Page 59 of His Illegitimate Duchess

A t the beginning of November, the Talbots found themselves in a carriage, heading to their first ball as a married couple.

As she nervously touched the curls Mary had painstakingly curled with heated paper, Elizabeth remembered getting ready for her first ball last November, and silently mourned the fact that she was as uncomfortable and afraid as she’d been then.

She had spent the better part of last year wholeheartedly believing that getting married would give her confidence in her place in society, and yet here she was.

Colin kept giving her soft little kisses and trying to do more, but she was tense and, for the first time in their marriage, insusceptible to his advances, which should have indicated the gravity of the situation to him.

“Don’t fret, kitten,” he said gently, “it’s Powell’s ball, you know and like almost everyone there.”

She relaxed a bit, remembering that Isabella and Elinor had confirmed that they, too, would be in attendance.

“Good evening, Your Graces, welcome,” their host, Mister Powell, greeted them warmly.

Elizabeth immediately noted that he looked much healthier and happier than the last time she’d seen him. She hoped things with his daughter were settled and well, but didn't want to immediately inquire about her, lest she ruin his good mood.

“Good evening,” both Talbots returned the greeting, and Mr Powell congratulated them on their marriage as he led them into the ballroom.

Elizabeth watched his face for any trace of scorn or disapproval, but he seemed sincere, so she relaxed again.

“Thank you,” her husband said proudly and looked like he was going to add something when Lizzie grabbed his hand excitedly.

He looked around and saw that she had noticed Elinor.

“And here you see, Powell, what my married life is like,” he joked. “My wife has spotted a friend and immediately wishes to abandon me. A friend whom she sees regularly, mind.”

“Wives must be obeyed if one wishes to have a harmonious home life,” Powell said with a wistful smile. “You better let her go.”

Talbot pretended to consider it. “All right, I’ll lead you to your friend and then make my rounds about the room, but I’m returning in 30 minutes,” he said with an exaggerated flourish of his hand.

Lizzie smiled and all but ran off to hug Elinor.

“Your Grace!” her friend exclaimed merrily.

“I seem to remember repeatedly telling you not to be formal with me,” Lizzie chided her good-naturedly. “Let us find a place to sit. Have you seen any of our other friends?”

As they walked to the chairs in the corner, Elinor told her that she had spent some time with Lady Isabella and Lady Louisa earlier.

“My husband is the reason why we’re so late,” Lizzie frowned. “How did Lady Louisa seem to you?”

“Quite recovered, I think. No longer as ghastly pale as she was.”

“I’m glad. I’ve always wondered what was bothering her, but never felt close enough with her to ask.”

“It is quite a tricky situation. Imagine asking someone you're not close to whether they were having problems because they looked unwell and only insulting them by doing so! Speaking of looks, I am loving that dress on you! The colour is so unusual, it looks like a sunset,” Elinor said enthusiastically.

Lizzie felt her face heat as she remembered how Colin had gone to Miss Euphemia’s and ordered an entirely new wardrobe to be made for her this Season, selecting most of the colours himself.

"I don't want my duchess wearing dresses she danced with other suitors in," he’d said.

While Elizabeth had rolled her eyes at him, the gesture turned out to be quite necessary, since she had given away most of her dancing gowns to Elinor back when she had thought the next chapter of her life would be taking her to Wexcombe.

She almost laughed at how differently things had turned out in the end.

Of course, Lizzie said none of this out loud, seeing as Elinor was currently wearing one of Lizzie’s old dresses, which she had very successfully altered to suit her figure.

“Thank you. You know how much I like bright colours,” she smiled. “I like what you’ve done with your hair tonight, especially with that celestial blue ribbon. There are just some things that blondes can wear better than the rest of us.”

Elinor blushed under the praise and shook her head.

“I’ve had a letter from Amelia,” she said, changing the topic.

Lizzie felt a pang of unease. “She never replied to my last letter. Perhaps she hasn’t received it.”

“Could be,” Elinor shrugged. “She writes about her life in the country in a very amusing manner. I can see why she was drawn to writing stories.”

“Do you think she’ll ever let us read one of her stories?” Lizzie smiled.

“I hope she will. She is such a surprise, so her stories will most likely be too. I mean, can you imagine our Amelia, our quiet, shy friend, who was practically sewn to these chairs, summoning the pluck to approach a man and suggest marriage to him?” Elinor laughed softly.

Elizabeth thought back to that horrible night on the balcony and the humiliation of what both she and Amelia had overheard the men say about them, and she silently acknowledged that it had left a lasting mark on them both.

“I actually can imagine it. You remember how she used to talk about the marriage mart? And if she was tired of her family’s comments and of the waiting…” Lizzie trailed off when she felt eyes on them. “Is Mr Powell staring at us?”

Elinor bit her lip and looked down at her hands. She seemed desperate.

“Is there something going on with the two of you?” Lizzie inquired.

“I need to get married soon,” was all Elinor said.

Before Lizzie could push for more information, Mr Powell’s shadow fell on them. Once again, Elizabeth was struck by how different the two of them looked next to each other. Fair, delicate, soft Elinor, and the dark, tall, and wiry Powell.

And their eyes – Elinor blinked a lot, seeming perpetually confused by something, whereas Powell tended to stare intently at whomever he spoke with, which did not help quell the intimidating rumours about him.

“Ladies,” he said, “I hope you are enjoying yourselves?”

“We are, thank you,” Lizzie replied when she realised Elinor wouldn’t. “I meant to inquire about Miss Caroline earlier. How is she?”

“She is well. She is to be confined at her husband’s estate in Scotland soon, and I shall be travelling to join them there and… help once the babe is here.” His face suddenly looked ashen at the thought, and the women exchanged a look, both thinking about his late wife.

“Such wonderful news!” Lizzie exclaimed, trying to brighten the mood. “So this ball is sort of your farewell to the Season?”

“One might say so,” he smiled mysteriously.

“I thought you would use the free time you have now that your daughter is wed to dance, enjoy yourself, maybe find a wife of your own,” Lizzie teased him.

Eli angrily nudged her foot with her slipper, and Lizzie wanted to burst out laughing.

Powell straightened, and his whole face hardened.

“I shall never marry again,” he said.

Elizabeth was taken aback by his tone. “I apologise, I didn’t mean to overstep -,”

“You did not, Your Grace. I just think it is important to be clear about one’s intentions. Marriage is an important part of life, especially for young women. I acknowledge and encourage that. It is simply not something I desire for myself.”

“To each their own,” Lizzie said with a weak smile.

Powell nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to attend to my other guests.”

The two friends sat in silence for a while, each of them digesting the exchange. Lizzie realised that Elinor hadn’t said a word to Powell.

“Are you all right?” She asked her in a gentle voice.

“I knew I was silly to hope, but I must admit, I did find myself imagining -” Elinor broke off and pressed her hand to her mouth to stop a sob from escaping.

Lizzie stroked her back in long, soothing motions.

“I don’t think it was silly. I told you already, I saw the way he was always looking at you. God forgive me, it looked like he wanted to eat you! It wasn’t nothing!”

Elinor took a deep breath and held it for a while. She then shook her head.

“Lizzie,” she turned to the young Duchess, more serious than ever, “My father informed me that I have one month to find a husband or to go home. I cannot afford to concern myself with Mr Powell any longer.”

“You can always stay with us!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I can act as your chaperone and accompany you to events. At least that is a problem that is easily solved. Now, the matter of your heart…”

Elinor opened her mouth to protest, but then glanced behind Lizzie, and she frowned.

“Oh my, who do we have here?” the sickly sweet voice of Lady Helena interrupted them. “It is Miss Woodhouse and her friend.”

Elizabeth turned in her chair to look at the newcomer, who was towering above them with one of her friends. Lady Ella? Or Emma? Lizzie couldn’t remember exactly. The girl looked rather unwell. Her complexion was sallow, and she swayed like she had trouble remaining on her feet.

“Good evening,” Lizzie said, as politely as she could considering how much she disliked the other woman.

Elizabeth just wanted them both to leave so she could focus on making a plan for Elinor instead of remembering the last time she’d seen Lady Helena, in that cloak room. She tried with all her might to suppress the shame that started welling up in her throat.

“I’ve been looking for you, you know,” Lady Helena said with a cruel twist of her mouth.

“You have?” Lizzie asked with a blank face.

“I have a question about your seamstress days.”

Elizabeth’s stomach started churning as she realised that this was an altercation.

Her legs started tingling and feeling heavy.

Luckily for her, the same simple rule applied whether you dealt with nasty women in a salon, on the street, or in ballrooms: never let them see their words had affected you.