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Page 22 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)

The gilt-edged invitation to the Thornley Assembly had arrived three days after Evangeline's recovery from her collapse during the flood crisis, bearing the elaborate script and heavy cream paper that marked it as a communication from the highest echelons of local society.

Mrs. Cromwell had presented it with the sort of ceremonial gravity that suggested she understood its significance far better than its recipient, though Evangeline required no explanation to recognize that this would mark her first true test as the Duchess of Ravenshollow in the unforgiving arena of public scrutiny.

"Sir Geoffrey Thornley holds the assembly every December," Mrs. Cromwell had explained with careful neutrality, "though His Grace has not attended such functions since his return from the war.

The local families will be most curious to see the new duchess and to observe how she and His Grace conduct themselves in society. "

The careful phrasing had done little to disguise the fact that Evangeline would be entering what amounted to a battlefield where her every word, gesture, and expression would be analyzed for evidence of her suitability—or lack thereof—for the exalted position she now occupied.

The prospect filled her with a combination of determination and dread that had made the days leading up to the event pass with agonizing slowness.

***

Now, as she stood before the looking glass in her chambers while Mary put the finishing touches on her evening toilette, Evangeline found herself questioning every aspect of her appearance with the sort of anxious scrutiny that would have been entirely foreign to her nature mere weeks ago.

The gown she had chosen, a creation of deep blue silk that complemented her dark hair, was undoubtedly beautiful, yet she could not shake the fear that it might somehow mark her as either too majestic for her origins or too modest for her current station.

"You look magnificent, Your Grace," Mary assured her with genuine admiration, stepping back to survey her handiwork. "Every lady at the assembly will envy your elegance, and every gentleman will admire your beauty."

"Thank you, Mary. Though I confess myself more concerned with avoiding any serious social missteps than with inspiring either envy or admiration."

The truth was that Evangeline had spent considerable time during her recovery studying the intricacies of social precedence and protocol, determined not to embarrass either herself or Lucian through ignorance of the complex rules that governed interactions among the nobility.

The responsibility of representing one of England's most ancient duchies was not one she took lightly, particularly when her own background provided so little preparation for such elevated circles.

Lucian was waiting for her in the entrance hall when she descended the main staircase, his imposing figure resplendent in formal evening wear that emphasized both his impressive height and the military bearing that years of civilian life had done nothing to diminish.

He had taken particular care with his appearance, she noted, his dark hair arranged to minimize the visibility of his scars while his perfectly tailored coat spoke of London's finest craftsmen.

Yet despite his elegant attire and dignified bearing, she could see the tension in his shoulders and the wariness in his dark eyes that suggested he anticipated the evening ahead with considerably less enthusiasm than social obligation demanded.

"You look beautiful," he said with the sort of formal courtesy that had marked their public interactions since their marriage, though she detected something warmer in his tone than mere politeness would require. "That particular shade of blue is most becoming."

She felt heat rise to her cheeks at the compliment, her fingers nervously smoothing the silk of her skirts as she struggled to meet his gaze.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You appear quite distinguished yourself.

" She hesitated, gathering her courage before adding in a rush, "Though I confess myself rather anxious about this evening.

Will the local society be kind to us, do you think?

To their returning Duke and his..." She faltered, the word 'wife' seeming too intimate to speak aloud, ". ..and his new Duchess?"

His expression grew darker at her question, suggesting that he harbored no illusions about the reception they were likely to encounter.

"Local society will be curious, critical, and probably somewhat hostile.

You must prepare yourself for questions that border on impertinence and observations that are intended to wound rather than welcome. "

"How encouraging. And how should I respond to such hospitality?"

"With dignity, composure, and the absolute minimum of information necessary to maintain civility. Remember that anything you say will be repeated, analyzed, and probably distorted before tomorrow's sunrise."

The coaching he provided during their journey to Thornley Manor proved invaluable, as he outlined the complex web of relationships, rivalries, and social hierarchies that would govern the evening's interactions.

Sir Geoffrey Thornley, their host, was apparently a man of modest abilities but considerable wealth who compensated for his lack of distinguished lineage by hosting elaborate entertainments designed to attract the region's most elevated personages.

"He will be obsequious to the point of embarrassment," Lucian warned as their carriage approached the imposing facade of Thornley Manor, its windows blazing with the light of what appeared to be hundreds of candles.

"His wife will be equally effusive in her attempts to demonstrate her familiarity with ducal customs. Both will be watching for any sign that you are unworthy of your position. "

"And the other guests?"

"A mixture of local gentry, minor nobility, and wealthy merchants who have purchased their way into society's fringes. Some will be genuinely welcoming; others will view you as an upstart who has achieved through marriage what they could never hope to attain through merit."

The assembly rooms at Thornley Manor proved to be every bit as regal as Evangeline had anticipated, with soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and walls decorated with portraits of distinguished ancestors whose painted eyes seemed to follow her progress with disapproving scrutiny.

The sound of conversation and laughter filled the air, creating the sort of sophisticated atmosphere that marked gatherings of the fashionable world.

Yet the moment she and Lucian were announced by the liveried footman, a peculiar hush fell over the assembled company, as though their arrival had introduced some discordant element into what had previously been harmonious entertainment.

Evangeline was acutely conscious of being studied with the sort of intense scrutiny normally reserved for exotic specimens in a menagerie, though she maintained her composure with the dignity her position demanded.

Sir Geoffrey Thornley approached with the sort of elaborate ceremony that suggested he had been rehearsing this moment for days, his round face beaming with the satisfaction of a man who had succeeded in attracting truly distinguished guests to his entertainment.

"Your Grace! What an honour, what an absolute honour to welcome the Duchess and you to our humble assembly," he gushed with such obvious delight that Evangeline found herself warming to him despite Lucian's warnings about his obsequiousness.

"Lady Thornley and I are positively overwhelmed by your condescension in gracing our little gathering with your presence. "

"The pleasure is entirely ours, Sir Geoffrey," Evangeline replied with the sort of gracious courtesy that her governess had drilled into her during childhood. "Your home is magnificent, and the company appears most distinguished."

Lady Thornley materialized at her husband's elbow with the sort of precision that suggested careful choreography, her elaborate evening dress and profusion of jewels clearly intended to demonstrate her family's prosperity and social aspirations.

"Your Grace, you are even more beautiful than the reports suggested," she exclaimed with enthusiasm that appeared genuine despite its excessive nature. "That gown is absolutely exquisite—surely it must be from London? We have so little access to truly fashionable modistes in Yorkshire."

The compliment was delivered with such obvious hunger for details about London fashion that Evangeline found herself responding with more warmth than she had anticipated, launching into a discussion of gowns and modistes that seemed to delight her hostess beyond measure.

It was while she was engaged in this exchange that she became aware of the peculiar effect that Lucian's presence was having upon the other guests.

Wherever he moved, people seemed to melt away like shadows before sunlight, creating an invisible barrier around him that no one dared to cross.

Conversations faltered when he approached, resuming only after he had passed beyond hearing distance with the sort of nervous energy that suggested relief at having avoided direct interaction.

The reaction was most pronounced among the younger guests, particularly the ladies who had presumably known him before his injuries.

She watched in growing dismay as Miss Caroline Whitfield, a pretty blonde who could not have been more than nineteen, actually pressed herself against the wall when Lucian passed near her position, her eyes wide with the sort of terror normally reserved for encountering dangerous wild animals.