Guests were smiling and nodding at her now, blatantly angling for her attention: leaders of the local gentry who had never had a kind word to spare for her a week ago, when she had been Penelope’s despised companion. She forced herself to return their nods as graciously as a visiting queen. If it hadn’t been for Sir Jessamyn’s claws digging into her shoulder through her aunt’s second-best lavender silk evening gown, she would have thought herself in a dream.
Even as she smiled for the sake of their observers, though, she spoke in a whisper only her uncle could hear.
“Please,” she whispered. “Wait a few more days before you send her away. Lady Hathergill may well return to her old self in a day or two. This may be only a passing change. If you can only put off your decision until next week—”
“Enough,” Sir John snarled, and yanked out her chair from the table. He glowered at her menacingly as she sat down in the place of honor on his right, and he leaned in to whisper: “From now on, you will hold your tongue on the subject of my wife, madam. Do you understand me?”
Shivers swept Sir Jessamyn from his nose all the way down his tail. Elinor lifted her chin and glared back at her uncle with all the haughty disdain of an empress.
“You,” she said, “are irritating my dragon. Good-bye.” And she turned away to smile graciously at Millie’s father, seated beside her.
Like Millie herself, Mr. Staverton was essentially harmless, a good-humoured man who was only too happy to be asked questions about his hunting dogs and then allowed to run free with anecdotes about them for hours. She shifted Sir Jessamyn to her right shoulder—“That’s a demmed fine little dragon you have there, Mrs. De Lacey, if you don’t mind me saying so! Have you ever tried him on a hunt?”—and let her neighbor ramble on for the rest of supper, grateful for the respite and the chance to think.
Benedict sat across from her, between Lucinda and Penelope. Penelope, as radiant in her pale blue ballgown as a fairy princess, leaned in close to him as they spoke, laughing encouragingly and sliding him meaningful looks beneath her lashes. He cheerfully ignored them, focusing on his meal, while Lucinda conversed with Sir John. Elinor couldn’t help the warm glow of relief in her chest…but she knew that look of gathering storm on her cousin’s face. The weather outside might have cleared since that morning, but the tightness pinching Penelope’s pretty face promised thunderstorms ahead, even as Mr. Armitage, on her other side, devoted all his attention to charming her.
Miss Armitage watched the byplay with narrowed eyes from the other end of the table.
Meanwhile, half a table away, Mr. Aubrey was seated next to Millie and listening to her with an attitude of bewildered despair. He had been bundled into proper evening attire and forced to leave behind all his books, and as Millie rattled on happily, his shoulders sagged lower and lower and his head drooped over his plate.
Poor man, Elinor thought, but really—he didn’t realize how fortunate he was. He could have been seated next to Millie’s mother instead.Herwhole life was devoted to hunting down a husband for her daughter, and as an eligible bachelor with a vast fortune, he would have made the perfect prey. Like it or not, he would have found himself betrothed by the end of supper.
Speaking of which…
As Elinor glanced down the table, she met Miss Armitage’s steely gaze. The other girl looked pointedly to the tall clock in the corner of the room as it chimed the hour, a deep, resonant sound.
Seven o’clock. Only three hours until her deadline. Elinor swallowed down a suddenly-flavourless slice of smoked pheasant and fed the next two pieces to Sir Jessamyn. She had lost her appetite.
At half past seven, the ladies retired to the second-floor sitting room, which had been set up for the night as a private retiring room, complete with mirrors, maids, and discreetly screened chamber pots for their convenience. Elinor drew Penelope aside before Carter could even begin her ministrations.
“You look lovely,” she said, “but Penelope—”
“You really think so?” Penelope slid a glance back at the closest mirror, where Carter was smoothing Lucinda’s hair back into place with practiced hands. “I’m not sure. I—”
“Of course,” Elinor said, “but Penelope…” She drew a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Isn’t there anything you want to share with me?”
Penelope blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“About your plan?” Elinor prompted. “To be betrothed by the end of this evening?”
“Oh!” Penelope’s lips quivered. “Oh, Mrs. De Lacey, I don’t know what’s gone wrong! I could have sworn it would happen by tonight. Perhaps this gown wasn’t right, after all. Perhaps—”
“Surely Mr. Armitage has proposed by now.”
“Well, of course he has.” Penelope scowled. “But that’s the problem! I can’t accept him yet, can I? Mr. Hawkins hasn’t yet proposed. If he doesn’t hurry up and do it, I’ll end up an old maid!”
Elinor forced herself not to roll her eyes. “There is a simpler solution, you know.”
“There is?” Penelope narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I ought to trick him into a compromising situation? So that hehasto propose, like it or not?”
“No!” Elinor stared at her. “For heaven’s sake, of course you shouldn’t. Imeant,you can simply accept Mr. Armitage! He is the one you want to marry, isn’t he?”
“I’m not so certain anymore.” Penelope’s lips pouched out into a pout. “I did think so, at first…but I don’t see why Mr. Hawkins wouldn’t want to marry me. What does he have to be so picky about, after all? He may be very handsome, but he can’t expect to find anyone prettier than me! Can he?”
Elinor sighed. “You find Mr. Armitage handsome, too, don’t you? And you certainly want to share the life he leads. All those London soirees, fancy house parties...”
“I suppose so. But…” Penelope scowled. “Why shouldn’t Benedict Hawkins want me? He’s barely even looked at me for the past few days. From the way he’s been acting, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was in love with you!”
Heat crept up Elinor’s face. “Penelope…”
