“Tell me, Elaine,” Clarissa went on. “Is it me or have events such as these grown much longer since the last Season?”
“I do not know,” Elaine admitted softly. “I did not attend any events during the previous Season. I have not been to any at all, actually.”
“Truly?” Clarissa sounded genuinely surprised. “So this is your first?”
Elaine nodded. She couldn’t help studying Clarissa’s face and saw no trace of judgment.
“How interesting,” Clarissa mused. “To be frank, Elaine—may I call you Elaine?”
Elaine nodded. She didn’t think Clarissa was the kind of lady who had ever been denied a thing in her lifetime and Elaine did not feel inclined to be the first.
Clarissa’s smile brightened at her permission. “To be frank, Elaine,” she continued. “I noticed you in the ballroom. And I must say that you carry yourself like someone who is quite accustomed to balls.”
“Shall I take that as a compliment?” Elaine asked uncertainly.
“Yes, please do! That is how I intended it. You are quite graceful, Elaine. And there are quite a few ladies present who cannot claim the same.” Clarissa flushed and a fan Elaine hadn’t noticed before opened before her face with a thwack. “Oh, goodness. You must forgive me. It is rather unbecoming to gossip with someone I have just met.”
Something in the cadence of her voice and the poise with which she carried herself set Elaine at ease. She didn’t even notice that she was smiling until she heard it in her voice. “It is not so unusual, Clarissa. What do you think half the ladies in here are doing?”
“They are likely talking about the latest fashions.”
“And how dreadful Lady Emerson looks with all those feathers in her hat,” Elaine observed. She subtly lifted her chin toward three ladies gathered in the opposite corner of the room, their heads bent close to each other as they laughed and whispered.
“Or how desperate Miss Annabelle seemed to dance with the Earl of Dunkley,” Elaine went on, moving to the other group of ladies gathered just a short distance away from the first. “Or perhaps how odd it was that Lady Jones was given the honour of hosting the first ball of the Season when she was not in the Queen’s good graces.”
“How do you know all of this?” Clarissa asked, surprised.
“You would be surprised how many things you hear when no one notices that you are there.”
Clarissa raised her fan to her lips. It took Elaine a moment to realise that she was hiding her laughter. “What about them?” she asked, eyes turned to the group of ladies sitting in the centre of the room. “What are they talking about?”
That was the group Elaine had been trying her hardest to ignore, the loudest of them all. Sitting in the centre was the marquess’ daughter, like a queen engaging her subjects. The other ladies seemed to hang on to her every word, vying for her approval. But Lady Isabella paid them scant regard while she regaled them with her tales of the night, of how she was certain all the gentlemen she danced with would call on her the next day.
The prospect of the Duke of Ryewood calling upon Lady Isabella left a bad taste in Elaine’s mouth.
“She talks about herself a lot,” Elaine said after a moment, hoping Clarissa wouldn’t notice her lapse.
“I am not surprised. I was seated just one seat away from her during dinner and she would not stop telling my brother how much she excels at all manners of arts.”
“Oh, is that so?” Elaine already knew that. She’d pieced together enough of what she’d heard to come to that conclusion.
“You know my brother, do you not?” Clarissa’s fan moved further up her face, until nothing but her eyes were visible. “I believe I saw you two dancing.”
Elaine fought the blush that overcame her face as hard as she could and lost poorly. She avoided looking at Clarissa instead. Had she noticed how smitten Elaine had become with the duke in such a short span of time? If she had, who else might have noticed?
“Yes, I do recall the duke,” she managed.
“Ah.” Clarissa’s voice sounded just as strained. “And what are your thoughts of him?”
“He is quite pleasant. Very…teasing.”
“Teasing?”
“Quite so. I do not know what to make of it yet.” It was the truth. She could not discern whether his playful demeanour was genuine flirtation or merely part of his charm.
“I see.” Clarissa’s fan ceased its fluttering for a moment. Elaine didn’t dare look, fearing that the duke’s sister had noticed something in Elaine’s tone. Something to indicate that perhaps Elaine was not as nonchalant about their meeting as she was trying to make it seem.
“Well, enough about my brother,” Clarissa said at last. “I have had enough of hearing about the Duke of Ryewood since the start of this evening. Tell me, Elaine, do you enjoy poetry?”
