Page 5 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

But Edwin glanced back to Lady Eliza, in her not really cousin’s arms, and silently agreed with his brother.

Maybe it was a cold day in hell.

He was agreeing with his brother.

Which made him wonder what else would change.

What else would come to light.

Chapter Two

Lady Eliza Montford reminded herself to keep that small half smile upon her lips, to let her gaze drift just enough to suggest boredom—never eagerness. Indifference was safer. Indifference was power. All the things her sister-in-law had attempted to teach her in a handful of hurried weeks … though Eliza had been studying such lessons far longer than that.

She could not afford to forget herself. Not tonight. Not when this might be her only chance.

She had known from childhood that she was not truly Baron Tonson’s daughter. No one had ever said it plainly, of course, but she had heard it in pauses, in softened corrections, in the careful way servants watched her for mistakes they did not expect from the others. She had learned early that belonging was not a given thing, but something negotiated—won or lost in a glance, a word, a misstep.

So she had watched. She had listened. She had learned which smiles were rewarded, which opinions must never be voiced, which silences spoke best. Perfection, as she wore it now, was not natural—it was constructed, piece by careful piece, until even she could almost believe it.

Her family had taken her in, had given her everything … but generosity, she understood, was not the same as permanence. They had reminded her of that—gently, delicately—only last summer.

She was of age. The baron’s health was failing. And affection, however sincere, could not secure a future.

No—this was her moment.

Every movement must be deliberate. Every word chosen. Every expression measured. Because she had learned long ago that the difference between acceptance and dismissal could be as slight as a single misplaced breath—and she had no intention of being dismissed.

The weight of the situation made her blood run cold, and a wave of goose bumps flashed over her skin before she willed herself to remain calm. It would work out; it had to. It wasn’t like she was destitute—she had a rather kind older brother, and his new wife, who would certainly care for her if need be, but … she didn’t want to be a burden.

And that would be enough for her to feel the pressure of making a good match, but that wasn’t even the most crucial piece of the puzzle. Somewhere at a faro table in the back of the ballroom was the father she never knew and who likely didn’t remember she even existed.

Would she recognize him if she saw him? Would he recognize her? It was impossible to imagine, but if he did, it could ruin everything she was trying to avoid, everything she was trying to build.

“Stop.” Her half brother Gabriel’s words rang through her, and she glanced up to him.

Her lips quirked. “You know, you’re the second man to say that same thing to me. I’m beginning to see a pattern.”

“Then stop it before it becomes one,” he quickly added before releasing her hand and going around the line of dancers for the reel.

She waited at the end of the line and met Gabriel’s resolute expression with a small nod. He was right: fear of what-if would ruin her before the what-if even had a chance to happen.

She carefully pulled her lips into a small, slightly amused smile and followed along with the steps. Perform, hide, present. Those words carried a world of weight. She turned to her next partner and followed the steps perfectly, the right amount of weight on each foot, the turn just the right speed, and the neck at the perfect angle. She must remember, someone could be watching, someone who could become the one who would save her.

She would perform, hide in plain sight, and then present herself as the perfect package of a debutante.

Especially when one could afford quite little in truth.

The rustle of her gown as she turned down the line again reminded her to carry her head high; she belonged—rather she must appear as such.

A million reminders, and an endless checklist of what to do continued to flash before her eyes as she continued to pretend she had not a care in the world. But wasn’t that most of her life? Check the boxes, keep within the lines, and pretend she was something she was not so that someday she could fool someone into believing it enough to marry her and give her a real name.

A name that wasn’t hidden in the dark, and an identity that wasn’t stained beyond repair, all by parents she never knew—or could know.

The reel ended and Eliza clapped gently, delicately, and glanced around the room, looking to see if any gentlemen seemed intrigued by her. After all, she was the new ornament in fray of the ton.

As Gabriel came to collect her and grasp her hand to lead her from the dance floor, they were met by another gentleman.

“Ah, Hawthorne, good to see you! May I beg an introduction to your lovely partner, who I assume must be a relation since you’re so newly married.” He said the words teasingly, but there was an undercurrent of testing that bled through.