"With dignity, composure, and the absolute minimum of information necessary to maintain civility. Remember that anything you say will be repeated, analyzed, and probably distorted before tomorrow's sunrise."
The coaching he provided during their journey to Thornley Manor proved invaluable, as he outlined the complex web of relationships, rivalries, and social hierarchies that would govern the evening's interactions. Sir Geoffrey Thornley, their host, was apparently a man of modest abilities but considerable wealth who compensated for his lack of distinguished lineage by hosting elaborate entertainments designed to attract the region's most elevated personages.
"He will be obsequious to the point of embarrassment,"Lucian warned as their carriage approached the imposing façade of Thornley Manor, its windows blazing with the light of what appeared to be hundreds of candles. "His wife will be equally effusive in her attempts to demonstrate her familiarity with ducal customs. Both will be watching for any sign that you are unworthy of your position."
"And the other guests?"
"A mixture of local gentry, minor nobility, and wealthy merchants who have purchased their way into society's fringes. Some will be genuinely welcoming; others will view you as an upstart who has achieved through marriage what they could never hope to attain through merit."
The assembly rooms at Thornley Manor proved to be every bit as regal as Evangeline had anticipated, with soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and walls decorated with portraits of distinguished ancestors whose painted eyes seemed to follow her progress with disapproving scrutiny. The sound of conversation and laughter filled the air, creating the sort of sophisticated atmosphere that marked gatherings of the fashionable world.
Yet the moment she and Lucian were announced by the liveried footman, a peculiar hush fell over the assembled company, as though their arrival had introduced some discordant element into what had previously been harmonious entertainment. Evangeline was acutely conscious of being studied with the sort of intense scrutiny normally reserved for exotic specimens in a menagerie, though she maintained her composure with the dignity her position demanded.
Sir Geoffrey Thornley approached with the sort of elaborate ceremony that suggested he had been rehearsing this moment for days, his round face beaming with the satisfaction of a man who had succeeded in attracting truly distinguished guests to his entertainment.
"Your Grace! What an honour, what an absolute honour to welcome the Duchess and you to our humble assembly," he gushed with such obvious delight that Evangeline found herself warming to him despite Lucian's warnings about his obsequiousness. "Lady Thornley and I are positively overwhelmed by your condescension in gracing our little gathering with your presence."
"The pleasure is entirely ours, Sir Geoffrey," Evangeline replied with the sort of gracious courtesy that her governess had drilled into her during childhood. "Your home is magnificent, and the company appears most distinguished."
Lady Thornley materialized at her husband's elbow with the sort of precision that suggested careful choreography, her elaborate evening dress and profusion of jewels clearly intended to demonstrate her family's prosperity and social aspirations.
"Your Grace, you are even more beautiful than the reports suggested," she exclaimed with enthusiasm that appeared genuine despite its excessive nature. "That gown is absolutely exquisite—surely it must be from London? We have so little access to truly fashionable modistes in Yorkshire."
The compliment was delivered with such obvious hunger for details about London fashion that Evangeline found herself responding with more warmth than she had anticipated, launching into a discussion of gowns and modistes that seemed to delight her hostess beyond measure.
It was while she was engaged in this exchange that she became aware of the peculiar effect that Lucian's presence was having upon the other guests. Wherever he moved, people seemed to melt away like shadows before sunlight, creating an invisible barrier around him that no one dared to cross. Conversations faltered when he approached, resuming only after he had passed beyond hearing distance with the sort of nervous energy that suggested relief at having avoided directinteraction.
The reaction was most pronounced among the younger guests, particularly the ladies who had presumably known him before his injuries. She watched in growing dismay as Miss Caroline Whitfield, a pretty blonde who could not have been more than nineteen, actually pressed herself against the wall when Lucian passed near her position, her eyes wide with the sort of terror normally reserved for encountering dangerous wild animals.
"Poor child," murmured an elderly lady standing nearby, apparently unaware that her words were audible to Evangeline. "She was quite smitten with him before he went to war, you know. It broke her heart when he returned looking so changed. Though I suppose one cannot blame her for being frightened by such a shocking transformation."
The casual cruelty of the observation struck Evangeline like a physical blow, awakening protective instincts she had not realized she possessed. How dare these people treat her husband like some sort of monster to be feared and avoided? How could they forget that beneath his scars lay the same man who had risked his life to save their children during the recent flood?
Her indignation was interrupted by the approach of a gentleman she had not previously encountered, whose youthful handsomeness and confident manner marked him as someone accustomed to female admiration and social success. He possessed the sort of conventional good looks that would have graced any drawing room. Fair hair, blue eyes, and regular features unmarked by experience or hardship.
"Your Grace," he said with a bow that was perfectly executed yet somehow managed to suggest familiarity rather than mere respect, "allow me to present myself. Charles Ashford, Earl of Westbrook. I had the honor of serving with your husband during the war, though our paths have not crossed since his return toEngland."
"Lord Westbrook," she replied with polite acknowledgment, noting that he appeared to be one of the few guests willing to approach her without obvious anxiety about her husband's proximity. "How pleasant to meet someone who knew my husband during his military service."
"Indeed, though I confess myself amazed by his transformation from bachelor to being a husband with such remarkable speed. When word reached London of his sudden marriage, society could speak of little else."
The comment carried implications that made her spine stiffen with instinctive defensiveness, though she maintained her expression of polite interest. "I trust society found sufficient entertainment in speculating about our private affairs."
"Oh, undoubtedly. Though I confess myself far more interested in discovering how you are faring in your new circumstances than in rehashing old gossip." His voice dropped to a tone of intimate concern that suggested sympathy for her presumed plight. "It cannot be easy, adjusting to such significant changes in your situation. Particularly after your recent indisposition—I heard you were quite unwell following the flood? Such dedication to duty is admirable, though perhaps not entirely wise for a lady of your delicate constitution."
The subtle condescension in his manner—the implication that she was somehow to be pitied for her marriage and her circumstances—awakened the same stubborn pride that had marked her interactions with Lucian during their initial encounters.
"How kind of you to inquire about my health, Lord Westbrook," she replied with the sort of sweet courtesy that disguised the steel beneath. "I am quite recovered, thanks entirely to my husband's devoted care. You cannot imagine how tenderly he nursed me back to health—sitting by my bedside forhours, refusing to leave my side even for meals."
Her voice had risen slightly, and she noted with satisfaction that several nearby conversations had paused as other guests strained to overhear her words.
"Such gentle hands he has," she continued with deliberate emphasis, "and such patience! I have never known such devoted attention from anyone. It quite overwhelmed me, his concern for my welfare. He would not permit anyone else to tend to my needs, insisting that only he could provide the care I required."
Lord Westbrook's lips curved into an unsettling smile as her recitation continued, his eyes lingering on her décolletage with obvious appreciation. "How fortunate for you to receive such attention from your husband," he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. "Though I confess myself surprised that a man of Ravenshollow's reserved nature would prove so attentive to a lady's more delicate needs. Perhaps you found his ministrations somewhat lacking in certain respects?"
She felt her cheeks burn at the inappropriate suggestion, but pressed on with her brilliant smile. "Oh, but you clearly do not know him as well as you suppose. Beneath that stern exterior lies the most tender and considerate of men. Why, during my recovery, he read to me for hours, selected my meals personally, and even arranged for fresh flowers to be brought to my chamber each morning. Such romantic gestures!"
Westbrook stepped closer, his proximity making her distinctly uncomfortable as he murmured, "Flowers and poetry are all very well, my dear Duchess, but surely a woman of your obvious charms requires more substantial appreciation than dusty books and wilted roses?" His gaze swept over her form with brazen admiration. "If you ever find yourself in need of more interesting company, I should be delighted to provide it."
