Page 2 of Surrender Your Grace (Impromptu Brides #1)

The landing at the top of the staircase was too narrow for all four of them.

Cici’s parents and Elizabeth stepped forward, edging her to the rear as the steward’s crisp voice announced their arrival.

Heads turned—the ton, as always, scrutinizing and judging.

She should have been used to it. In truth, she didn’t crave the attention, but being pushed to the back like a second-class family member still stung.

Her father scanned the upturned faces with detached interest, likely unaware of his slight.

Forced by duty, he endured these suffocating social events, loathing the throngs, cloying perfumes, and the arrogant display of wealth by the aristocracy.

Her mother and sister, who delighted in everything he hated, were far more calculating, intentionally excluding Cici.

They waited, seconds ticking by, until all the eligible males had a chance to notice Elizabeth.

Only then did they descend the stairs to greet the hosts and advance through the receiving line.

“Stay close. I’ll signal when I need you,” Elizabeth said as they fastened their beribboned dance cards to their wrists.

She’d mastered the art of hissing beneath a serene smile. No one watching would suspect she was being anything but charming as she conveyed her orders to her loyal minion. When she moved farther into the ballroom, a throng of suitors instantly surrounded her.

They eagerly inscribed their names on her dance card for one of the evening’s many dances, especially the most sought- after three scheduled waltzes and the supper dance.

Even if they never intended to court her, it boosted their reputation to be seen with one of society’s most captivating young ladies.

When their brief audience with Elizabeth passed, a few gentlemen politely asked Cici for a dance, too. Within minutes, each girl had a full card. She didn’t fool herself that they were seriously interested; it would have been rude to ignore her when she was standing right next to Elizabeth.

Cici didn’t see herself as hideous. She didn’t have pockmarked skin or a gap between her front teeth.

Most people she met deemed her quite pretty, in fact.

Still, these events grew tiresome—frankly insulting when men spent their dances talking about Elizabeth—and contributed to her being loathe to attend, like her papa.

Used to the hubbub her sister’s overshadowing presence stirred, Cici moved off to join a group of friends and fellow debutantes.

Lady Margaret grabbed her hand and pulled her into the circle of chattering young women. “Your gown is lovely, Cici.”

Her forced smile of thanks hid her true feelings; the gown was Elizabeth’s, from her coming-out three years prior.

The modiste had done a commendable job remaking it; the ice-blue fabric remained in excellent condition, shimmering beautifully in the candlelight.

Good enough for a younger daughter who wasn’t expected to make as advantageous a match as her older sister.

Cici smoothed the fabric in front and admitted, for her best friend’s ears only, “It’s one of Elizabeth’s cast-offs. Let out here, tucked in there, and hemmed up to the knee, of course.”

“Now, now… You are every bit as lovely as your sister,” Maggie chided in a motherly fashion, but as she looked down at her from her average height, she couldn’t help but tease. “You are a little bit of a thing, though, aren’t you? Even I tower over you.”

“Indeed. But I’m rounder where it counts.”

It wasn’t a polite topic to broach, but she was weary of the constant comparisons—even from herself.

The one thing she had that her reed-thin sister did not, was womanly curves.

Elizabeth often lamented her sadly lacking bosom, but with the new corsets that pushed up what few assets a flat-chested woman had, dressmakers could design gowns that gave the illusion of a rounder silhouette.

And that easily, they snatched away the one advantage Cici had.

After a quick gossip session, she and Maggie strolled arm in arm through the ballroom, exchanging greetings with friends and plastering on fake smiles to less-friendly faces, of which there were many, unfortunately.

They sought a central location from which to watch the goings on and be located easily by their dance partners when it was time.

Cici stumbled slightly, caught off guard by a strikingly handsome man near the refreshment table.

Tall and fit, his perfectly tailored coat accentuated broad shoulders.

Her stare was undeniably rude as she watched him move with masculine grace among the throng of guests.

She wasn’t the only one, either. Like waves breaking on the shore, female heads, young and old, turned to watch him pass.

Why couldn’t someone striking, confident, and utterly dashing like him notice her?

The moment the thought occurred, she mentally face-palmed for even asking.

Short redheads with freckles and modest dowries didn’t inspire flocks of suitors.

Reading appealed to her more than a stroll, and she could more often be found immersed in travel books than promenading down Rotten Row.

There wasn’t a single fashionable thing about her.

With her prospects limited, she’d resigned herself to a practical marriage, one that prioritized security and perhaps friendship over romance and passion.

A lesser lord or a sir would do, but her gaze kept wandering back to the handsome young lord, and she couldn’t resist finding out more about him.

Lowering her voice, she asked Maggie, “Who is the tall blond gentleman by the lemonade?He is quite stunning, don’t you think?”

When her friend’s gaze followed hers and picked out the source of her curiosity, she turned a little green. “Oh, Cici, don’t make me answer that. It’s just too troubling.”

“How so?”

“That’s Andrew. My brother. Although I agree, he is handsome, I really can’t comment on him being stunning or otherwise.

” When Cici’s cheeks filled with heat, Maggie laid her hand on her arm.

“I’m teasing. If you’re interested, I’ll have Papa introduce you.

You two would get along famously, I think. You have so much in common.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Your wanderlust, for one thing. Andrew just got back from Spain, stopping at several places along the way. He’ll happily regale you with tales of his trip.”

“Spain! How wonderful.” Cici sighed. “He could try boring me with stories of places I’ve never been and dream of visiting, but I assure you, he won’t succeed.”

Feeling quite warm, Cici employed her fan, her gaze fixed upon Andrew’s golden head, which, even from her diminutive height was easy to track in the crowded ballroom.

She watched as he made his rounds, stopping to greet friends and acquaintances here and there.

He was walking toward where her parents stood when a beautiful older woman approached and lay a hand on his sleeve.

She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with glossy blonde hair, a shade lighter than his own, and flawless skin.

She wore a striking green gown with matching gems glittering at her ears, throat, and wrist—emeralds, she suspected—tastefully showing off her wealth. Together, they made a striking couple.

“That woman with Andrew looks familiar… I can’t place her.”

Maggie spotted the pair in the crowd and sniffed disdainfully. “Lady Winslow salivates over Andrew like a dog with a bone. It’s pathetic.”

“Lady Winslow...” Cici mused, trying to recall. “Isn’t she married to some older gentleman?”

“You must come up for air from your books more often. You are dreadfully behind on the gossip,” Maggie scoffed.

“Lord Winslow died over a year ago. And he wasn’t older—he was ancient.

Eighty if he was a day.” Moving closer, she added in a conspiratory whisper, “It is rumored she may have hastened his demise.”

Her breath caught. “If she’s suspected of murder”—Cici whispered the word like a curse—“why is she here, among respectable people, and not in jail?”

“Insufficient evidence, I suspect,” Maggie replied, a faint frown creasing her brow.

“But the circumstances of their marriage strongly suggest her guilt. Before marrying him, she was an absolute nobody—a shipbuilder’s daughter, I understand.

Her father desperately sought a noble husband for her but couldn’t break into the right social circles.

Whatever questionable methods he used, he succeeded—and his daughter married well.

One has to wonder what lengths she’ll go to, considering.

.. Well, you know what they say about the apple and the tree. ”

They both looked on as Andrew, his hand riding low on the lady’s back, directed her toward a nearby door and then exited the ballroom with her.

“She seems familiar with your brother,” Cici quietly observed.

“Indeed,” Maggie drawled. “There have been rumors.”

“Not that I’ve heard. Tell me,” she insisted.

“It’s said she was his mistress, but Andrew ended it several weeks ago. It’s common knowledge that my brother intends to marry and start a family. She is completely unsuitable to be his wife, of course.”

“Because of her age?”

“Don’t be na?ve, Cici. We have the blood of kings flowing through the Sommerville line, albeit diluted. Andrew can’t marry a lowborn, scheming widow who might very well be a murderess.”

“I suppose not,” she agreed before bumping her friend with her arm. “You know the players intimately in this case because one is family, but you always have the very best gossip.”

With a touch of smugness, she replied, “Why, thank you. Since good gossip is a commodity as coveted as gold in this town, I’ll take that as a compliment.”