Page 16 of His Illegitimate Duchess

T hat afternoon, Mary had carefully brushed Elizabeth’s long hair and then massaged a perfumed pomade into it to soften it.

She’d then dusted her head with a cleansing powder, which she then vigorously brushed out together with any impurities present in the hair.

Finally, she put up most of it in an elaborate style with what felt like a hundred pins, leaving the hair around the face loose, in order to shape it into curls later on.

“You are a magician, Mary,” Lizzie breathed in awe when she saw herself in the looking glass after Mary had helped her dress.

“I only work with what God has given you,” Mary waved her hand, dismissing the compliment. “And that colour suits you more than I thought possible.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth’s mouth twisted into a grimace as she tried not to cry.

“Don’t you dare leave streaks in the powder,” Mary threatened. “Now let me find a ribbon that goes with the dress.”

The days leading up to Elizabeth’s first Wednesday ball had passed in a feverish frenzy of preparations that had tried the entire household’s nerves, and she could only exhale in relief while ascending the impressive stone staircase that led to the ballroom, accompanied on this momentous occasion by both Isolde and Sophie.

The ballroom at Almack’s was smaller than Elizabeth had imagined. It was tastefully decorated, with a carefully polished floor and fine drapery hanging on the ornately moulded walls. Comfortable-looking settees lined the sides of the room.

Its brilliant lustres illuminated the room by magnifying the light through hundreds of little glass drops. Lizzie felt eyes on her as she was looking up at the lustres, and she noticed one of the orchestra musicians staring at her. She quickly looked away.

Some of her magazines had called Almack’s the "exclusive temple of the beau monde ", and as the orchestra played some soothing background music from their gallery up in the clouds, Elizabeth could very well picture pristine white wings on all the guests and worried, for the first time, if her mulberry dress was perhaps too daring for heaven.

She remembered the excitement of going to Miss Euphemia’s to have it made, followed by the disappointment at how different things were at the salon now that she was a customer. None of the girls had been allowed to come out and greet her because, understandably, they’d had to work.

Elizabeth had then spent days arguing with Aunt Isolde about the dress, which culminated in her aunt bringing the matter to Nicholas and Sophie, who saw the dress and deemed the colour appropriate.

They also reminded Isolde of Lizzie’s work and fashion experience and urged her not to interfere unless Elizabeth wanted to wear a scandalous cut, which even Isolde had to agree was very unlikely.

Elizabeth and her chaperones stopped in front of Lady Georgiana, who was conversing with two other, equally formidable-looking ladies. Elizabeth could not decipher whether the older woman approved of her attire.

“Your Grace,” they all curtsied to Sophie, who returned their greetings with all the appropriate titles effortlessly and only then acknowledged Isolde.

Elizabeth committed the scene to memory, resolved that one day she’d be able to do the same.

“Lady Hawthorne, Countess Levine, may I present to you my husband’s sister, Lady Elizabeth Hawkins?” Sophie said in her sweet voice that belied the stone foundation beneath.

After all three women acknowledged the introduction (and the title), Lady Georgiana proclaimed, “The other Patronesses and I have decided to permit you to engage in waltzing tonight.”

Lady Burnham had already told her that the waltz was still considered somewhat improper by the older set and that they carefully selected who was allowed to dance it; thus, Elizabeth had expected nothing but quadrilles and reels on her first night.

“Thank you very much,” she managed to say just as a young man approached the group and bowed deeply before greeting them.

He had the most striking turquoise eyes and smiled in a way that prominently displayed his even teeth.

“Good evening, ladies. Your Grace, Marchioness.”

“Good evening, Lord Slaymaker,” Sophie greeted the newcomer.

“Lord Slaymaker,” Lady Georgiana said, “I wish to present to you Duke Hawkins’s sister, Lady Elizabeth Hawkins.”

“I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Lady Elizabeth,” the man told her in a voice that was as beautiful as the rest of him.

Elizabeth’s throat threatened to quiver when she spoke.

“As am I, Lord Slaymaker.”

“Would you be so kind as to dance the first dance of the evening with me?”

“I shall make note of it in my dance card,” she said, relieved that she sounded composed and polite.

After all the pleasantries were concluded, and Elizabeth and her companions left the Patronesses, Aunt Isolde explained sotto voce , “Lord George Slaymaker is Earl Slaymaker’s younger son. He is six and twenty, I believe.”

Isolde continued to offer every piece of information she had on every young man they saw or talked to for the rest of the night, which turned out to be surprisingly helpful.

“Mister Paul Goulding,” Isolde informed her, “is a third son whose chosen profession is the law. He is educated and financially independent, without a title and in no need of one, but he could benefit from a match with you both politically and financially.”

Elizabeth promised him the second dance of the evening, a quadrille.

“Corporal Oliver Harding,” she whispered behind her fan, “inherited a big entailed estate when he came back from the war some five years ago. According to rumour,” aunt Isolde said, “he is in need of funds to restore and run it.”

He asked for the second waltz, since he was already engaged for the first. He seemed about a decade older than Elizabeth, had very broad shoulders and an air of authority he most likely acquired in the military.

As Elizabeth was trying to surreptitiously observe the group of admirers gathered around the frustratingly beautiful Lady Helena, who was fanning herself gaily as she listened to one of them, a familiar voice greeted both Sophie and Isolde, leaving her for last.

“Miss Hawkins,” he said, and Lizzie ran her tongue over her teeth to stop a smile at the insolence.

How would she explain to Sophie, who had invested all this effort to present her to the Ton as Lady Elizabeth, that this did not offend her?

“Your Grace,” she curtsied dutifully, while he regarded her as if she were an interesting pet.

“Your Grace,” Sophie said coldly.

Elizabeth frowned before remembering to smooth out her expression.

Was the slight to her the reason for Sophie’s strange demeanour?

The young duchess was the epitome of politeness and good breeding, regardless of who she spoke to.

Surely Elizabeth wasn’t significant enough to warrant offending a duke?

It was Talbot’s turn to try and fail to hide his amusement. Only, the smile that curved his lips seemed cruel and ironic.

He looked from Elizabeth to Sophie a few times before saying in what Elizabeth by now knew was his provocative voice, “Miss Hawkins, I hope you haven’t promised anyone the first waltz.”

“I haven’t,” Elizabeth replied, despite guessing (correctly) that his sole aim was to upset Sophie further. She knew she had no good reason to politely refuse him, since she indeed had not promised the dance to another.

“Splendid, I hope you shall do me the honour of dancing it with me then.”

“I look forward to it.”

For the first time since she had entered polite society, Elizabeth was happy that etiquette demanded that gloves had to be worn in the ballroom, because even through his gloves, she felt her waist burning where Lord Slaymaker’s hand was on it.

After years of always avoiding all men, she was now being forced into close proximity with so many of them, while simultaneously having to execute intricate dance steps and keep her posture upright.

How could she hope to converse in a calm, composed, and engaging way with a man who was touching her and smiling at her like this one was? It was frightening, exhilarating, and exhausting. And this was only the first dance of the evening.

Despite Slaymaker’s bewitching appearance, Elizabeth was able to remain dispassionate and attempt to learn more about his character.

Mercifully, he was content to hold the conversation with minimal participation from her – he told her all about the new thoroughbreds he’d purchased just last week, the shop that ordered special cigars for him alone, and explained that he found Almack’s incredibly dull compared to other places he enjoyed frequenting.

Before she knew it, he was bowing to her and leading her into the arms of Mister Paul Goulding.

Mister Goulding was less vainglorious than Slaymaker, but he was, unfortunately, rather dull.

He remarked on the beauty of the evening, and Elizabeth agreed.

He then complimented the gold ribbon in her hair. She thanked him.

She asked him whether he enjoyed being a lawyer, and he said he did.

They danced on in silence.

Elizabeth wondered whether there would be any good cake at the refreshment table.

Goulding then started extolling her brother’s virtues. Elizabeth didn’t disagree, for she loved her brother, but it was a rather strange choice of subject for a quadrille.

As he led her to Talbot for their waltz, he urged her to pass on his kindest regards to her brother, the Duke, and Talbot raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as Talbot competently arranged their bodies for the dance.

Mister Goulding, in addition to all his other faults, had smelled rather stale, and a few of the other dancers she had passed during the lively quadrille had been sweaty or musty, whereas Talbot, despite all of his faults, smelled better than any other man she’d encountered in her life.

“A friend of your brother’s, is he?” He asked, and her eyes flew open.

“I’m afraid he only wishes to be.”