Page 29 of His Illegitimate Duchess

Everyone feels entitled to use me as a cesspool in which to dispose of all their asperity and bitterness and foulness because I am fatherless and have no protector in this world, she thought sadly, feeling as if she were adrift out on a vast sea without anyone to come to her aid, more alone than she’d ever been.

“You’re back early,” Mrs. Barlow said when Lizzie stumbled into the house.

“Sophie wasn’t feeling well, so we left early,” she replied calmly.

“Who was ill?” Jane called from the kitchen, so the two women joined her in there.

“Where is Ma?” Lizzie asked as she sat down next to Mary, who was chewing something.

“She went to bed. Who was ill?” Jane asked again.

“Duchess Sophie,” Mrs. Barlow explained.

“Yes, we were at the ball and were going to get some food, and then she got this ghastly pallor and had to sit down. I was out of my mind with fear, but she seemed unconcerned.”

Mrs. Barlow and Jane exchanged a look.

“Why are you acting so strange?” Mary frowned at her.

“I don’t know,” Lizzie said weakly. “Maybe the same illness plagues me and Sophie.”

Mrs Barlow laughed. “I don’t think so.”

*

Elizabeth cried off going to Almack’s the following Wednesday under the pretence of being ill. Instead, she sat with Mary in her room and talked about what to do next while Mary dusted and combed her hair before bed.

“I say you tell him,” Mary insisted.

“Tell him what, Mary? That I don’t want to be his friend anymore? It feels so silly. I’m not even sure why I got this upset; he didn’t mislead me about his intentions or break an engagement, or anything of the sort,” Elizabeth said nervously as she pulled on a thread on her sleeve.

“Lizzie…” Mary sighed and put her hand on Lizzie’s shoulder gently, as if to let her know that she wasn’t exasperated by her but also to prevent her from pulling on the thread further.

“Of course you’re upset. Furthermore, you need to be more upset.

You should be enraged; you have the right to be.

The dukeling could have simply said that he wasn’t courting you instead of insulting you behind your back to a room full of potential suitors.

Imagine if the Corporal had been there? And why bring courtesans into the story when talking about you? Appalling!”

Lizzie’s heart was warmed by her friend’s indignation on her behalf.

“You’re right,” Lizzie sighed. “The next time I see him, I shall tell him that I heard what he said and that I have no interest in cultivating our friendship further. I had forgotten that I have only one objective for being at all the balls and events, and that’s matrimony, not friendship.”

“You’d better,” Mary said sternly. “What he said was vile. Especially since he was the one sending you the cheese and those books.”

“That’s the part I don’t understand. He did those things of his own volition. I never reciprocated, nor did anything similar.”

“Those people are strange,” Mary concluded wisely, and that was the end of it.

*

“I’m glad to finally have you among us again, Lady Elizabeth,” Oliver bowed with a smile after he’d exchanged pleasantries with her aunt.

“It’s wonderful to be back among friends, Corporal Harding,” she replied sincerely.

Elizabeth wasn’t a coward, she told herself; it was pure chance that she’d missed Opera, the Park, and a number of other engagements in the fortnight after the Fairchilds’ ball. She’d also turned away all visitors, citing illness as a reason. But that was over now.

She was looking forward to spending time with Corporal Harding at the Overtons’ ball.

She told herself that he was a good, decent young man who was being herded towards matrimony in much the same way that she was.

A man who was low enough in the social hierarchy not to be in peril of sullying anything by associating with the likes of her.

A man who was quick to smile, and who would live out the rest of his respectable days out in Wiltshire, away from this sooty city and all who lived in it.

“Would you do me the honour of saving the first waltz for me?” Oliver asked so hopefully that it warmed her heart.

“Of course. It would be my pleasure,” Lizzie smiled as she took her dance card out of her reticule.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

When Duke Colin Talbot finally graced the hosts with his holy presence more than an hour later, Elizabeth struggled with the habitual pleasantries and with accepting his invitation to dance without bursting into angry, frustrated tears.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he bowed and walked away, most likely to discuss bloodlines and social order elsewhere.

Elizabeth exhaled wearily when he was gone. This was unlike her. She needed to take these vexatious feelings of resentment and discontent and put them away with all the other ones that bothered her in order to remain amiable, joyful, and pleasant.

She wanted her insides to match her outsides, which were, if she was being honest with herself, looking particularly captivating in the sorrel gown which Mary had altered to flatter her figure even more. Elizabeth sat down next to her Aunt Isolde, who was an excellent reminder of why she was here.

When it was time for her final waltz with Duke Talbot, all of Elizabeth’s insides felt… agitated. The feeling reminded her of the time she had, as a child, swallowed a fly on a dare. Thomas had been the one to dare her, naturally. She hadn’t thought about the fly in years.

Elizabeth stared at the hand Talbot was offering her as she thought of that poor fly. It all felt so wrong and so insincere, this farce of a dance, this illusion of polish and manners. She cleared her throat slightly as she took the offered hand.

As they moved closer to each other, Lizzie inhaled deeply, for she knew this was the last time she’d be inhaling his perfume from this distance.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

It was only the second time he’d ever uttered her first name.

Her eyes flew open.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Elizabeth replied in her calmest voice.

Talbot frowned.

“Are you still feeling unwell?” He asked.

Elizabeth didn’t understand how one could feign concern so skillfully.

“No. I have to have a conversation I’m not looking forward to,” she admitted.

“Surely not with me,” he smiled confidently, and leaned in to allow her to gossip more easily. “I must say, these balls have been dreadfully tedious without your fits of temper.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, and Talbot raised both his eyebrows.

She took a big breath.

“At the Fairchild ball,” she said, then stopped speaking.

“Yes?”

“I went to the terrace for some air.”

“I see,” he said, although he didn’t.

“The library windows were open directly next to it. I heard you and your friends discuss the betting books at White’s,” Elizabeth said as quickly as she could and then pressed her mouth closed.

Talbot was silent for several beats as a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I see,” he said again, more angrily this time.

Elizabeth finally dared to lift her head and look into his face. He seemed paler than usual, but that could have been a mere trick of the light.

“I won’t insult you by making excuses,” he quickly added.

“I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” he said arrogantly after a while.

She knew better than to expect an apology or a denial from a man like him, and yet her throat burned with indignation.

The music playing in the background was entirely inappropriate for the conversation they were having.

“Hearing that an association with oneself would sully a bloodline is rarely pleasant, regardless of how true the speaker may believe it to be,” she said, and the surge of righteous anger felt invigorating.

They were both silent for a while. It seemed to Elizabeth that his grip on her hand had tightened slightly.

“I was under the impression that you were my friend,” she tried to utter without her voice breaking. She suddenly felt pathetic. “Please refrain from asking me to dance with you again. Spare us both the offence of my refusal.”

Talbot’s rigid posture resembled that of a tall, ancient tree.

“Whatever you desire, Miss Hawkins,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Thank you,” she said without looking at him.

“I,” Talbot’s gaze slowly travelled from her brow, down her nose, all the way down to her lips, and then back up to her eyes. “I was also under the impression that we were friends,” he admitted finally.

“If you were, then you have exceptionally strange views on friendship,” Lizzie said bitterly.

The duke nodded like he agreed, but he was clearly lost in thought. Elizabeth wondered if he’d even heard her. She felt a fluttering at her waist, like his thumb was stroking her ribs, but that had to be a nervous spasm.

When the music stopped, he led her off the floor to deliver her to her next partner. Years later, she wouldn’t even remember who it had been.

Talbot bowed and simply said, “Be well,” before turning around and walking away from her for good.

That night, Elizabeth dreamt that she was walking around Vauxhall Gardens as darkness gradually descended on them, frantically looking for a carriage that would take her back home. She ran and ran and ran down the treacherous serpentine paths until she woke up just as dawn was breaking.

At breakfast, she told her mother about her dream, and was advised not to eat so much fish before bed again.