Lizzie sometimes had the impression that Duke Talbot was listening to their conversation, but whenever she surreptitiously glanced at him, he seemed engrossed in conversing with either Lady Helena on his right or Isabella’s husband on his left.
“Well, Norwich is a superior estate in every way, but my friend the Viscount does know how to put together a fox hunt,” she heard Talbot say.
“Sounds like Norwich is no different from its owner, then,” Lady Helena said in her clear voice.
The woman flirted openly and skillfully, but to Elizabeth, it felt less like a signal of interest and more like a meaningless exercise, something done only to demonstrate her superior skill.
She will surely receive several offers of marriage in the course of the Season, and she’ll be in the position to choose the most advantageous one, she thought bitterly.
Lizzie had the suspicion that Lady Helena kept inching closer to the Duke, most likely under the pretence of hearing him better. Elizabeth didn’t like it. She felt the Duke needed a wife more like… Lady Louisa.
Lady Louisa seemed intelligent and kind and just a little bit bashful. The duke would need to coax her out of her shell, using gentle humour and just a touch of flirtation. Elizabeth suddenly remembered his tone from that morning and shivered.
“Are you cold, Lady Elizabeth?” kind Louisa asked her.
No, he would be too much for her,Elizabeth thought.
“I thought I felt a chilly draught coming from somewhere,” she lied and forbade her eyes to look across the table for the rest of the dinner.
*
The next morning, before starting her day, Elizabeth stood at the window again and gathered her thoughts. Her room had a view of the expansive grounds in front of the house and, unlike London, it gave her a sense of breadth and openness.
A lone figure came into her view: a tall, broad-shouldered man.Talbot,she thought. He was walking slowly, followed by a large, dark dog. She’d never seen him like that – far away and deep in thought, appearing almost sad, and almost lonely.
After a lively morning spent playing with little Emma, Elizabeth went to her room to change. She felt invigorated and fulfilled after spending time with her niece. Whenever she got the opportunity to be around Emma, Lizzie’s goal was to let the girlknow she was loved. She imagined infusing her limbs with love through her hugs and kind words; she wanted to fill her every pore with it, so Emma could always have it with her and in her.
It had rained the night before, so it was quite easy to persuade Elinor to don the pair of boots she’d brought for her in order to be better equipped for the walk Isabella had planned for the party after the men finished their shooting for the day. She grabbed them, hastily put on her bonnet and made her way to Elinor’s room. On the landing, she almost collided with Duke Talbot and Mr. Pratt.
“Good Lord!” Pratt exclaimed, and she forced herself to breathe evenly.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”
Talbot looked at her bare hand accusingly. Elizabeth cursed herself inwardly for forgetting her gloves again, her earlier thoughts about Talbot’s vulnerability completely gone.
During the walk, Sophie and Violet (and their husbands) led the way to the pond with Captain and Rover, their family dogs, while the rest of the guests broke off into smaller groups behind them.
Isabella had taken it upon herself to animate Amelia today, so she was merrily nattering about while Amelia politely listened and occasionally nodded.
Isabella’s husband was enthusiastically explaining to Pratt which dog was best for retrieving grouse, which Pratt seemed to passionately disagree on, and Lady Helena looked so bored by their conversation that Lizzie felt she most likely envied the grouse their fate.
Slaymaker and Louisa seemed engrossed in a conversation of their own, and the usually smiling Lord’s face was uncharacteristically sober.
Elizabeth and Corporal Harding were right behind them, while Talbot, Powell, and the Baron were in the last group, walking with Powell’s young daughter.
“I had no idea Mister Powell had a daughter who was out,” Elizabeth had whispered to Sophie that morning when the girl had gone to her room to change.
“She is only seventeen,” Sophie had whispered back, “but they say he allowed her to come out in order to better keep an eye on her. This way, Miss Caroline can accompany him wherever he goes. He used to leave her with governesses and family before.”
“He must have married young.”
“Nicholas told me that he was only five and twenty when his wife… You know.”
Everyone knew. Well, some version of it at least. The tragic tale of the beautiful young new mother who, in a fit of madness, jumped from the highest window of her wealthy young husband’s country manor.
Elizabeth had observed that all the young women at balls were scared of Mr Powell, as if he were some harbinger of bad luck and misery. She herself had danced several dances with him, and he wasn’t an easy man to talk to. His daughter, however, seemed to adore him.
“How are you enjoying Winchester thus far?” Oliver asked Elizabeth, seeming genuinely interested in her answer, for which she rewarded him with a small smile.
