Page 29 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

They reached the ballroom threshold, and the crowd parted—not with awe but with something colder. Heels shuffled. Conversations faltered and then resumed, just a shade louder, just a touch more pointed.

“They’re staring,” she murmured.

“They always stare,” Norman replied. “It’s what they do.”

But he was frowning.

The music resumed. A gavotte. Eleanor let herself be led inside, conscious of every glance, every tilt of a fan. The ton was exquisite tonight: jewels glittering, feathers nodding, champagne flutes catching the light. But beneath the glamour, the room thrummed with cruelty. They weren’t watching her walk. They were watching her fall.

Kitty joined them, radiant in emerald. “No introductions yet?”

“Not yet,” Norman said tightly.

As they moved along the periphery of the dance floor, Eleanor caught snatches of conversation?—

“—always thought her too forward?—”

“—traveled without a chaperone, you know?—”

“—wild, the whole voyage, absolutely wild?—”

“She was practically living among the sailors?—”

“Who knows what really happened?”

She swallowed, her teeth clenched behind a practiced smile.

Lord Eastbrook, one of Norman’s oldest acquaintances, approached with a champagne glass in hand and a disapproving tilt to his head.

“Your Grace,” he said. “Your sister’s returned to the Season, I see.”

Norman inclined his head. “She has.”

Eastbrook’s eyes moved to Eleanor. “Bit of an adventure, that ship of yours.”

Eleanor smiled thinly. “It was certainly eventful.”

The older man’s lips curled, not kindly. “This is what comes of letting young ladies gallivant about the continent. They come home with opinions. And reputations.”

Norman’s jaw tightened. “You forget yourself.”

“I forget nothing,” Eastbrook replied. “And neither will they.” He nodded toward the dancers. “Mark my words, Your Grace—women who leave home come back changed. It gives them ideas.”

Eleanor stepped in, voice cool as porcelain. “You mean to say that travel makes us think.”

He turned back to her with a patronizing smile. “And what a dangerous thing that is.”

Norman stepped forward before Eleanor could speak again, his voice low but iron clad. “Say one more word about my sister, Eastbrook, and you’ll find yourself without a seat at any table that matters in this city.”

Eastbrook looked momentarily startled—he hadn’t expected resistance. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and gave a tight, scornful nod before retreating back into the crowd.

Only then did Norman take Eleanor’s arm and lead her away. “Come,” he said. “We’ve wasted enough breath on fools tonight.”

“I can’t,” she said, her voice tight. “They all think it.”

“They won’t for long.”

“They already do.”