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“Must you make a scene,” his mother hissed.
“If you continue trying to tear my arm off, I do believe it will be you making a scene,” Oliver managed to respond calmly, though he felt anything but.
Handling his mother was difficult enough without Eleanor witnessing it all. How he—a grown man with enough experience of life under his belt—could be made to feel anything but confident by this shrew of a woman, he did not know, but dread twisted deep in his gut. He’d seen his mother watch them dance, seen the narrowed gaze and the tightly pursed lips. Eleanor was not a young eligible debutant, and his mother would despise him for it.
Despise Eleanor.
“You should be dancing,” his mother insisted, tugging on his arm again. “There are plenty of young girls sitting down, in need of a partner, yet here you are, wasting your time with—” She sent a withering look Eleanor’s way.
Eleanor shrank back a few steps and Oliver clenched his jaw. “I did not know quenching one’s thirst could be considered a waste of time. To think how much time I have wasted merely drinking...goodness, I could have been doing so many other things.”
His mother narrowed her gaze, her lips so tight they almost vanished. “You really are the most disgraceful excuse for a son.”
In the periphery of his vision, he spied Eleanor’s posture stiffen. “I’m so sorry to have disappointed you so, Mother,” he said without emotion, despite the tightness bunching in his chest.
Nothing would ever please this woman, he knew that much. She’d been bred to rise through the ranks and think nothing of happiness or pleasure. He didn’t even blame her sometimes, but he wished she had the intelligence to see what life had done to her and his siblings. They were all withered and tired, all utterly spent, thanks to living a life that was not theirs.
He glanced at Eleanor.
That life couldn’t be for him.Wouldn’tbe for him.
“Well, you could make up for disappointing me by taking up with Miss Haverford. She is such a handsome young lady and is not engaged for the next dance,” his mother insisted.
“I find myself entirely occupied tonight.” He took Eleanor’s dance card and showed his name written across the entire thing. When he released it, Eleanor clutched the dance card close to her body and stared at the floor. He needed this to be over, swiftly. He could not bear for her to look any more uncomfortable.
“You would not?” his mother gasped.
“I would indeed.”
“People shall think...shall think...” She flailed for words for a few moments, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape.
“Shall think I am interested in Lady Eleanor? Mother, it is a public ball, and I am entirely within my rights to dance with one lady all night if I so wish. However, I have promised Eleanor I will keep her company for the evening as she injured her foot not long ago and has no desire to dance anymore.”
His mother turned her attention to Eleanor. “You are falsifying an injury to dominate my son’s time? What sort of a manipulative harlot are you?”
Eleanor’s eyes widened. “I—I—I—”
Oliver closed the gap between him and his mother, stepping directly in front of Eleanor and acting as a shield. “I cannot believe you would use such language directed to a respectable young lady.”
“Respectable?” she scoffed. “She is an affront to the Daventry title and to good breeding everywhere. Do not act as though you cannot see that, Oliver. I think you do this merely to vex me.”
“I do this because Eleanor is worth one hundred Miss Haverfords. Now cease frothing at the mouth and find one of my brothers to plague. I am sure they have managed to displease you tonight in some way too.”
“You are impossible,” his mother spat before twisting sharply on her heel and heading back into the hall.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turned to find Eleanor tugging the dance card off her wrist. She set it in his hand. “I think perhaps I should go...somewhere.”
“Do not let my mother scare you away, Ellie. She’s a bitter old crone but it doesn’t mean anything.”
She gave a shaky smile. “She is not wrong, though. We are drawing attention and goodness knows, you do not wish for people to leap to an assumption.”
“It’s not a private ball,” he reminded her. “I can do whatever I wish without assumptions being made.”
“Yet they will be made, and even if you do not mind the attention, I do, Oliver.”
She pressed the card more firmly into his palm and he curled his fingers around it as she too left him. He glanced at the dance card, then shoved it into his inner pocket, trying not to think about why he chose the pocket close to his heart.
Chapter Thirteen
