Lady Anabeth stayed silent for the remainder of their dance.
* * *
The carriage sat justoutside Blythe’s home, a footman standing by the door, ready to assist Beatrice and Melinda from the vehicle.
Beatrice looked down at her skirts, soothed by the weave of the iridescent blue silk. The fabric was beautiful, rippling in the light as if stars were caught within. An eye-catching gown, meant for a magnificent entrance. Melinda had helped style Beatrice’s hair so that a fall of ringlets hung over her right ear. Sapphires dangled from her ears.
Clever Andromeda had taken a bit of wire and placed it over the curve of her right ear, settling the sapphire earring just over her ruined lobe. Looking in the mirror, not even Beatrice could tell that the earring wasn’t affixed to her earlobe. The bodice of her dress was cut at an angle in a departure from the current style and nearly covered all her right shoulder before sweeping across to fall from her left.
The design was bold. The scars along the edge of her cheek and neck were clearly visible, but the worst were hidden. She looked beautiful, slightly snobbish, and very much like the Beatrice Howard she’d once been.
“Stunning, Your Grace,” Melinda said from across the carriage. “And I thank you for my own gown.” Andromeda had produced a gown of green striped silk which only needed a few adjustments to fit Melinda.
“You’re quite welcome. But your thanks are owed to the Duchess of Granby.” Beatrice’s stomach pitched, though the carriage had stopped moving. “I should have eaten. I don’t feel at all well.” She thought it was being in London once more and perhaps apprehension about seeing Lord and Lady Foxwood. There was no fear over seeing Blythe, only a gnawing desperation to be with him.
“Nerves, Your Grace. But don’t worry. I’ll be right beside you, carrying this.” She held up a fan. “And the Duchess of Granby is inside, waiting.”
After completing the gown in record time, waving away the extreme effort as of little consequence, Andromeda had called earlier today to ensure no further alterations were necessary. The idea of surprising Blythe, and everyone else, with her presence had seemed like such a good idea when they’d had tea. Andromeda had brought the most delicious tiny cakes made by her cousin, Lady Torrington.
“What if I misread the situation, Melinda? Or what if I pushed him right into Lady Anabeth’s waiting arms?”
“He’ll take one look at you in that gown and put all that aside.” Melinda stepped out of the carriage. “Blythe has a lovely home, Your Grace. Very grand.”
“It doesn’t have a ballroom,” Beatrice said with a shrug. “So, by London standards, it is only average.”
“I see.” Melinda nodded. “Still, much finer than dancing at the village green in Chiddon, don’t you think?”
Beatrice would give anything to be back in front of the fiddler and dancing on the grass with Blythe. “I don’t think I can go in, Melinda. What if he no longer—” Nausea welled up inside her again. Beatrice had been ill the entire time she’d been in London. She wasn’t used to the noise anymore. Or the smell. And all the carriages. Not to mention the pile of hissing snakes she knew awaited her inside Blythe’s home.
“Lord Blythe cares deeply for you, Your Grace. I do not think one terrible argument in which you behaved stupidly will put him off. Summon all that sharp, cold superiority you once wielded. March inside and take your place once more.”
“My parents are likely here. Lady Blythe doesn’t care for them, but Lord and Lady Foxwood are the sort you must invite to maintain appearances.”
“All the better. I’ve looked forward to making their acquaintance.” Melinda lowered her voice. “Andromeda is inside. She expects you. I wouldn’t dare disappoint her. And Blythe will find you. Ignore everyone else.”
Beatrice straightened her spine and lifted her shoulders. Her battlefield was before her. She was a seasoned soldier. Let them make their cutting remarks. Whisper about her. Stare if they wished. She was not the wounded duchess Castlemare had banished. Nor the daughter her parents had manipulated for years and then discarded. “I’m ready.”
Melinda stayed just to her right, a pace behind as Beatrice took the steps and walked inside. A servant passing by stumbled, catching sight of her ruined cheek and neck.
Barely noticeable indeed.
Beatrice lifted her chin higher. “You should see my shoulder,” she murmured before he scuttled out of her path.
The house was warm, scents filling the air. Pomade, the press of warm bodies, and violets fought for dominance over the vases of fresh roses topping nearly every surface. Beatrice could hear the strains of a waltz echoing along the hall.
Melinda, eyes wide, drank in the sight. “Impressive.”
“Not really.” Beatrice steeled herself and took in a large portrait of a green pear sitting in a bowl. “Blythe’s mother has terrible taste in art. You’d think with his love of such things, he would have tempered her plastering the walls with that.” She pointed to the painting. “The pears will be the first things to go.”
“That’s the spirit, Your Grace.”
Beatrice’s steps hesitated a fraction as she moved through the crowd. This was no small party. Half of London must be here. Eyes turned in her direction. Fans snapped. Surprised gasps sounded.
I always did like to make an entrance.
She reached into the pocket of her gown, fingers tracing the lines of her little carving. Her betrothal bee. Upon seeing the bee earlier, Andromeda had declared it a good luck charm—one Beatrice must keep with her tonight. It would give her courage and remind her of Blythe.
Wisdom. Another thing Beatrice decided she envied in Andromeda.
