Page 44 of His Stolen Duchess (Stolen by the Duke #7)

“My lady, I expect you, Lady Grisham, and Lady Wilhelmina will be at the hunt breakfast in a fortnight,” Viscount Hampwell declared, puffing up with pride. “It’s the finest event of the Season, where the truly skilled gather to celebrate their sport.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “I, erm… I’m not certain I shall be able to attend, my lord. The Season is demanding.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. A lady of your standing must make time for such occasions. Few men can claim the sport and skill I bring to the field. It would be a loss if you missed it.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed a deep pink. She glanced down, twisting the edge of her glove between trembling fingers. “I… um… well… the Season is rather busy, and—” She faltered, searching for words that wouldn’t come. “It’s… difficult to, ah, find the time, my lord.”

His smile tightened, but he said nothing, waiting expectantly.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, voice dropping to a near whisper. “I… I suppose I could, um, think on it.” She bit her lip, her heart pounding, knowing full well Lady Grisham was unlikely to miss an invitation like this.

With a curt nod, Hampwell turned away, clearly unimpressed, leaving Elizabeth to quietly hope there was a way she could avoid the event altogether.

At every turn, Elizabeth felt the sharp, amused eyes of the young ladies upon her. They lingered behind their fans, their delicate fingers fluttering as they covered sly smiles and barely concealed giggles at each of her awkward missteps.

Lord Felton approached with a smile that was far too smooth, too practiced.

“Lady Elizabeth,” he said, voice honeyed but cold beneath the surface, “how do you find the Season so far? Surely it is a grand stage for a young lady of your… delicate sensibilities.”

Elizabeth forced a polite smile, sensing the undercurrent beneath his words. “It is… lively, my lord, though I find the bustle rather overwhelming at times.”

He gave a slight, almost imperceptible smirk.

“Of course, not everyone is made for such relentless gaiety. It must be tiring to keep up with the brighter, more... accomplished ladies.” His gaze flickered ever so briefly to a circle of blonde women nearby—clever, sharp-eyed predators in their own right.

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed, but she held her ground. “I do my best to observe and learn, my lord.”

“Indeed,” Felton murmured, voice dripping with thinly veiled condescension. “One must, or risk being lost entirely in the shuffle.” His eyes narrowed just enough to let her know she was being measured and found lacking.

“Tell me,” he continued smoothly, “have you found any gentlemen who have captured your… interest? Or is your charm so subtle that even the keenest eyes must strain to detect it?”

Elizabeth’s throat tightened, but she answered quietly, “I have yet to meet anyone who stirs such feelings, my lord.”

Felton’s smile sharpened. “Patience, Lady Elizabeth. Some are simply slow to warm to the finer things. Though I confess, I wonder if the fault lies not with the gentlemen, but with the lady herself.” He inclined his head, the compliment poisoned with unmistakable barbs.

A sudden, soft laughter drifted from behind her.

“Oh, it looks like Lady Elizabeth is about to cry,” the girl with the blond ringlets mocked from nearby.

Did this lady have anything better to do?

“I… I—” Elizabeth began, but the words caught in her throat. Her hands clenched the folds of her gown, breath quickening.

“I think,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper, “I should find some air.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned swiftly, her heart pounding not from weakness, but from the sharp sting of Felton’s poisonous politeness and the merciless laughter trailing in her wake.

She eased herself from the dance floor, a trembling hand pressed against her chest as if to steady the rapid beat beneath her ribs.

Around her, the music warped into a discordant cacophony, laughter and voices twisted into harsh, mocking echoes that seemed to close in on her.

A cold sweat broke out along her spine, though her palms remained unnervingly chilled. Her legs faltered, and she stumbled toward a shadowed corner, seeking refuge against the cold stone pillar, almost clutching it as if it might anchor her wavering composure.

You will marry this Season, Elizabeth.

If you don’t… your sisters’ futures will suffer.

Elizabeth stumbled away from the dance floor, each step heavier than the last, when a sudden murmur caught her attention.

Nearby, two elderly countesses were deep in conversation, their voices dripping with scandalized delight.

“Lady Abernathy!” whispered the first, her eyes wide with barely contained excitement.

“Indeed, Lady Greystone,” the other replied, her voice low but eager. “They’ve kept that gallery, the one they had to seal off after the last uproar. Indecent, they said.”

“You can only enter if you’re close to the host. Imagine that! Oil paintings filled with scandal and seduction,” Lady Abernathy said, leaning in. “A reliable source even mentioned one depicting a duke and a dairymaid.”

Lady Greystone gasped. “Let me guess, they wore not a stitch of clothing!” A soft giggle escaped her lips, surprisingly girlish for a woman well into her seventies.

Elizabeth’s curiosity was piqued despite herself.

A secret gallery of forbidden art?

How wildly thrilling.

And utterly forbidden .

Her gaze flicked back across the ballroom. There, her stepmother was deep in conversation with a silver-haired baron, his eyes lingering a moment too long on Wilhelmina.

Elizabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t like the way the man watched her sister. Luckily, Wilhelmina was fierce and capable. Elizabeth, by contrast, was aching for any kind of reprieve.

That secret gallery might be filled with scandalous art and whispers of sin, but nothing could feel worse than being paraded here like a prized possession: observed, judged, and weighed.

With a swift hitch of her skirts, she slipped quietly into the nearest hallway, the sudden freedom prickling at her nerves and stirring a rebellious fire within her. Her heart hammered not just from fear, but from a small, fierce spark of defiance.

For once, she breathed freely, unshackled by the heavy presence of a chaperone at her side.

And for the first time that evening, it felt like a small victory.