“Mister Paul Goulding,” Isolde informed her, “is a third son whose chosen profession is the law. He is educated and financially independent, without a title and in no need of one, but he could benefit from a match with you both politically and financially.”
Elizabeth promised him the second dance of the evening, a quadrille.
“Corporal Oliver Harding,” she whispered behind her fan, “inherited a big entailed estate when he came back from the war some five years ago. According to rumour,” aunt Isolde said, “he is in need of funds to restore and run it.”
He asked for the second waltz, since he was already engaged for the first. He seemed about a decade older than Elizabeth, had very broad shoulders and an air of authority he most likely acquired in the military.
As Elizabeth was trying to surreptitiously observe the group of admirers gathered around the frustratingly beautiful Lady Helena, who was fanning herself gaily as she listened to one of them, a familiar voice greeted both Sophie and Isolde, leaving her for last.
“Miss Hawkins,” he said, and Lizzie ran her tongue over her teeth to stop a smile at the insolence.
How would she explain to Sophie, who had invested all this effort to present her to theTonasLadyElizabeth, that this did not offend her?
“Your Grace,” she curtsied dutifully, while he regarded her as if she were an interesting pet.
“Your Grace,” Sophie said coldly.
Elizabeth frowned before remembering to smooth out her expression. Was the slight to her the reason for Sophie’s strange demeanour? The young duchess was the epitome of politeness and good breeding, regardless of who she spoke to. Surely Elizabeth wasn’t significant enough to warrant offending a duke?
It was Talbot’s turn to try and fail to hide his amusement. Only, the smile that curved his lips seemed cruel and ironic.
He looked from Elizabeth to Sophie a few times before saying in what Elizabeth by now knew was his provocative voice, “Miss Hawkins, I hope you haven’t promised anyone the first waltz.”
“I haven’t,” Elizabeth replied, despite guessing (correctly) that his sole aim was to upset Sophie further. She knew she had no good reason to politely refuse him, since she indeed had not promised the dance to another.
“Splendid, I hope you shall do me the honour of dancing it with me then.”
“I look forward to it.”
For the first time since she had entered polite society, Elizabeth was happy that etiquette demanded that gloves had to be worn in the ballroom, because even through his gloves, she felt her waist burning where Lord Slaymaker’s hand was on it.
After years of always avoiding all men, she was now being forced into close proximity with so many of them, while simultaneously having to execute intricate dance steps and keep her posture upright.
How could she hope to converse in a calm, composed, and engaging way with a man who was touching her and smiling at her like this one was? It was frightening, exhilarating, and exhausting. And this was only the first dance of the evening.
Despite Slaymaker’s bewitching appearance, Elizabeth was able to remain dispassionate and attempt to learn more about his character. Mercifully, he was content to hold the conversation with minimal participation from her – he told her all about the new thoroughbreds he’d purchased just last week, the shop that ordered special cigars for him alone, and explained that he found Almack’s incredibly dull compared to other places he enjoyed frequenting.
Before she knew it, he was bowing to her and leading her into the arms of Mister Paul Goulding.
Mister Goulding was less vainglorious than Slaymaker, but he was, unfortunately, rather dull.
He remarked on the beauty of the evening, and Elizabeth agreed.
He then complimented the gold ribbon in her hair. She thanked him.
She asked him whether he enjoyed being a lawyer, and he said he did.
They danced on in silence.
Elizabeth wondered whether there would be any good cake at the refreshment table.
Goulding then started extolling her brother’s virtues. Elizabeth didn’t disagree, for she loved her brother, but it was a rather strange choice of subject for a quadrille.
As he led her to Talbot for their waltz, he urged her to pass on his kindest regards to her brother, the Duke, and Talbot raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as Talbot competently arranged their bodies for the dance. Mister Goulding, in addition to all his other faults, had smelled rather stale, and a few of the other dancers she had passed during the lively quadrille had been sweaty or musty, whereas Talbot, despite all of his faults, smelled better than any other man she’d encountered in her life.
“A friend of your brother’s, is he?” He asked, and her eyes flew open.
