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“And so very scandalous,” the duchess said wryly. “She is fortunate that my husband’s friend, Lord Peregrine, jumped in to save her rather than disavowing the betrothal.”
Ella’s stomach gave a sickening lurch, but she had herself under control now. “Miss Bianca, I am so sorry about whatever was said to you. I’m afraid that in my aunt’s absence, I must return to the ball.”
“You don’t look as if you’ve been sobbing,” the duchess murmured. She elbowed Bianca gently. “Isn’t that hideously unfair?”
Ella smiled, a genuine smile. “I’m so glad to have met you, Your Grace. And you, Bianca. I hope the rest of the evening is far better.”
“I’m waiting for the starry, starry night,” the duchess said with a gurgle of laughter. “I fancy kissing my husband under a falling star or two. Any sign of them?
“Not yet.” Ella hesitated. “You do realize how unreliable the Almanac can be?”
“Well, of course! How on earth could a mere mortal predict when stars will fall?”
Bianca managed a smile. “The Earl of Eagleton told me that the chance of even one star falling is a million to one.”
“Eagleton?” the duchess’s brow furled. “Not the rake they call The Huntsman?”
“He’s marrying Lady Regina,” Ella said.
Then, seeing the devastated look in Bianca’s eyes, she added quickly, “That’s what she says, but he may not even know of her plans!”
“His plans mirror hers,” Bianca said grimly.
“Oh no,” the duchess said. “Do you have another handkerchief, dear?” she asked Ella.
Ella took one from the stack of perfectly pressed, starched handkerchiefs awaiting lachrymose ladies, and handed it to Bianca. No matter how her uncle had insulted her, she was an excellent housekeeper.
“How did you get that mark on your arm?” the duchess asked sharply.
“I barreled straight into the corner of the mantelpiece,” Ella said. “Ouch! But it will quickly pass. Now I must leave. I’m worried about my cousin, given that the viscountess felt ill and retired to bed.”
“Good point!” The duchess flapped her hands. “Go make certain that rash girl doesn’t do anything to upset her engagement, or she’ll truly be in the suds!”
Ella dropped a curtsy and smiled. “I shall do my best.”
Fulvia claimed to be as good an actor as anyone on the stage of the Theater Royal.
Perhaps it was a family trait.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IN WHICH STARS FALL
It was after eleven o’clock when the butler appeared in the drawing room door. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have received reports of several falling stars,” he announced.
In a babbling wave, the guests flooded toward the French doors that led to the garden. The viscount caught his daughter’s arm, saying loudly that Fulvia wasn’t going into the dark garden without a chaperone.
Fiennes registered that with ironic disdain: it was a bit late for the viscount to suddenly claim that he gave a damn about his daughter’s reputation.
He found Ella in the crowd as easily as if there were a tightrope slung between them. Their eyes met, and she shook her head, saying silently, “Stay away.”
“I refuse,” Fiennes said back, silently.
She turned away, her shoulder saying the obvious: He was no more to her than a future cousin-in-law.
He ignored that, drifting after her like a fox on the trail of a rabbit. She had her hand wrapped around Devin’s arm, and Fiennes found himself grinding his teeth.
He swallowed back a groan. He had to marry Fulvia.
