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“You are naught but a lady of the evening, a courtesan with powerful protection. Remove said man, and you are nothing.”
“Oh, la.” Lavinia snorted. She waved a gloved hand as if the past didn’t matter. A bracelet of amethysts he’d given her shortly after he’d won her as his mistress glittered at her wrist. “Those protectors allowed me to form and run my own charities that assist women like me. And the coin they paid—I was quite high priced—gave me the freedom to secure my own future. What does it matter if I enjoyed my livelihood?” Her eyes, though narrowed, twinkled as if she were having a merry time, but Percival knew better. The hard set of her lips and the way she curled a hand into a fist, hidden by the folds of her skirting, spoke to her annoyance. “However, I am a countess now, and with that reach, I can do even more with those charities. I wonder if you can say the same.”
Regarding working as a whore or tending to the more unfortunate of London? The random thought bounced about Percival’s brain as Lady Jersey sputtered. Through it all, he gawked at his wife, for he hadn’t known that about her.
“You assume I do nothing that benefits the downtrodden.” The ice in Lady Jersey’s voice was unmistakable.
“Do you?” Lavinia took an exaggerated look about the room as if she failed to believe it. “You act as if you are so much better than me, so if that were true, you would grant me latitude for changing my circumstances to better myself.”
“How dare you think to lecture me.” The patroness bristled. Her double chin quivered. “Even at a small event like this, your husband is barely tolerated, and you even less so. Regardless of your alleged charity work, I wonder how your future plans will evolve when the earl is more interested in seeking out drink than making allies.”
The annoyance in Lavinia’s eyes changed briefly to uncertainty. “While that may be so, how rude of you to point it out.” Again, she waved a hand. “But know this. I won’t back down. Neither will I give in. I have every right to be here as you do.”
Lady Jersey laughed as if that were the funniest joke ever told. Then all mirth—manufactured or otherwise—vanished from her visage. “You are not the same as me, no matter your position or your blood lines, and you will never be accepted in Almack’s or other hallowed places of the ton. You have my guarantee that no vouchers will be offered.”
A few people close enough to overhear the conversation gasped. They didn’t even bother to hide their interest.
When Percival would have moved to Lavinia’s side in rescue, his wife spoke again.
“Then I’ll remain grateful for that. I have no wish to be seen as insipid or dull.” Lavinia’s grin was cold. “Nothing is ever changed or accomplished in this world by being the same as everyone else. I’d rather have self-respect than give up my soul in order to belong in a group of people who care nothing for others.”
Lady Jersey’s grin was one of victory. “Then you shall have your wish.” She swept aside her green skirts as if touching Lavinia’s would taint her. “I wish you luck, Lady Laughton. You will need copious amounts of it to survive the beau monde.”
“I’ve done so this long with more challenges. I shall come about quite well, Lady Jersey, but thank you for the advice.”
Bloody, bloody hell.
By the time Percival joined his wife, she shook from the force of the encounter or her ire. It was difficult to say. “Well, she was rather a horrid trial.” He tried to joke and cajole a smile from his wife, but the levity fell flat.
Lavinia huffed out a frustrated breath even as her eyes welled with moisture. “It is nothing I didn’t expect.”
“We don’t need these people.” His old arrogance flared. “We’ll prove to them this hasn’t affected our outlook.”
“You know that’s not true,” Lavinia whispered. “Unfortunately, navigating society is a delicate balance.”
Wanting more privacy than they currently enjoyed, he led her to a side of the room that was relatively clear. “Why do you not grow angry? Curse and rail at those who put you down and refuse to accept you?” She had been magnificent in her response, though, and he couldn’t be prouder of her.
“It will make me as bad as them.” Her shoulders drooped as she dabbed at the tears before they could fall. “The ugliness shows their true nature, not mine.” For long moments she scanned the room beyond his shoulder before snapping her regard back to him. “My mother was many things in her day, but she maintained that kindness and understanding as well a determination would see a person through life better than power or a viper tongue.”
God, she had more integrity in her little finger than he did in his whole body. Hot embarrassment slid over him, and once more he regretted taking those drinks, for he wanted her to feel pride when she looked at him. Lavinia was every bit a countess, but he’d failed to see it due to his own prejudice and pride and arrogance.
“Teach me, Lavinia. I need to know how to encourage that sort of placidity.” He wanted the ability to ignore the things that bothered him so he wouldn’t rely of drinking to dull them.
She sighed, touched his arm. “Then stop drinking. Respect your life and those in it more than drowning your feelings.”
“I’m sorry I’ve failed tonight,” he said in a barely audible whisper.
“We all deserve a second chance.” Her eyes were luminous as she continued to gaze at him. “Please realize you have so much more to give to the world—to me and your family—than the mess you represent now. That’s not the real you.”
Would that he could believe her… believe in himself. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask for her help and support, but Lord Eaton—Lord Randolph’s father, sauntered up to them with his marchioness in tow. They were a handsome couple together, both possessed of golden hair and blue eyes. It was no wonder his best friend resembled a veritable Adonis. So where the devil was the man tonight?
The marquess grinned. He took Lavinia’s hand and kissed the back while Percival greeted Lady Eaton. “I have heard you’ve made quite the sensation tonight, Lady Laughton.” The smile he bestowed upon her was both benevolent and mischievous.
Lavinia snickered. She flashed a genuine grin. “Perhaps slightly.”
The marchioness leaned close and in a horrid stage whisper said, “All the best women do, my dear.” With a wink, she straightened. “How do you think I landed Eaton, here?”
As laughter circulated through their little group, Percival loosed a shuddering sigh of relief. This couple had gone out of their way to converse with them, for no other reason than they were kind and wished to pave the way of acceptance into society for them.
