Page 30 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

Kitty fell in beside them, her tone dry as she scanned the room. “Perhaps we should begin the dance cards. Choose wisely. Men with no mothers to scold them or the ones too deaf to hear the gossip.”

Eleanor laughed too suddenly. “Do you think any of them will have me?”

Kitty glanced sideways. “They’ll want the name if not the scandal.”

As if to prove her wrong, a young baron approached, bowed, and then, glancing to the side, politely declined Norman’s offer to introduce Eleanor. Something about a prior engagement. Another gentleman turned his back before she reached him. A third, a second son with no fortune, offered her a dance only to be whisked away by his mother a breath later.

They did not look at her. They looked through her.

Whispers brushed at her back like silk threads pulled too tight.

“She’s the one.”

“No wonder he left her.”

“I heard it wasn’t just him.”

Her fan felt suddenly heavy in her hand. The silk of her gown too tight. The air thick.

She wanted to scream. Or sob. Or disappear through the floor. Something, anything, to escape the unbearable weight of being watched and judged and silently dismissed. Desperation clawed at her chest, hot and tight and breathless.

She had known it would be bad—but not like this. Not this cold refusal, this collective rejection dressed in lace and velvet. She felt herself unraveling by degrees, held together only by the rigid line of her spine and the mask she could no longer wear without cracking.

Norman pulled her aside. “We’ll find another route. A family friend. Someone discreet.”

“You don’t have to do this,” she said.

“I do.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because you’re my sister. And because I didn’t protect you when I should have.”

For a moment, her anger lifted. Not entirely—but enough.

“I will clear your name,” he said. “No matter what it takes.”

But it was too late. The damage had been done before she entered the room. She could feel it clinging to her skin like ash.

Kitty touched her arm. “There’s always Paris.”

Eleanor gave a hollow laugh. “Is exile our only option?”

“Exile or marriage,” Kitty said quietly. “You know how this ends.”

Eleanor looked away. Her gaze caught on a vase near the far windows—ornate, blue and gold, placed for symmetry not sentiment. She’d meant to gift a Greek one for Kitty and Norman to mark the baby and their new beginning. But it had shattered the moment she collided withhim,and now all that remained was a faint scuff on the deck and the memory of his arm around her waist.

Her jaw tightened.

Everything was breaking this season.

“I need some air,” Eleanor said. Her throat ached.

Kitty’s brow furrowed. “Shall I come?”

“No. Stay. Make our excuses. I won’t be long.”

She turned and walked, posture still perfect, through the glittering crowd and into the side corridor. She passed tapestries, candles guttering in sconces, the hush of velvet curtains. Every step away from the ballroom lifted a weight from her chest, but her heart did not slow. It beat like a drum behind her ribs.