Page 25 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

“I have heard,” Eliza continued, “that certain compositions of Bach may be played inverted and still produce harmonious music. Entirely different—but still correct.”

He looked intrigued. “I have never heard that. We must test it. The next time I call, you must attempt such a piece.”

“I cannot promise I will not experiment beforehand,” she said with a playful note. “I may need to determine which pieces are most successful.”

“I am pleased to discover you possess curiosity as well, Lady Eliza.”

“I believe music invites it,” she said. “It is a gift too often neglected.”

“I could not agree more.” He slowed slightly as the music shifted. “I believe this is the first waltz of the evening,” he said. “May I have the pleasure?”

“Of course, my lord,” she replied. “I was hoping you would ask.”

He led her onto the dance floor and settled her into the waltz. As his hand touched her back and hers rested lightly in his, Eliza lifted her gaze to meet Lord Langshire’s.

She softened her expression, let her eyes lower for a moment, then raised them again. Her lip caught lightly between her teeth before she released it, her gaze flickering—just briefly—toward his mouth before she looked away, as though surprised by her own boldness.

It was precise. Practiced. Entirely intentional.

And when she looked back, she saw the effect it had produced. His expression had shifted—interest deepened, attention sharpened, something warmer beginning to take hold.

Yes. This was working exactly as it should.

She let her gaze drift, just for a moment, as though carried by the turn of the dance—

And stilled.

Across the room, Edwin stood beside Lady Molly, their heads inclined toward one another in easy conversation. There was something effortless in the way they stood together—something composed, well matched, entirely appropriate. Polished, intentional, a pairing that made sense.

Like recognizes like.

The thought moved through her—not quite conscious, not quite deliberate—but it lingered.

And with it came something else: recognition.

Not of them—but of the pattern, of the symmetry.

Because she knew that posture. That careful ease. That measured attentiveness, because she was doing the very same thing. A faint unease stirred beneath her composure. It was not only her, then; not only her choosing her words, her expressions, her interests with precision. Not only her guiding the outcome.

Edwin was playing his part just as carefully.

And if he was—

Her gaze flickered, almost involuntarily, back to Lord Langshire.

Then what assurance had she that Lord Langshire was not doing the same?

The thought unsettled her more than it ought.

Not because it was unreasonable—

But because it introduced something she had not accounted for.

Uncertainty.

For the briefest moment, the structure she had so carefully constructed—the neat progression, the controlled exchanges, the quiet confidence in her own direction—shifted beneath her.

Not broken.