When the Earl Falls in Love

by jessie Clever

Available 21 October 2021

When she looked at her mother, she was reminded of all the things she might have been and wasn’t.

People said it was cruel how it happened. They said other things as well, Audrey knew well enough as she had overheard from time to time in the four seasons she had been out, but she had learned to ignore those things. The bold features of Lady Eugenia D’Arcy had tipped too far when it came to her daughter, and in Audrey, they had become distorted and mismatched. While Audrey had the same wide, expressive eyes, on her they had been rendered rather sunken, which in turn had accentuated her overbite, which she had in place of her mother’s wide smile. And this was without even mentioning her small, pert nose that seemed to go with none of her other features.

Audrey’s hair, mouse-brown, frizzy, and unwilling to form either curl or wave, was never spoken of.

When Grandmother Regina had requested Audrey fetch her handkerchief she had mistakenly left in the pocket of her cloak, Audrey was only too happy to flee to the cloakroom if only to escape the whispers and knowing glances from around the ballroom.

The first three seasons she hadn’t minded. It was nice to sit on the edge of the ballroom with Grandmother Regina and Aunt Verity. Grandmother Regina didn’t talk much since the stroke, but when she did, she said kind things to Audrey and smiled softly. Aunt Verity, who took care of Grandmother, was much the same.

But this was her fourth season. Fourth. And she was rather tired of the quiet smiles and kind words. She was rather tired of all of it.

As she left the bustle of the ballroom behind her and the quiet of the corridor descended upon her, she couldn’t help but wonder.

When could it be assumed that she was firmly on the shelf?

She thought of it. Often, in fact. The word spinsterhood was richer than chocolate on her tongue. To no longer be required to stand at the periphery of ballrooms appearing keen and delighted at any attention given one, to no longer feign interest in the insipid conversation dandies conjured with stunning banality every season, to no longer…

Be reminded every day how she had failed as a lady.

She shivered at the thought and rubbed her hands up her arms.

She hadn’t failed as a woman. At least, she tried to tell herself that. It wasn’t her fault society held standards for women she had somehow not met by magic of her birth. Audrey had other qualities to recommend her. Her brothers were always saying what wit she had, what guile.

But wit and guile did not display themselves well in a ballgown.

This part of the house was quiet now as all the guests had made their way into the ballroom, and she slowed her step, wishing to prolong the time she had in such solitude yet knowing she must hurry to return Grandmother Regina’s handkerchief.

She stepped into the cloakroom only to stop abruptly. There was no maid in attendance, and Audrey wondered if the woman had wandered off as soon as the last of the guests were seen into the ballroom.

For a moment, she stood and blinked at the spot where the maid should have been, and she couldn’t help but allow her thoughts to run wild.

Had the maid slipped away for a daring assignation with a footman? Privacy was likely more easily discovered when the staff and family were engaged in entertaining guests. Or perhaps she’d slipped out the back for a gossip with the other maids and a quick puff on someone’s cheroot.

Audrey wrinkled her nose at this thought. She didn’t care for her father’s pipe, and she knew a puff on a cheroot would make her ill, but the rest of the picture she’d conjured would do nicely.

It would be a far cry more exciting than her own life.

Properly depressed by her rambling thoughts, she eyed the racks and stands of coats, cloaks, and wraps that filled the entirety of the room. The night was incredibly well attended, and the mounds of cloaks she must sift through to find Grandmother Regina’s was daunting to say the least, and she suddenly felt the urge to sit down.

She plunged ahead instead, poking through the first stand she came to. Grandmother Regina wore her amethyst velvet gown that evening, which meant she would have paired it with her emerald and lavender cloak. It should not be difficult to find amongst the more reserved fashions of black wool and brown furs. But after several minutes pawing through other people’s outer garments, she realized the task was going to be a great deal more arduous than expected.

She had reached the back of the first row of stands when she heard the footsteps. It was darker in this part of the room as the only wall sconces lit were near the door, and she stilled, allowing her other senses to take over as she couldn’t see quite well.

“Lady Channing.”

She nearly bit her tongue.

The voice was sing-songy and sweet, cloying almost in the way it beckoned this poor Lady Channing.

“Lady Channing, where are you?”

Audrey’s fingers curled reflexively around the cloak still in her hand.

Oh God. She had unwittingly stepped into the middle of an assignation.

Coming November 19, 2020

She knew what her sisters would say.

They would say how it was just like her to be brought down by a litter of puppies.

To be fair, she wouldn’t have fallen for it if it weren’t coming from Jonathan Devlin, the second son of the Earl of Westrick. Devlin was a watery chap who whimpered about flat champagne and wrinkled cravats. He hadn’t committed any sin greater than wearing the wrong color waistcoat to a fox hunt, so why shouldn’t she have believed him when he said the Marquess of Lumberton’s prized Ridgeback had just birthed an extraordinary litter of puppies?

It seemed like such an innocuous thing, and something Devlin would have been interested in as it involved absolutely no effort on his part to enjoy it.

So she’d followed him.

The musicale was not overly stimulating. The Marquess of Lumberton had three daughters all of whom possessed less talent than a tarnished teapot, and the evening drew on insufferably. It was probably this which had her accepting Devlin’s story so quickly for in it she saw her way out.

The room where the marquess’s daughters performed was an assembly of drawing rooms with their doors opened to permit the gathering of all of the guests for it was quite a turn out. While the marquess’s daughters lacked talent, they did not lack in dowry, and all three were on the market that season.

Johanna, Louisa’s younger sister, had jumped at the chance to attend for it fulfilled their eldest sister, Viv’s quest to find them both husbands while also ensuring no such thing would occur that evening as all attention was on the Lumberton sisters. Johanna, ever reluctant to find a match, enjoyed the idea of being passed over very much.

Louisa did not.

While she was happy to do anything Jo wished, she was not so happy to endure the endless rendition of songs Louisa could not even decipher as the Lumberton sisters continuously mutilated the lyrics.

So if Jo were to gain something out of this, so would Louisa.

She was going to see some adorable puppies.

Devlin had easily slipped both of them from the crowd during a pause in the music as fortune hunters posing as eligible gentlemen surged forward to praise the sisters for their aptitude. Louisa and Devlin simply stepped from the room and into the empty corridor.

She should have known by how easy it was to escape that only bad things lay ahead.

The Marquess of Lumberton’s townhome was much like the other homes of the peerage, and it was easy to navigate through the endless corridors toward the back of the house.

“Do you know where you’re going?” She’d meant the question playfully as anyone who was familiar with dogs—and she was thanks to her sister, Eliza’s love of collies—would know the pups were likely being weaned near the kitchens. They would simply need to find the servants’ stairs at the back of the house.

That’s why she startled when Devlin whipped about, his jaw firm, his eyes wide with indignation.

“Do you not think I know what I’m doing?”

The light was dim here as the guests weren’t meant to be in this part of the house, and only a few sconces were lit along the corridor. The slanted light marked his face with valleys of shadows and spikes of light turning him suddenly ghostly before her. It was unsettling, but she shook it off. He was just being a spoiled child.

She picked up her skirts. “I didn’t say that. Perhaps you misheard.”

She didn’t wait for a reply and moved forward. She could find the puppies on her own.

She’d only gone a few steps when Devlin came up behind her. His footsteps were so solid and swift the mere sound of them startled her. It was this that would be her first mistake. She pivoted to see just what his rush was about and in doing so, she was slightly off balance. She was certain this was why he was able to grab her arm so quickly and sweep her into a room off the main corridor.

They plunged into almost complete darkness, and her senses were left rattled and useless. Her first thought was the puppies couldn’t possibly be in there. Who would leave a poor, defenseless pack of puppies alone in a dark room?

As soon as the question formed, however, she realized her mistake.

It was the same tragic tale of any number of debutantes in any number of seasons.

She straightened her shoulders, forced her ears to open, and willed her eyes to adjust.

She needed to get out of there.

“Devlin, whatever are you playing at?” She made her voice sound light and flirty.

The horrid look on his face moments earlier in the corridor danced all too clearly through her mind, and she knew she had to keep him calm. It appeared the dandy had a mean streak, and it was best not to rile him. Not until she could get safely away.

And then she would turn Viv on him.

She would turn all her sisters on him for that matter. Even Eliza’s collie, Henry, would enjoy getting in on the fight, she was sure of it.

“This is no game.” His tone was riddled with the moist sound of spit, and she wondered if he’d meant to sound menacing when in fact, it only sounded as if he were too overcome to properly form words.

Carefully, she slipped a foot backward, testing the floor behind her. Judging by the softness beneath her feet, she stood on a carpet, but when Devlin had swept her into the room, she’d lost her sense of direction. It was likely the door was behind her, but she didn’t know for certain if she was even near the door any longer. Was the carpet just inside of the room? Should she try to find it’s edge and follow it to the door? She just couldn’t be sure.

Achingly slowly her eyes began to adjust. At the far side of the room was a bank of windows, their drapes not quite closed against the cold night. Moonlight spilled through the smallest crack, illuminating the outlines of the furniture that littered the room. There was a sitting arrangement, sofa and chairs, a dormant fireplace, and near empty walls. It was likely an unused drawing room. The Marquess of Lumberton’s townhome had so many, he probably didn’t know what to do with this one.

For the first time, she felt a lick of fear.

If the room was unused, it would mean no one would find her because no one would have reason to come here.

She flexed her fingers, closing her hands into fists.

“Oh, Devlin, whatever do you mean?” She deepened her voice, hoping it would sooth him.

She heard him more than she saw him, shuffling somewhere in the corner across from her. There was the screech of wood against wood, and she realized he must have opened a drawer.

He was looking for something.

She slid her other foot back, thinking to widen the space between them. Quickly, she glanced behind her, but the darkness was too thick, the paneled walls too similar. She couldn’t make out which was the door.

There was another screech of wood and a snap. He’d shut the drawer.

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and she closed her eyes against it. When she opened them again, her throat closed.

Devlin had found a candle and lit it, it’s wavering light striking those shadowy valleys across his face once more. The watery boy she knew from countless social obligations suddenly didn’t appear so watery any longer.

The lick of fear grew stronger, and for the first time, she realized that noise was her heart pounding in her head.

“Devlin, what is this?” The playfulness had gone from her voice, and her fingers fell from their fists to grip nervously at her skirts.

The candlelight caught the spittle that had gathered at the corner of his lips. “My father thinks I’m not a man. He called me weak. He called me a pansy. He called me—”

Whatever the last insult was it was too great for Devlin could not speak it. Instead his face twisted into an unknown pain.

She slid another foot back.

“Devlin, I’m sure whatever—”

“Shut up, you whore!”

The words more than their volume startled her into stillness. She’d never even heard someone utter such a base word let alone hurtle it at her. It left her empty, shocked into nothingness. How could a single word have such power to completely undo her?

It was several moments as she tried to regain her breath, will the feeling back into her limbs, to realize that while Devlin held the candle aloft with one hand, his other hand was busy at the front of his jacket.

No, not his jacket. His trousers.

He was undoing the lacings of his trousers.

She didn’t speak again nor did she think. She threw herself backwards, her hands scrambling over the paneling to find the door. Her fingernails scratched at useless wood, slivers cutting through the fine silk of her gloves, but her hands found nothing.

He grabbed her before she thought he would, and the scream she had meant to scream got lost somewhere in her throat. He didn’t hold onto her but instead threw her back into the room. She stumbled and fell against the back of the sofa. She gripped it, allowing it to hold her upright as she tried to slide around it, put it between her and Devlin.

He’d put down the candle. Vaguely, she was aware of it sitting somewhere to her right, the single point of light strobing into the darkness. Shadows lurched at her, pantomiming until they became a sick chorus to Devlin’s advance on her.

This was it.

This was her ruination.

She closed her eyes, her past swimming up to her in a single surge.

She deserved this.

The thought came from no where, like a swallow sweeping down from the sky in a beautiful, pristine arc.

She deserved this because she had killed her mother.

When she opened her eyes again, she found Devlin had come closer but had stopped several feet in front of her. She became aware of pulsing along her arm where he’d grabbed her, and she knew there would be a bruise there.

Did it matter?

She waited for him to pounce on her, braced herself for what was to come, but it didn’t happen. Instead, he stood in front of her, studying her with an icy glare that was far more violating than any touch. She blinked, but she refused to move her gaze away from his.

The moment went on, and she didn’t know why he didn’t move, why he didn’t take his chance. She sucked in a breath, willed herself to calm, and tried to take in the rest of it. She was so certain of attack she hadn’t bothered to look down.

His hand was inside his trousers, pumping furiously as he watched her, pinned against the sofa where he’d put her.

Bile rose in her throat as the last of her self pity drained away.

The bastard.

She roared up, powered by a sudden rage and flung herself at him. Her fist struck bone, but he was already moving to pin her, and the blow glanced off harmlessly. He snatched both of her wrists in his steely grip and tipped her backwards. Once more the hard ridge of the sofa pressed into her back, but now he was atop her.

“Be a good girl, and it won’t hurt so much,” he whispered against her ear.

She tried to turn her head to bite him, but he was careful now, staying tucked under her chin so she couldn’t move. He captured her hands between her back and the sofa and pressed harder against her, effectively making her powerless.

When his free hand began to lift her skirts, she remembered she should scream. It was the only thing left to her.

“No.” The word came out as hardly more than a whisper, but behind it, a fire grew. Something wet and slimy pressed against her neck. His tongue. He was…licking her.

“No.” This word came out firmer, louder, and she was ready to scream the next one as his cold fingers touched the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

But the scream never came.

Because just at that moment, Devlin was bodily lifted away from her and thrown across the room like he was no more than a dirty rug being tossed out for a beating.

She stared at Devlin’s crumpled body on the floor for a second, but the man who’d saved her captured her attention for eternity.

“The lady told you no,” said Sebastian Fielding, the Duke of Waverly.

Lady Eliza Darby, daughter of the sixth Duke of Ravenwood, sister to the now seventh Duke of Ravenwood, was determined not to upset her stomach in the middle of the Duchess of Sudsbury’s ball.

It would just be rude.

“I’m certain Viv will be considerate in her machinations,” Louisa said from Eliza’s left.

Johanna scoffed to her right. “When has Viv ever been considerate of anything that affected one of us?”

Louisa frowned. “Do be kind, Jo. You know Viv is only trying to protect us.”

This roused Eliza from her determination to not upset her stomach across the ballroom floor.

“Protect us?” She shook her head. “She’s not so much protecting us as hoping to keep us from finding our husbands abed with an opera singer like she did.”

The words came out more forcefully than she had intended, her rattled nerves driving her usual cutting wit toward unsavory sarcasm. She pressed a hand to her stomach, willing it to settle.

Jo snorted in her lemonade and peered around sheepishly as if hoping no one spied her unladylike behavior. But as was the case with all of the Duchess of Sudsbury’s events, the night was a crush, and no one was paying particular attention to the forgotten Darby sisters.

“Is that really something one can prevent another person from experiencing?” Louisa posed.

“Surely not,” Jo responded, having recovered from her lemonade dousing. “I think that only serves to illustrate the futility of what she is trying to do.”

Louisa shrugged. “I must commend her. After all, there’s nothing to compel her to help us now that Andrew is the duke. It’s rather perceptive of her to think he may not want three unwed sisters underfoot when searching for a wife.”

Johanna lifted her chin. “I see nothing wrong with the matter. We are family after all. Andrew’s duchess should accept us.”

Eliza gave her younger sister a sharp look. “Are you mad? Even I find it difficult to accept us.”

She didn’t miss the soft laugh Louisa attempted to hide.

Jo frowned and rolled her glass of lemonade between her hands. “Still. I see nothing wrong with the current situation.”

The current situation was three unwed sisters living in the home of their unattached brother, the Duke of Ravenwood now that Father had passed the previous year. With Mother succumbing to the influenza when Johanna was only two, it had left far too many females in the hands of an absentminded father to see them safely off and into society. That was why Viv was the only one of the Darby sisters to wed, and then only because Aunt Phyllis had been alive to sponsor her. Aunt Phyllis had promptly died before the next season, leaving Eliza without proper guidance. Father had tried, of course. Each girl had gotten…well, it resembled a season at least.

But as all three were still unwed, it was obvious their father’s attempt had rather lacked in ambition.

Louisa leaned around Eliza to peer at Jo. “Of course, you don’t. You have no wish to wed at all.”

Jo opened her mouth to retort, but oddly, no sound emerged except for a gurgled word, a shadow of what might have been intelligible speech. Eliza blinked at her sister. Jo was the strong one, always quick to speak her mind no matter the consequences. For her to stumble so was…well, Eliza didn’t know because she’d never witnessed it before then.

Louisa leaned into Eliza now to get a better look at Jo. “Johanna Elizabeth, do you really wish to wed?”

The sisters, Eliza included, had always assumed Jo’s independent nature would not incline her to the married state, but perhaps they had been wrong. Viv would be only too pleased.

The conversation was momentarily suspended when Lady Setterton collided with them as she attempted to drag her poor daughter closer to the dancing. Eliza eyed the young woman, pity pouring through her at the poor girl’s unusually yellow complexion.

Eliza had thought she was safely on the shelf until Viv had come stampeding back through the doors of Ravenwood House, a scorned woman determined to ensure her sisters did not meet the same fate. Now here she was again, feeling just as yellow as Lady Setterton’s daughter appeared.

As she had already discussed with her sisters, Eliza could not determine how this plan was at all logical. But there was no reasoning with Viv once she’d set her mind to something, so that was that.

Eliza was taken down from the shelf, dusted off, and returned to the marriage mart much to her dismay. She was no fool after all. It wasn’t that she hadn’t received her fair share of marriage proposals from fortune hunters. As the daughter of a duke, she had a sizable dowry to tantalize most gentlemen in need of funds into ignoring the rest of it.

The horrible truth of the matter was the fact that Eliza had had the unfortunate circumstance of inheriting her father’s visage.

When people were polite, they used the word plain to describe her. When they were not polite, well…she would rather forget what she’d been called.

Even to think on it had her hands going together, twisting the fine silk of her gloves against her knuckles. She wasn’t entirely sure she could bear any more of this. Standing on the fringes of a society that had deemed her less even while her sister searched for a match for her. For poor Eliza with the hooked nose, thin lips, and bespectacled eyes too small for the rest of her face.

She forced her hands apart and squared her shoulders. If she kept her posture, her gown didn’t hang so billowy on her overly thin frame, and perhaps whoever the suitor Viv found wouldn’t notice her lack of…bits.

Her eyes drifted downward to her own chest before she could stop them, but she wrenched her gaze away when the wilted bit of lace Viv had stuffed into her décolletage earlier that evening stared back at her. No, she most sincerely was not fooling anyone about her lack of bits.

The momentary interruption must have derailed Louisa’s thoughts because suddenly she said, “I’m sure Viv will select a most reasonable man for you, Eliza.”

“A most reasonable man?” Jo gave an unladylike snort. “That sounds like an enticing future.”

Louisa frowned and swatted a hand at her sister. “You are not helping at all. I’m sure there’s someone here tonight that is utterly perfect for you.”

And without hesitation, Louisa popped up on her toes to scan over the top of the crowd. The ballroom was already teeming with the best the ton had to offer, and still names were announced one after the other in a waterfall of earls, marquesses, and barons.

Jo placed her empty glass of lemonade on the tray of a passing footmen.

She studied Eliza briefly, some sort of understanding passing over her features, before she turned away saying, “Someone sensible,” as she scanned the other side of the ballroom.

“He would enjoy reading, of course,” Louisa said, coming back down on her heels.

“Of course,” Jo readily agreed. “And he’d be kind to animals.”

Louisa brought her hands together in glee. “Oh, I bet he’ll have a beloved hound.”

Eliza swallowed the sudden surge of bile in her throat. Wasn’t that what every girl dreamed of when she thought of her future husband? Not that he’d be dashing and strong and handsome. Not that his kiss would make her toes curl or that his touch could—

“Books and hounds is it then?” she whispered.

Louisa’s eyes pinched until a line appeared between them. “Oh, Eliza, you know—”

Louisa reached a hand toward her, but Eliza took a step back, her chest squeezing in familiar pain for things she’d never have.

Eliza did know.

Standing there between her beautiful sisters, Eliza could feel her plainness like a cloak, too heavy and suffocating. She wiggled her shoulders, ensuring they were perfectly square before lifting her chin. She had to remember her goal in all of this silliness. She couldn’t let her feelings of inadequacy or society’s ideas of her cloud her thinking.

Because there was something she wanted out of all of this, and her looks wouldn’t prevent it from happening.

Because every duke needed an heir.

“Perhaps we should catalog the dukes seeking wives this season and determine who it is Viv may select for my match,” she said, her practical nature coming to the fore.

Louisa, ever the one to bolster a soul, clapped her hands together and turned once more to the crush about them.

“Let’s see,” she began.

Jo gave her one last slow look, a hint of understanding in her deep eyes once more before joining her sister’s perusal of the crowd.

“Well, there’s Lyndhurst,” Louisa said.

“He breeds beagles.” Jo turned with a bright smile to Eliza.

Beagles.

Lovely.

“Bradley,” Louisa continued but quickly wrinkled her nose. “Oh, but he smells like mushrooms. I had to dance a quadrille with him once.” She laid a hand on Eliza’s arm. “I’m sure Viv will consider such a thing and remove him from the prospects.”

“Dunderton is a fool. Cheever is a silly boy.” Jo rattled off the titles of dukes like items on the list Cook took to market every week. “Matthews isn’t too bad, I should think.”

Isn’t too bad.

That was where she had landed. Her future depended on isn’t too bad.

She clasped her hands together, twining her fingers until knuckle rubbed knuckle, willing her unspoken desires to go away.

Her desire for more.

For more than just a good match. For a respectable gentleman to call her husband. For a good name that would bolster the title of Ravenwood.

For a family of her own.

She had to keep her focus on that. Through all of this, from society’s judgements to being treated like a specimen on the block, she had to remember what she would get in the end.

A babe to hold in her arms, a child to watch grow.

Someone to love her when no one else did.

She would be lucky to be anything other than spinster, and a loveless marriage was surely no cause for concern if it meant she would finally get the child she so desired.

“Nevins is a good man. I’ve heard Andrew say as much,” Louisa said before falling back on her heels so quickly they made a snapping nose against the marble of the ballroom floor. “Oh.” The syllable was so soft she may not have spoken it at all.

“What is it?” Eliza stepped forward, blood surging through her limbs as if discovering them for the first time.

Louisa slid a glance to Jo, a small smile tugging at her lips. Jo tilted her head before going up on her toes to see where Louisa had been looking. She landed flat on her feet with a soft snort as she tried to stop a smile from forming.

“Oh indeed,” she breathed.

Eliza looked between the two of them. “Whatever is the matter?”

Defeated, Louisa let the smile come to her lips. “I had heard His Grace, the Duke of Ashbourne had returned to the marriage mart.”

The blood drained from Eliza’s head. Surely not. No. Viv couldn’t—

Jo’s smile was equally as filled with silly young girl nonsense. “The Jilted Duke, back for more.” She peered around the crowd as if to catch a glimpse of him again. “I’m surprised he’s having another go at it. What with what happened and all.”

“What happened?” The question came out stilted, and both sisters gave her a blank stare. She put her hands to her hip. “You know I am not one to stay abreast of society gossip.”

Jo shook her head. “This wasn’t gossip. Ashbourne’s jilting occurred in the middle of a ball for all of the ton to witness.”

“He’d arranged the ball as a formal proposal to the woman he thought he had an understanding with. Only she didn’t show.” Louisa’s smile slipped from her face, and the line appeared between her eyes again. “It was quite sad actually. She’d run off with his best friend to Gretna Green. Or so the rumors went.” Louisa peered back over her shoulder where presumably they’d spotted the duke in question. “I can’t imagine wishing to find a wife after that.”

“I would think the marriageable ladies of society don’t feel that way.” Jo’s smile tilted into a smirk.

“Whatever do you mean?” Eliza was not at all enjoying where their conversation was going.

Again, her sisters blinked at her with odd expressions.

“Because he’s gorgeous,” Jo blurted out.

Eliza’s gaze darted to Louisa, who nodded emphatically.

“It’s true. He’s quite handsome. Any girl would be lucky to scoop him up. Mmmm, simply remarkable.” She put one hand to her hip as she seemed to consider just how delectable the Duke of Ashbourne was.

Eliza regarded both of her sisters, seemingly lost in their own imaginings of snaring the Jilted Duke for themselves.

“I’ve never heard you speak like this,” she finally said, and she heard exactly how silly she sounded.

Louisa’s gaze snapped back first. “We speak like this all the time.”

“We just figured you wouldn’t care for such things, so we never invited you to join in,” Jo clarified.

Eliza struggled to keep her mouth closed. “Do you really think about eligible gentlemen in these terms?”

They exchanged glances.

“Of course,” Louisa said while Jo shrugged. “Why not?”

Because it was far more likely for Louisa and Jo to fetch a handsome husband and thus make the discussion of a man’s attractiveness a likely subject for debate. Eliza’s nerves settled with a thud in the pit of her stomach.

What had she to worry over truly? Viv would find a dull, suitable match for her and that would be it. She’d be married and with child within the year. She need only remember that when her nerves returned.

The crowd parted on a wave of emerald silk, and the sister of most importance that night spilled into their small square of ballroom floor.

Viv looked neither crumpled nor frazzled from having made her way through the crowd and simply pressed a hand to an errant strand of auburn hair along her forehead, pressing it back into place as if hurtling oneself through a ball required the most modest of exertions.

“There you three are,” she said, running her hands along her skirts even though the emerald silk remained pristine. “I trust you have not wasted time chattering about over here and have filled your dance cards for the evening.”

Louisa raised her hand, brandishing her dance card like a cat presented a dead mouse to its master, all pride and glee. “I’ve filled every slot with eligible young men worthy of a connection with Ravenwood.”

Viv nodded. “Very good.” And turned to Jo.

Jo brandished her dance card more like a weapon. “Filled to capacity, I’m afraid.”

Viv frowned. “Do try to be a little optimistic.”

“I can’t,” Jo returned. “It might crack my face.”

Viv only blinked at her sister, clearly refusing to rise to the bait.

“Now then,” she said, “you must both be sure to present well and with ample conversation.” She turned with a pointed finger at Jo. “But not too much conversation.”

And by this she meant for Jo to keep her mouth shut and smile and look pretty. Eliza wondered what this must be like. For someone to worry you may attract too much attention from a man.

But even as she considered it, she did not miss the fact that Viv had not asked about her dance card. It lay empty and untouched at her wrist. Just like it always did.

She pretended not to care. She feigned disinterest in dancing and usually found a seat with the spinsters along the peripheries of the ballrooms. It was safer that way.

Louisa, however, never missed anything.

“What about Eliza’s dance card?”

Viv waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve already arranged a partner for her for the first waltz. The rest should be taken care of after that.”

“A partner?” This from Jo.

“The rest of the dances?” From Louisa.

Eliza opened her mouth, determined to ask with whom it was she was supposed to partner but no sound emerged because just at that moment the first strands of a waltz permeated the air as the crowd around them began to shift. The people moving like water cutting around the bow of a schooner as if whoever came toward them propelled people from his path.

As if his reputation proceeded him.

Eliza swallowed, but it was too late.

The Jilted Duke stepped from the crowd, his gaze directed squarely at her.

“Your Grace.” Viv smiled and extended a curtsy. “May I introduce my sister, Lady Eliza Darby?”

Eliza knew she was meant to curtsy. She was meant to bow in respect. She was meant to—something, but she couldn’t move, her mind absorbed with only one thought.

Louisa and Jo were right.

The Duke of Ashbourne was gorgeous.