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And the conversation. She spoke easily of fashions with the Baroness Copefield, and the latest dances with Lady Ablemarle and Annabelle. She slipped from one topic to another like a bird flitting between flowers.
And yet, she managed to avoid answering any of the personal questions she was asked with graceful smiles and a soft turn of the conversation.
In the brief period before the seating for dinner was announced, he overheard one question about her family, to which she had replied that she had little contact with her parents, who lived in the country.
To a question of how she and he had become close, she simply offered a noncommittal answer about time spent in close contact with her position as the Dowager’s maid, which spoke of the truth without any true details.
When asked how she had chosen her dress, she spoke briefly of how the Dowager had recommended an Italian dressmaker, with a tone and a smile that completely avoided any hint of the embarrassment she had faced at Madame Devy’s.
She offered answers, but no information worth remembering, to every personal inquiry directed to her. It made him proud, the skill with which she danced the shifting sands of the conversation and avoided the pitfalls set out for her.
In another way, it was both frustrating and gratifying to know that no one else was having any better luck than he himself had enjoyed when trying to gather personal information from Nora.
* * *
The greetings were not as tedious as she remembered from her childhood, perhaps because she was more focused than her younger self had been. She could feel Arthur waiting, poised to offer her assistance and support, and it made her desire to show herself in the best light possible.
She did not want him to think he had an unskilled and unschooled urchin for his fiancée.
Meeting his friends was a trial; attempting pleasantness ashegreeted her with a polite bow and a smile she was sure was entirely false. She kept her own smile pleasant only through reminding herself that she finally had a name for the man who had seduced her and left her in such hardship.
Perhaps, if Arthur did grow apart from his current comrades, she might find a way to make his life as uncomfortable as he had made hers, the cad. The thought was enough to keep her smile sincere as she offered the proper response to his greeting.
She was genuinely pleased to greet the young woman she had escorted out of the manor in that first fateful encounter. The woman, Annabelle Norburn, had a warm, genuine smile and only greeted her with courtesy and not a hint of jealousy or ill-will. Her greeting was limited to a simple, “You look well.”
Nora managed the appropriate thanks, and the greetings continued.
Finally, all the guests were assembled, and they passed into the front receiving room to wait for the meal to be announced. The men gravitated toward each other, though she spotted Arthur keeping close to her, closer than she thought he might have stayed with another woman. She was absurdly pleased by his consideration, misplaced though his concerns were.
She had long known what type of ladies populated Society, and she had not entirely forgotten the reputation of some of the more prominent members. And the rumors of some of the less prominent names.
It was the Countess who asked the first searching question, which she had been waiting for. “Nora, darling... I’ve no doubt of the Duke’s affections for you, but I must say... it all seems rather sudden. How did the two of you become so close?”
She managed a demure smile and a sip of her wine. “In truth, it was not something I expected. But serving as Lady Abigail’s maid, we did sometimes encounter each other during the course of my duties. I suppose it must have progressed from there, though I am at a loss as to how it came about.”
“You know, I don’t believe the Dowager offered us your surname.” That came from the Earl of Ablemarle’s wife.
“I suspect it is because it is not one you would recognize. My family has long resided in the country.” She smiled again. “I do not suppose you are in the country often?”
“Not during the Season, no. And rarely otherwise unless we are hosting.”
Miss Norburn stepped into the conversation, quickly and neatly, before assembled women could pursue the matter further. “That is a lovely dress. But I do not recognize the design... it cannot be Madame Devy’s work.”
“No, it is not. Lady Abigail recommended an Italian dressmaker for this Season, and I was happy to take her suggestion.” She kept her voice level with an effort, firmly throttling back the memory of how the London modiste had treated her.
“I shall have to get a card from her before I go. Such elegant work. Will you be using them for the wedding clothes?” Annabelle Norburn hummed approvingly, not seeming to notice how Nora was forced to ruthlessly suppress an entirely inappropriate reaction.
“I fear I had not thought so far ahead, but it is an excellent suggestion.” She dipped her head. “If you will excuse me…”
She stepped aside to collect her wits, breathing deeply.
Abigail would help her. She repeated the reminder to herself as she steadied herself and recollected her composure. Abigail would aid her if she asked.
As if her thoughts had summoned the matron, Abigail came to stand beside her. “Nora dear, we will be sitting for dinner shortly. Before we do, there was something I wished to ask of you in relative privacy.”
“Of course. What may I help you with?” She took another breath and faced the Dowager with what she hoped was a serene expression.
“Well, we shall have to write out a full guest list later, but I was wondering if you might have some idea of how many formal invitations you’ll need for the wedding and wedding breakfast?”
