Page 49

Vivian raised an eyebrow, her expression one of mocking disbelief. “Oh, please. You have been glaring at them like a hawk all evening, and now you are going to try and convince me that it is ‘nonsense’?”

He gritted his teeth in a silent refusal to entertain his grandmother’s accusation.

He knew that there was no point in denying what was patently obvious, at least where Vivian was concerned.

He glanced back at Gemma and Andrew, seeing the latter lean in closer to whisper something into her ear. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to march over there and pull her away from him.

Vivian’s voice interrupted his thoughts once more. “You could always go and cut in, you know. It is what men do when they are interested.”

Frederick shot her a glare. “I am not interested.”

Vivian’s laugh was soft but teasing. “Of course not. That is why you look like you are going to throttle poor Andrew.”

As the music continued, Frederick found himself unable to stay still. The sight of Andrew’s hand on Gemma’s waist, and the way her laugh carried across the room gnawed at him mercilessly. His stomach knotted as he seethed with jealousy.

When he saw Gemma walk away from the crowded ballroom, her face slightly flushed as she made her way down a quiet corridor, Frederick couldn’t resist following.

He didn’t know what had spurred her departure, but he had seen enough for tonight.

He needed answers.

As Gemma made her way through the throngs of elegantly dressed guests, she felt the sharp glances and heard the faint whispers that followed her.

She was used to curious stares and a few sidelong looks. Accompanying the Dowager Duchess of Blackridge, who rarely took on companions, gave her a certain mystique. But tonight, the whispers seemed to reach her ears with peculiar clarity, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her a little too closely for comfort.

“Oh, it is Miss Bradford, is it not?” A tall, poised lady with a delicate smile caught her arm, her voice as smooth as cream but with an edge that made Gemma’s stomach tighten. “You must tell us all! How did you come to be in Her Grace’s favor?”

Gemma managed a polite smile, though her fingers suddenly felt cold. “I am fortunate to have met Her Grace,” she replied evenly, hoping to end the conversation there.

But the lady’s smile only widened.

Another voice chimed in, that of a young woman with bright eyes and an all-too-keen interest.

“Yes, how curious. We have heard that you are not from these parts. What an unusual choice for Her Grace to makea companion of someone… unknown to society. Are you from London, perhaps?”

The question felt like a probe, and Gemma swallowed. “No, not from London,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light.

“Oh, how fascinating! Then where, pray tell?”

Gemma hesitated, memories of St. Catherine’s prickling at the edge of her mind. She wished the Dowager was with her to intervene or whisk her away, but the she was across the room, deep in conversation with an old friend.

“I grew up in the countryside,” she said softly, trying to steer the conversation away. “It was… a quiet life.”

“And what of your family?” a third woman asked, her head tilted in a way that suggested she was aware of just how unsettling her question was. “I would imagine they must miss you dreadfully, what with you now residing here in the north.”

A pang of loneliness shot through Gemma, the sting of her mother’s rejection and the endless years at the convent pressing against her heart.

She forced a smile. “They… they are dead.”

“Oh, how tragic,” one of them murmured, though her expression held no trace of genuine sympathy. Instead, she leaned in closer. “So no family to speak of, then?”

Gemma’s throat tightened and she could feel her face growing warm.

She didn’t dare let her discomfort show, even as her mind reeled with memories she tried so hard to suppress; the empty convent hallways, the letters that went unanswered, the nuns’ cold voices telling her she wasalone.

“No,” she managed to say, her voice steadier than she felt. “No family at all.”

The trio exchanged looks, their curiosity evidently piqued.