Page 28 of His Illegitimate Duchess
"S ophie has never looked worse in all the time that I’ve known her."
Elizabeth was shocked by the terribly disloyal thought that went through her head.
Tonight, her brother’s wife was wearing a splendid puce gown, with the right hairstyle and jewels accompanying it. Her cream-coloured, elbow-length kid gloves elevated her looks above even those of their hostess, Lady Amelia’s mother, and yet her complexion was sallow, her features tense.
Perhaps something unpleasant is happening in her private life.
A cold, oily fear took hold of Lizzie’s heart.
“Is aught amiss?” she asked Sophie in a measured, quiet voice, mindful of curious ears surrounding them.
They had arrived at the ball an hour ago and had just finished making their rounds about the room, meeting and greeting everyone assembled in the Fairchilds’ opulent home.
It was clear that their hosts had spared no expense.
Elizabeth felt a pang of compassion for poor Amelia, who probably detested every moment of this grand spectacle.
“I’m… I’m not sure,” Sophie fanned herself between deep breaths.
“There is not a breath of fresh air in here; that might be what is affecting you. What do you think of getting a glass of lemonade and then going out to the terrace?”
“I fear you might be right, Lizzie. I apologise for not being better company tonight,” Sophie said ruefully, and Lizzie knew that in her case it wasn’t just empty politeness.
The Duchess truly cared whether Elizabeth enjoyed herself at these events.
She is perhaps the only one who does , Lizzie thought and immediately rebuked herself for her second instance of treachery in one evening as they moved towards the tables laden with food and drink. Sophie stopped abruptly.
“Oh.”
“What is it?” Elizabeth gripped Sophie’s arm as she peered into her face, no longer concerned with not attracting attention.
“I think I know what’s wrong. I’m afraid I have to sit down right this instant. Far away from the food. Could you please go with Amelia and find Nicholas for me while I sit down? He probably went to the library to smoke. If not, maybe he’s in the card room or billiard room further down the hall.”
Lizzie nodded, knowing she would find Amelia sitting in one of the chairs lining the wall of the ballroom, furthest away from the excitement and bustling energy of it all. She understood the impulse to retreat and hide all too well, but stifled it within herself.
Luckily, she also remembered to stifle the urge to run and find her brother as quickly as possible.
As she slowly put one foot in front of the other, she kept reminding herself that Sophie hadn’t seemed too concerned.
This needed to be done quietly, elegantly, and efficiently, in a manner befitting of a duke’s sister.
“We cannot just go in there!” Amelia’s tone revealed her mortification at the idea of entering the library full of men who sat around smoking and doing whatever it was that men did behind closed doors.
“How else can we get my brother? You’ve seen Sophie yourself; she needs to go home immediately!” Lizzie’s temper was starting to stir, but she was sure neither Sophie nor her brother would appreciate Lizzie drawing undue attention to whatever was bothering Sophie.
“The library windows are next to the terrace. I’ve spent a lot of time hiding out there when I was younger, and I’d always eavesdrop on the men through the open windows, collecting ideas for my stories. We must ascertain that your brother is in there before knocking on the doors,” Amelia proposed.
Elizabeth nodded, not in the mood for more back-and-forth with her stubborn friend. Surely, Lady Amelia knew what was appropriate better than she did. Once on the terrace, she saw that several of the library windows were open, undoubtedly to let the cheroot smoke out.
The cool evening air felt invigorating after the suffocating indoors. The two young women were still in full view of everyone in the ballroom, so Lizzie let herself enjoy the quiet for a moment before inconspicuously stepping to the side, closer to the library windows.
They leaned against the wall and glided all the way to the far right end of the terrace. Roaring laughter could be heard from inside the library, unlike when the men were with the ladies in the ballroom. She exchanged an amused look with Amelia.
“My bet is that she remains unwed for another season,” a voice said jovially, and the others laughed again.
“She isn’t even attempting to make a match from what I can tell,” another added.
Elizabeth frowned at the gossip. Weren’t these people meant to be gentlemen, above all others in manners and conduct?
She tried pulling Amelia away from the windows and back into the safety of the ballroom, but her friend dug her heels in.
“Have you seen her standing next to her mother and sister? No amount of trying would help in Lady Fairchild’s case.”
Elizabeth glanced over at Amelia, who was now deathly pale. Her humiliation radiated from her body in palpable waves. Lizzie reached out and squeezed Amelia’s clammy hand.
Yes, her friend’s mother and older sister were handsome in a more... conventional way, but Lizzie had always considered Amelia’s unique features bewitching and thought of her as one of the fae from the stories Jane had told her when she was a child.
“Speaking of bets, gentlemen, I don’t know whether you’ve recently had the chance to look at the betting book at White’s,” a deep, unfamiliar voice drawled.
“It turns out that a certain duke’s carriage was seen in front of a certain young lady’s Mayfair residence,” the voice made sure to emphasise the word lady in an unflattering tone.
There was a peal of laughter and Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm. Surely they were not talking of her? As promised, earlier that month, Talbot's valet had delivered some books to her house, but that didn’t seem gossip-worthy to her.
It was just another tactic of his to make me feel intellectually inferior , she thought dismissively, forcing herself to forget the excitement with which she’d looked over the titles.
She had laughed when she’d seen that the parcel contained several accounts of sea voyages, but she'd practically devoured them, even reading portions aloud to the rest of the household on the evenings that she was home.
“I’m afraid I’m not entirely certain what you’re implying,” Talbot’s comfortingly familiar voice said.
He sounded calm and measured, which helped loosen the knot at the back of Elizabeth’s neck.
“The bets are implying it, my friend, not me. You’re dancing the waltz with Hawkins's sister at every ball, I've personally heard you laugh with her, and your carriage was seen in front of her home. I personally put my money on you two being wed by Michaelmas. I know how impulsive the Talbot men are when it comes to their women.”
A chair could be heard scraping on the floor, and Elizabeth imagined Talbot standing up and towering over the other man. She had no explanation for why she imagined the other man shorter than him.
“It’s your money to waste, my friend, even though anyone who knows me can tell you I do not plan on sullying the Talbot line by marrying a by-blow.
All the money in her brother’s coffers wouldn’t be enough to change my mind.
However, several of you could benefit from a substantial dowry, so by all means, go ahead. ”
Elizabeth closed her eyes against the rising humiliation. She’d never thought of the Duke as a potential suitor, nor did she hold a tendre for him. But she did believe them to be friends.
She liked talking to him and making him laugh. She’d felt light and young and carefree whenever she danced and conversed with him. And for her friend to use words such as by-blow and sully when speaking of her… She felt a sharp pain in her chest, and it took her breath away.
“I could look past the illegitimacy,” the jovial fellow from earlier said. “If a woman were pretty enough.”
“A pretty face is not enough,” Talbot reprimanded him.
“We, as the best that this country has to offer, live by a certain set of rules. Without them, everything descends into chaos. If members of the peerage started marrying courtesans and actresses, what would become of the Ton ? Of the bloodlines that have led this country for centuries? Have some pride, Pratt, for Heaven’s sake! ”
Elizabeth and Amelia left after that, both silent and lost to their own pain. Lizzie couldn’t see where they were going; she was too consumed by repeating Talbot’s cutting words to herself over and over again.
He compared marrying me to marrying a courtesan, she realised angrily. She was torn between wanting to go back and hurt herself further by hearing more of what was being said and wanting to go back to smash a vase against Talbot's head.
Amelia knocked on the door of the billiard room, and Duke Hawkins was immediately sent out to meet them.
They found Sophie, made their excuses to the hosts, and left before the dancing even started.
She didn’t want to be there any more. And she certainly didn’t want to see the Duke of Norwich ever again.
Elizabeth was relieved that neither Nicholas nor Sophie had noticed her inner turmoil on the carriage ride home. She couldn’t feel her fingers; they were cold and numb, and she kept rubbing them to warm them up.
Nicholas was softly murmuring something into Sophie’s ear and wiping her brow with his handkerchief. Elizabeth felt such a strong wave of hatred for them both that she was disgusted with herself.
Dear God, please help me recover from this feeling, she prayed fervently. Please let this shame and pain stop. Please let me fall asleep and wake up and have this be a dream.
She remembered the man who had called her the daughter of a whore and realized that those words had hurt less because they’d been delivered by a stranger.