Page 38 of A Sham Engagement

From Dugdale’s expression, he must clearly be expecting an answer. “I suppose I must be. My family is from near Winchester. My father has a small estate called Penworthy not five miles outside of the city.”

Dugdale seemed pleased with this information. He propelled her forward a few more steps. “Splendid. Now, tell me, Miss Wetherby, what d’you think of our Jack then?”

What a blunt question. The inclination to answer just as bluntly had to be controlled. With difficulty. “I like him well enough, my lord.” Mama would be proud of her.

“A pretty answer from a pretty girl.”

There wasn’t really anything she could say to that, apart from thank you, so she didn’t. Where was Aunt Penelope when she needed rescuing? Nowhere in sight. And no sign of Jack either. Inspiration dawned. She could ask Dugdale about Jack and thus prevent him from questioning her. “How long have you known Jack, my lord?”

His face lit up. “Since we were boys together at Harrow.”

And it gave her something to talk about too. “My brothers both went to Winchester College.”

“Splendid.”

He did seem to like saying that.

Oh, how hard it was to keep a conversation going with someone who seemed to have a vacant space between his ears. Why on earth was Jack friends with such a dunce? It dawned on her, in a moment of unusual clarity, that perhaps here was a gentleman no more apt at conversation with a stranger than she was. Did he need some help, as she so often did? “Perhaps you could tell me some of the things he likes to do.”

Dugdale blushed scarlet. Perhaps not such a good question to ask. “Er,” he managed, floundering. “Hunting in the winter. A spot of pheasant shooting. The card table. That sort of thing. Same as most of us fellows.” He waved a hand, looking desperate. What was it he didn’t want to tell her? “Oh look, here’s Westlake. Shall we join him?”

How pleasant to have met someone more tongue-tied in company than she was. Not a common occurrence for Elenora. Itching to remove her hand from Dugdale’s arm, she let him lead her over to where his friend was talking to someone. Who it was, she couldn’t see, as Westlake was in the way.

Westlake half turned, and his welcoming smile vanished, to be replaced with a rictus grin, as from behind him the magnificent Lady Raby appeared. The woman in the red dress with whom Jack had been dancing on the night she’d first met him. His ex-mistress, if he was to be believed, which he surely was.

Elenora felt Dugdale almost stop, then steel himself to continue as Westlake bowed to her. “Why, Miss Wetherby, I don’t think you know Lady Raby, do you?” His voice rose an octave and perspiration stood out on his forehead.

Seizing the opportunity to regain her own hand again, Elenora dropped a sweeping curtsy. When she rose, she found Lady Raby’s diamond-hard gray eyes fixed on her. Even she could tell those eyes did not hold any kind of camaraderie.

Lady Raby ran her gaze up and down Elenora, the faintest curl of her upper lip indicating that what she saw did not find favor. “Miss Wetherby, might I congratulate you on your triumph in snaring a man we’d all thought would never marry. An astounding accomplishment at only your first ball, I gather. And for one so young… and unencumbered with expectations.”

Oh, if only she could slip away like a ghost in the mist, and not have to stand here fixing a smile on her face as though she’d contracted lockjaw. This woman did not like her one bit, and Elenora had no idea why. “Thank you, my lady.”

Lady Raby put a gloved hand on Elenora’s arm. “And now I must have Miss Wetherby to myself. You boys can run along. We shall be putting our heads together privately.” She waved a hand at Dugdale and Westlake. “Off you go.”

Jack’s two friends exchanged panicked looks. She wanted to beg them not to leave her, but manners, for once, held her silent. They retreated, guilt written across their faces, abandoning her to what could only be her fate.

“Now,” said Lady Raby with a self-satisfied smile. “Let us find a little alcove and get to know one another.”

Chapter Fourteen

Lady Raby seemed to know Belmont House well. Still with her hand on Elenora’s arm, a fact which was making her prey want to twitch free, she guided her into a sizeable, curtained alcove, equipped with a two-seater, velvet-upholstered sofa. She sat down, and her grip on Elenora’s arm tightened as she compelled her down beside her. “Now,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Let us have our little talk.”

Elenora swallowed. Whatever was this hard-faced woman, and there was no other way of describing her, about to say? However, a determination not to be cowed by her burgeoned. She lifted her chin and looked her in the eye. Admittedly with difficulty. “My lady?”

Lady Raby released her hold on Elenora’s arm, and leaned toward her. “He’s only marrying you because his father wants an heir to the earldom.” Her voice was nothing more than a vicious hiss, and her eyes, those diamond-hard eyes, flared with hatred. Even Elenora could recognize that for what it was.

Before she could stop herself, she shrank back. Was this the sort of conversation one had with ladies one didn’t know in alcoves at balls? Could Lady Raby, despite her title, truly be classed as a lady if she behaved like this? Beyond the curtained alcove, the sound of music and laughter and conversation receded as though suddenly far away. Nearly twenty years of country life had not prepared Elenora for an attack like this. However, honesty prevailed.

“I know.” This wasn’t quite a lie, as Jack’s father most certainly did long for his son to provide an heir. Just it wasn’t going to be through her.

Lady Raby’s eyes narrowed. “A marriage of convenience, then.” Not a question but a statement.

Elenora refused to allow her eyes to waver toward the ballroom, in search of help. The struggle was making her heart pound so hard she expected any moment for Lady Raby to remark on the noise. “Absolutely.” If only someone would come. Anyone. But Lady Raby had chosen this alcove with care.

To her satisfaction, her honesty seemed to have taken Lady Raby aback. Perhaps she’d been expecting a fit of the vapors and tears. Well, she was going to be disappointed.

She soon regained her composure though. “And I daresay your parents have benefitted from selling off their daughter to the highest bidder.” Spittle flew. “I gather you come from a large family—Lord Amberley will have seen you as good breeding material, I’m sure.” She lifted her right hand and flicked Elenora’s golden curls. “And pretty enough, I’ll allow, to make getting that heir not an unpleasant task for Broxbourne.”