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At her side, her father cursed and took a step towards the retreating matron.

Marcia gripped his arm. “Please don’t,” she begged.

“I’ll see her thrown out,” Marcus gritted.

“Stop!” Marcia exclaimed, and then she lowered her voice. “Please,” she implored. Because then that would be talked about, too. “You cannot silence everyone.” Lord knew her father had certainly tried, failing still to realize or accept that Marcia would continue to find herself given the cut direct.

“I can try,” Marcus said, balling his hands at his sides.

Hewouldtry, but he wouldn’t succeed. “I’d rather you did not, Papa.” She held his eyes. “Please.”

He looked like a man tortured, and then he gave a tight nod.

Her mother, who’d been oblivious to this latest snub, exclaimed happily, “He’s here!”

Marcia’s hopes rose… only to flag a moment later.

“Wakefield approaches!” her mother said.

Ah, so this was the next supportive fellow lined up in the Restore Marcia’s Reputation Tour.

Wakefield, as in Benedict, one of her other dear friends. Like Andrew, whenever they’d been in attendance at summer house parties, Benedict had always allowed her to join in his and Andrew’s fun.

Bespectacled and somber where Andrew was teasing, respectable where Andrew was not, the young earl couldn’t have been a bigger foil to the viscount. For those reasons, he was apparently the person favored by her father to stand up with her. His friendship, however, was no less dear.

“Wakefield,” her father said when Benedict arrived.

The men exchanged bows.

“Look, Marcia, it isWakefield,” her father said, and she fought the urge to cringe with embarrassment.

“Yes, I see that.” Marcia looked at the earl. “Benedict,” she greeted.

“I thought I might request a set,” he said, offering a bow.

She opened her mouth, but her father said, “This one will do. Will it not?”

How eager her father was to rush her off. Marcia donned a smile. “Of course.” She placed her fingertips on Benedict’s sleeve, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor for the next set, a quadrille.

Perhaps because he wants to see you married off, to be rid of you, so that you aren’t a constant reminder,the insecure voice in her head taunted.

Marcia dipped a curtsy to the other gentleman beside her who, instead of offering the requisite bow to her as his neighbor, presented her with his shoulder in a clear cut direct.

Marcia bit the inside of her cheek. How was it possible to both love her family for supporting her while also hating them for putting her through this? Powerful as he was, her father’s protection extended to his wife, but that same courtesy had been shown to the bastard daughter of another man.

She and Benedict met in the middle.

“I’m sorry, Marcia,” he said quietly.

She lifted her gaze.

“Thornton is an arse.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “I daresay this must be the first I’ve ever heard a curse from you, Benedict.” Unlike Andrew, who’d taught her some of her favorites.

A blush stained the earl’s cheeks. “I allow it when the situation merits it.”

They were separated once more by the steps of the dance.