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CHAPTERONE
“Irene, my dear, you will give the Marquess of Guildford your first dance this evening,” instructed Joseph Livingston, the Earl of Winston.
Lady Elizabeth immediately turned from the carriage window where she had abstractedly been looking at the streetlamps while she thought of how she would survive what she was certain would be a dreadful evening. “What if the Marquess is late, Father?” She had never been quiet when the worst rake to ever walk on English soil was mentioned. “Do you expect her not to dance until he arrives?”
“Elizabeth,” Irene whispered, tugging at her skirt, but Elizabeth’s eyes remained on their father. Every time he spoke of Guildford, she inched closer to believing that the Marquess had bewitched her father. For how could anyone want such a man for their daughter?
Joseph gave her a reproachful glance before he continued instructing Irene. “If he arrives before us, you will give him your first dance, and if he does not, then reserve one for him.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I suppose Irene cannot choose her dance partners, can she?”
Joseph’s mouth thinned as he returned his blue gaze to Elizabeth. “I am not going to argue with you this evening.”
“I am not arguing with you,” Elizabeth defended. “I am merely reminding you that Irene should have a choice. The Marquess is the most—”
“Suitable man for your sister,” Joseph asserted.
“Listen to your father, Elizabeth,” her mother, Clarice, said from her rear-facing seat beside Joseph. “This is Irene’s first season, and we must ensure she finds success immediately.”
“Mother, you always agree with Father,” Elizabeth muttered before she leaned close to her sister, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I believe nearly every guest will be wearing a mask. You can dance with any man you want, and Father will not know.”
Irene giggled, drawing their father’s eyes, and they narrowed with suspicion. Elizabeth smiled innocently, and she was about to turn back to the window when Joseph spoke.
“The Marquess is very serious about courting you, Irene. I advise you to accept his suit.”
“Listen to your father, my dear,” her mother encouraged, smiling. “Guildford is the most sought-after gentleman this season. Last year, it was the Marquess of Hanvey, but sadly, you were not out at the time. But this year, this marquess shall be yours.”
“Yes, indeed.” Her father grinned. “He is also the wealthiest man in England.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open, and she turned, blinking in surprise. “You want Irene to marry Guildford because he is wealthy?”
Joseph immediately shook his head. “Do not misunderstand me, Elizabeth. I have enough wealth, and both you and Irene have very good dowries. It is important, however, that we attach ourselves to more influence and wealth. It is the way of the Society we find ourselves in.”
“I cannot believe you are saying this, Father. You taught me to—”
“Oh, here we are!” her mother interrupted, immediately dissolving the gathering tension between Elizabeth and her father. He climbed down from the carriage before helping the women alight, and when Elizabeth looked up at the manor, her insides clenched.
So begins tonight’s misery, she thought, her hand going up to straighten her gold demi-mask.
They were shown to a grand ballroom that was filled with masked guests, and to her surprise, the gentlemen found Irene right away. Within moments, Irene’s dance card was full, and the gentleman who won the bid for the first dance led her away.
Elizabeth was left standing with her parents, and when her eyes met her mother’s, Clarice smiled. There was pity there, and that caused Elizabeth to turn her eyes away. She was familiar with that look and disliked it most ardently.
This was her fourth season, and she had no prospects. There had been a few interested gentlemen when she had debuted, but they had quickly lost interest when they learned that she was a bluestocking, who had no lady-like accomplishments and preferred to have intelligent conversations.
At the start of this season, thetonhad compared her to her sister. Irene had been quickly declared a diamond of the first water while Elizabeth was the plain sister. This would have wounded Elizabeth when she was a debutante, but she had grown to not concern herself with the opinion of theton. Her goal was not to find a husband this season but to ensure that her sister married the right man. Elizabeth felt her mother take her arm and she turned.
“I thought we should take a turn about the room, my dear,” Clarice answered the question that Elizabeth had been about to ask. “This will ensure that more gentlemen see you.”
“Mother, this is a masquerade, and I do not wish to be seen,” she dissented.
“Nonsense! This is the best time to be seen. You are dressed as Aphrodite—”
“Athena,” Elizabeth corrected. “Irene is Aphrodite.”
Her mother paused to assess her attire. “You were supposed to be the Goddess of Beauty tonight. Both of you were. It does not matter what Irene wears, but your costume is very important.”
Yes, because I am plain and obscure and must be the Goddess of Beauty to be seen by Society. Elizabeth had refused to be dressed in a similar fashion as her sister; thus, she’d had her lady’s maid turn her into Athena. She was even more pleased with her decision when she saw that many ladies were dressed as Aphrodite tonight.
