Whatever euphoria he’d felt moments ago vanished. He’d won nothing this night, no matter however many pounds richer he was.
No. He’d lost everything.
* * *
The crowd parted for Lillian as if she were plague-ridden, each person jerking away from even the hint of her touch. Eyes glanced at her with disdain, then fogged over with indifference and slid over her entirely. She did not exist.
Back to that, was she?
She could hardly care.
What she did care about was the fire-breathing man behind her who’d just catapulted his body into the ballroom and catapulted her into shame.
They’d never stop talking about it. Anywhere she went, the whispers would remain the same.Do you remember when her husband…?
If she was lucky, they’d treat her as they had before, which was not at all.
She did not consider herself lucky.
Devon had been, though. Her heart found lightness and rose in her chest for a brief flutter of a moment. He’dwon. She almost skipped.
He’d won, and Frederick’s would be his.
The flutter of victory died under the boot heel of fear.
At the edge of the ballroom, she turned and looked out over the sea of swirling skirts and dark jackets, soft and strong and glittering they all were. And they had already turned from her, turned from the scene. She was invisible once more.
“There you are!”
Abigail rushed toward her, pushing her way through two pink-dressed matrons with orange feathers towering over their heads. “Lillian! I heard Lord Devon’s name and yours bantered about, and I heard the scuffle of course, but I saw nothing! Is what they’re saying true?”
Lillian stiffened. “What are they saying?”
“That Lord Devon assaulted a man right here in the ballroom after cheating at cards and throwing the table over when he was caught.”
Lillian could not help it. She laughed. Long and hard. She likely drew more looks. Why should she care? “I am quite sure,” she finally said between gasps for air, “that most of that never occurred. Lord Devon would never cheat.” Flip a table… maybe. Brawl in a ballroom? Certainly.
“Lady Abigail.” A man’s voice rose over the ballroom, and the crowd before them parted. The Earl of Needleham stepped forward, his mouth twisted in disgust. “Come here at once.”
Abigail jumped. “Wh—what’s wrong, Father?”
Lord Needleham never took his gaze off Lillian, and she thought she might suffocate in the disapproval rolling off him. Abigail looked between them, first at her father, then at Lillian, then back to her father, her eyebrows furrowing deeper each time her head swiveled.
Lord Needleham wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her away from Lillian. “There are some people you should not associate with, my dear.”
“But…” She blinked. “You meanLillian?”
“Of course, I mean her. She and her husband are not proper acquaintances for you.”
“But you’ve not cared—”
“I have! I’ve humored you. Until now. I can no longer look past their actions. Come.” He steered her away from Lillian.
Abigail looked at her over her shoulder, sorrow and a hint of apology in her eyes. Just a hint, though, not enough to influence her to go against her father’s wishes. Abigail disappeared into the belly of the whirling, whisperington.
So too did Lillian’s dreams and ambitions.
CHAPTER23
