest dress. And do not blink.”

“I will be there,” Corinna said.

Chapter 29

The Ravenswood ballroom blazed with the light of a thousand beeswax candles, its gold-leaf moldings reflecting the brilliance of the evening. Edmund stood near the base of the grand staircase, his heavy signet ring cold against his finger.

“You look like a man walking to his own execution, Ravenswood,” Julian murmured, stepping close while keeping his eyes fixed on the approaching guests.

“I am,” Edmund replied quietly, his gaze locked on the double doors. “Or worse, watching someone else be punished for my cowardice.”

Every significant family in London seemed to have answered the invitation. Lady Sophronia Quill held court near the orchids, her booming laughter carrying over the string quartet.

“My dear earl!” Sophronia declared as she swept past Edmund. “What a triumph of an evening. Though I must say, the tension in this room is thick enough to slice with a butter knife. Do try to look less like a mourner at your own wedding.”

“I shall endeavor to appear more festive, Lady Sophronia,” Edmund said tightly.

Lady Margaret stood composed at his side in deep amethyst silk. “She is right, Edmund. Keep your posture straight. The ton is watching every twitch of your jaw.”

“Let them watch,” Edmund muttered.

Across the room, Mr. and Mrs. Ashwell hovered near the entrance. Sir Gerald stared fixedly into the middle distance, his jaw locked in grim resignation, while Eleanor clutched her fan like a shield. Near the wall, Phoebe Cavendish watched the room with the calculating gaze of a chess master surveying a compromised board.

The doors swung open, and Cecily Vane arrived. She wore shimmering crimson silk, moving with the unhurried grace of a victor. She caught Edmund’s eye across the floor and offered a knowing smile.

“She looks entirely too confident,” Julian noted, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“She believes she has won,” Edmund said. “She thinks the board is hers.”

Then, the crowd near the entryway parted.

Corinna walked in beside Aunt Phoebe, wearing a gown of deep sapphire. There was no excessive lace, just a quiet, striking dignity that eclipsed everyone else in the room. Her gray eyes scanned the massive space and locked instantly onto Edmund.

Edmund stopped breathing. He held her gaze, pouring every ounce of his truth into the distance between them. Corinna gave a microscopic nod before looking away.