“MissWeston,” he said, as he was expected to, as this situation wascontrived to arrange. “Would you do me the honor of dancing this nextset with me?” Music was playing in the adjoining room. Of course thedancing had already begun, and Elizabeth could not have delayed just ahalf an hour more to miss it. She looked pleadingly at her mother,but Mrs. Weston seemed so happy, Elizabeth could not argue.
“Ofcourse,” she said, and held out her hand. He led her to the ballroom,where couples lined up for the next dance.
Histouch was cold. Not physically—she was wearing gloves and could notfeel his skin. But something in his eyes, a stiffness in his carriage,held a chill all the same.
“IfI may be so bold, Miss Weston, you are the brightest ornament at thisgathering. My gaze was drawn to you the moment you steppedthrough the doorway.”
Themovements of the dance carried her away from him; when next he took herhand, he said, “You are grace itself.”
“Ithank you, sir,” she said, little more than a whisper.
Sheheard his words, but another meaning entirely lay behind them, somefeeling that came off him like the scent of soap used to launder hisshirts, rude and unkind thoughts. His true motivation, his truefeelings: she was a silly girl, but someone ought to have her money, sowhy shouldn’t it be him? She wasn’t even a prize to be won, but anobstacle to be overcome.
Thedances here were like hunts, gentlemen and ladies chasing after oneanother.
Herfoot missed a beat and she stumbled. One of the other ladies, the kindMiss Allison, took her elbow and steadied her. Elizabeth caught morethan the kind look in her eyes; there was also the belief, thecertainty, that Elizabeth was a talentless creature who ought to bepitied. While Elizabeth might not hear the words, the feelings directedtoward her were plain, sharp as the screaming edge of knives.
Muchspeculation went on among her parents and their friends about whatcould make a girl like Elizabeth so quiet and withdrawn. Mrs. Westonhad decided that her dear girl by some accident of birth was simply toosensitive to withstand the rigors of society and the world. Likewise,Mr. Weston declared that the fineness of her disposition made hersuperior, but also vulnerable. Those outside the immediate family weresure that the girl had obviously been too coddled, too sheltered, andso would always be weak and sniveling. A gentleman who aspired tomarrying her fortune would first have to persuade Miss Weston that shewas strong enough to accept a firm proposal. But the more forceful asuitor appeared, the more timid Miss Weston became. Another paradox.
Thesespeculations never happened within earshot of Elizabeth. Sheknew of them, just the same.
Intruth, Mrs. Weston nearly had the right of it: Elizabeth felteverything.The thousand petty dramas of the typical gathering were as shouting inher ear. She felt the prides and hurts of others as pains in her ownheart. She knew what she shouldn’t: which young gentlemen carried onaffairs with their mother’s maids, which young ladies were so desperateto escape indifferent families they were prepared to throw themselvesinto unsuitable marriages. Men who worried over debts, coachmen nursinglame horses—she knew. She could not say how,but she did. She knew that one of the brusque suitors she’d refused,Mr. Rackham, would be cruel if he succeeded in winning her; another,Mr. Carroll, would simply ignore her. From the ladies, she felt thegossip about how Elizabeth was proud and odd and would die an old maidif she were not careful. The old men wondered what was wrong with her,that she should turn up her nose at their sons.
Shefelt herself to be like the ancient Greek oracles, caught up in thetorture of ecstatic revelation. Empathy was the word she found—profound, damaging empathy. And she could not tell a soul.
Atlast, finally, the music ended, and Elizabeth curtseyed with a sigh ofrelief. Mr. Forester insisted on seeing her to a chair, when all shewanted was to flee.
“MissWeston, you seem quite flush, do let me bring you a sherry,” he said,but he was not concerned with her well-being, only with flattering herso that she might fall in love with him.
“No,I thank you, I only need to sit—”
“Elizabeth!How long since you arrived? I did not see you! Here, come with me, I’vebeen longing to speak with you—oh, pardon me, Mr. Forester, but I muststeal Miss Weston away from you, I’m sure you understand.” Withoutfurther explanation, Amy Brannock swept between them, hooked her armaround Elizabeth’s, and pulled her into the next room, leaving Foresterstaring.
“Thankyou,” Elizabeth breathed.
“RichardForester is such a bore, I’m sure you have had quite enough of him. I knew my mother was going to waylay you. I hadwanted to be there, I was watching for you, but then she sent me off tosee that Emma knew to fill the punch bowl—Mother can’t leave wellenough alone.”
Amylooked very well, as she always did, with roses in her cheeks, wearinga pink muslin gown that complemented her light hair and creamyfeatures. Elizabeth wore a gown of blue with lace—it suited her becauseAmy had helped choose it, and her friend beamed at the complimentElizabeth paid by wearing it.
Inthe drawing room they settled on a pair of chairs. Elizabeth couldlisten contentedly for hours while Amy gossiped. She might not move forthe rest of the afternoon.
Andthen three strange gentlemen entered the drawing room.
Thetrio stopped at the door to look around, and because they werestrangers, everyone else paused to study them.
“Goodness,will you look at them?” Amy said, hand on her breast like some romanticheroine. “Have you ever seen such . . . shapely gentlemen? Is shapelythe right word for it?”
“Yes,”Elizabeth said. “I think it is.”
Allthree had powerful forms under well-made suits; they possessed broadshoulders and took graceful steps. They . . . prowled,looking about with a hooded darkness in their gazes, which scouredevery surface, every face. Elizabeth could not take her eyes from them.Mr. Brannock immediately went forward to meet them, shaking hands allaround, and the room returned to
