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Clara couldn’t speak; there was a dull roar in her ears, and she concentrated on each breath to the exclusion of her surroundings.
“May I borrow your fan?” she mumbled to the marchioness.
Beatrice took one look at her and, without a word, flicked her wrist to open the fan and set to fanning Clara herself.
The breeze helped just enough that Clara no longer feared being sick any second. Free from the shroud of imminent sickness, she became more aware of her surroundings.
The crowds nearby had all turned, peering in her direction—not at her, but behind her.
The back of her neck tingled. As the buzz in her ears quieted, she heard an unpleasant croak right behind her.
It happened again.
She realized it was a man clearing his throat.
