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Eloise scowled at him. He did not seem to care, even as her own heart was broken. She could not mourn the way she had done for her mother. She had no certainty of what had happened, no finality to cling to. If her sister were dead, then she would grieve. But whilst hope remained, Eloise would not forget her.
“A future you would decide for me?” she asked, and her father drew in a heavy breath.
“I want what’s best for you, Eloise. But what’s best for you isn’t necessarily what you might think. You’ve done nothing to secure a match for yourself. I’ve been very lenient in the matter. Most fathers would’ve decided long ago and left the matter there. You had two seasons, and now it’s your third. No… my mind’s made up,” he declared.
They drove on in silence, crossing the Thames at London Bridge and then on past the Palace of Westminster into Mayfair. The ball was to be held in a grand assembly room, the front of which was decked with banners and lit torches, with footmen lining the steps as fashionable young women and immaculately dressed gentlemen made their way inside.
“Let’s get it over with then,” Eloise huffed, as the carriage door was opened for her.
“No, let’s see you enjoy yourself, Eloise. That’s what. I don’t want any more of your nonsense. Come now, there’s someone I want you to meet,” her father said, offering Eloise his arm as they made their way inside.
Eloise sighed. She had a feeling she knew who this person would be – Lord George Crawford, son of the Earl of Mismarch. Her father had mentioned him on several occasions over the past few weeks. They had met at Boodles Club, and Eloise’s father considered him a suitable match. But Eloise thought differently. She had heard of Lord Crawford’s reputation and had the unfortunate luck of encountering his sisters, Penelope and Claudia, at dinner earlier in the year. They were twins, and what one said, the other agreed with. They were haughty and arrogant, and had looked down their nose at Eloise, and passed comment on her, according to them, allegedly missing sister.
“If it’s Lord Crawford, I’m not interested in him,” Eloise hissed, as they stepped into the grand entrance hall of the assembly rooms.
“You’ll do as I say, Eloise. Do you understand?” her father ordered, as now they were announced by the Master of Ceremonies.
“The Right Honourable The Viscount Snowden and his daughter, Miss Eloise Snowden,” he declared, bowing to them, as Eloise’s distant cousin, Cybil, came hurrying over.
She was a confirmed spinster, not related to the Viscount save by marriage on Eloise’s mother’s side. Seven seasons had not seen her achieve any success in finding a husband. But without a father to force the issue, Cybil had remained unattached. She was an orphan, but with ample inherited means by which she lived a comfortable life, spending her time flitting between salons and soirees, interfering in other people’s business and never minding her own.
“Oh, Eloise, how lovely to see you!” she exclaimed, kissing Eloise on both cheeks.
She was a short woman, her height extenuated by a large peacock feather worn in her hair, which was pinned up to add extra height. She wore a pretty peach dress, though her figure was too round to carry it well, and she looked as though her seams were about to split.
“Cousin Cybil, how nice to see you,” Eloise said.
Eloise’s father cleared his throat.
“I want you to meet Lord Crawford,” he said, ignoring Cybil, whom he had never made any pretense to care for.
“Oh, he’s over there helping himself to the punch,” Cybil offered, pointing towards the refreshment table.
Eloise could see a tall man with short, black hair, wearing a blue frock coat and a high starched collar. Behind him stood the two Crawford sisters, watching the proceedings of the ball from behind their fans.
And no doubt passing the most vicious comments.
She had no desire to be the object of their attentions, but now her father stepped forward, calling out to Lord Crawford, who turned to greet him.
“Ah, Viscount Snowden, how pleased I am to see you, and… you, too, Miss Eloise Snowden,” he said, holding out his hand to Eloise, who took it and nodded.
She could feel the eyes of Penelope and Claudia now fixed on her and almost hear their barbed thoughts, as Lord Crawford smiled at her.
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” she said.
“But the pleasure’s all mine, Miss Snowden. Your father has told me… all about you,” he continued.
Eloise could only imagine what her father had told him about her – her need for a husband, her obsession with her sister’s disappearance, her lack of will for remaining anything but a spinster. It was hardly an attractive proposition, and she wondered if perhaps her father had said nothing save praising her as a wallflower ready to bloom.
“I’m sure he has, Lord Crawford,” Eloise remarked, glancing at her father, who nodded.
“I’m sure you’ll find plenty in common with one another,” he said, stepping back and disappearing into the throng.
Lord Crawford smiled at Eloise and offered her his arm. He was not an unattractive man for he possessed a handsome face and an aquiline nose. But it was his demeanor that gave Eloise cause for concern. He had a thinly veiled sneer on his face, as though he knew he was taking pity on her. The thought of spending the evening in his company filled her with dread.
“Won’t you have some punch, Miss Snowden? It’s rather good,” Penelope said, giving Eloise a smile a snake might give before it strikes.
“Oh, thank you.” Eloise took the proffered cup.
