All the slights, the snubs, the snide looks and comments would have to be stifled when she entered the party.
She kept telling herself she would be greeted with deference, acknowledged with envy, accepted back into the fold without any challenges because no one with half a brain would wish to anger or displease the viscount. To do so would be social suicide.
But there was no pleasure or triumph or satisfaction swirling inside her. In truth, Gwendolyn had never dreaded anything quite as badly in her life. It almost felt as if she were marching off to a funeral. Her own.
The waiting servant cleared his throat, startling her.
Gwendolyn leaned forward out of the viscount’s coach and glanced at the gloved hand the footman was holding toward her. “Are we the first ones to arrive?”
“Hardly. I believe you are among the last to arrive, Miss.”
“Truly?” she asked, craning her neck to gaze about the courtyard. She noted two additional footmen standing attentively at the bottom of the steps, but no other coaches were in view.
Footmen! The Hollingsworths had spared no expense, or pretense, for this affair. It was a stark reminder of how important they felt it was and how furious they would be when she ruined it all by making an appearance.
Gwendolyn paused, sternly admonishing herself. She was being ridiculous. Even if things did not work out as Lord Fairhurst promised, even if she was not accepted, but snubbed as she so feared, it would not be the end of the world. People did not die of humiliation; it only felt that way.
Lord Fairhurst must have seen the unease in her eyes, for he leaned forward and whispered, “You have numerous outstanding qualities, Miss Ellingham, but the one I admire most is your courage. Surely, it will not desert you now.”
Gwendolyn pressed her lips together, then put her hand on his arm. With his words of encouragement ringing in her ears, she marched up the steps and swept through the front door as if she were queen of the castle.
Chapter Seven
Gwendolyn’s burst of courage lasted only until they reached the entrance foyer. A servant directed them to the second floor and her heart began to pound. Logic told her it was too late to turn tail and run and Gwendolyn climbed the stairs slowly, feeling absolutely ill with dread. She lifted her gaze to the portraits that lined the walls, trying to distract her thoughts of panic. But even the sight of a couple dressed in the style of the previous cen-tury was distressing, since the stiff-faced woman garbed in a satin dress festooned with lace bore an uncanny resemblance to the current Mrs. Hollingsworth.
They reached the second floor, where a lavish array of candles lit the hallway. Positioned in front of a pair of open double doors, in a makeshift receiving line, were Mr. and Mrs. Hollingsworth and their daughter, Olivia.
Distant voices echoed through the open doors along with music, laughter and conversation. It appeared as though most of the guests had already arrived, but the host and hostess were waiting for their most distinguished guest to make an appearance. And wouldn’t they be surprised when they saw who that guest had brought with him?
Gwendolyn could not contain a shiver of dread, knowing she was hopelessly out of place.
“Try to smile and appear aloof,” Lord Fairhurst whispered as they drew close to the Hollingsworths. “You must make them feel honored that you have graced them with your presence tonight.”
Gwendolyn let out a brittle laugh. Was he mad? That sort of superior attitude was bred within the bones of the aristocracy, not in someone like her. “I had not realized you were such a snob, my lord.”
“Snobbery is among my finest qualities, an asset I have honed to perfection over the years.” Beneath the twinkle of amusement, there was unmistakable confidence in his gaze. “I am also insufferably stuffy and formal and have been accused by more than one individual of being stiff to the point of near rigor mortis.”
“Qualities that all most assuredly contribute to making you such a charming and sought-after companion.”
He smiled. “’Tis good that you can jest at a time like this; however, it would be better if you could try to cease looking as though you wish to hurl yourself out the window.”
“We are only two flights from the ground, my lord.”
Straightening her back, Gwendolyn stood up taller. “If I jumped at this height at most I would fracture a limb.”
“True. Hardly worth the effort, is it?”
Gwendolyn knew it would be impossible to manage a smile, but with great effort she was able to force her features into a pleasantly stoic mask. And then they stood before their hosts.
Mr. Hollingsworth bowed in a decidedly fawning manner and blustered out a nervous greeting. Mrs. Hollingsworth dipped a wobbly curtsey to the viscount and turned graciously, but the instant her eyes fell upon Gwendolyn, her face contorted into an expression of ghastly shock.
Hellfire and damnation!
She knew it was not going to work. In that moment Gwendolyn wished that she had not been so foolish as to come here, wished that she had listened to her practical nature and refused the viscount’s demands.
Clenching her teeth, Gwendolyn lowered her head.
But she had underestimated the viscount’s power and resolve. He refused to relinquish any outward signs of decorum and would not permit anyone else to either, especially his host and hostess.
“Miss Ellingham graciously agreed to be my companion this evening, though I’ll admit I had a devil of a time convincing her to come. She had some strange notion that you would not bid her welcome. I assured her repeatedly that cannot possibly be true. Was I correct, Mrs.
Hollingsworth?”
The older woman’s lips puckered and the expression on her face pulled as though she were sucking on a lemon.
“With you as her escort, my lord, we could hardly refuse her entrance, even though she was not on the guest list, nor was she sent an invitation,” Mrs. Hollingsworth replied, barely relaxing the haughty disdain from her face.
“I would expect nothing less than a gracious welcome.” He pointedly reached down and moved Gwendolyn’s hand into the crook of his arm. “My father, the earl, has always said those who doubt their own worth will cast aspersions on others. I am delighted to discover you are a woman of character.” His voice lowered.
“Though I suggest you try to display more of it whenever possible, madame.”
Mrs. Hollingsworth actually blanched. Gwendolyn almost felt sorry for her, for it was clear she did not know whether to be insulted or flattered by Lord Fairhurst’s comment. Her double chin wobbled with confusion and the pair of bright red ostrich feathers in her elaborately styled hair shook to and fro. Fortunately, her daughter came to the rescue.
“We are all pleased indeed that you were able to make it to our humble entertainment, Miss Ellingham,” Olivia said. She smiled to demonstrate her sincerity, revealing a mouth filled with very white and very crooked teeth.
“Thank you,” Gwendolyn murmured, glancing past her trio of hosts into the room beyond. It was filled with people. “’Tis lovely to be here.”
Her obvious lie was not challenged by anyone. Lord Fairhurst executed a short bow, Gwendolyn sank to a graceful curtsy and they managed to escape their hosts without further incident.
Gwendolyn’s breathing slowed as they walked through the doorway into the formal drawing room. Since the house did not have a ballroom, the drawing room had been cleared of furniture in preparation for dancing.
Voices were raised in merriment and for an instant Gwendolyn thought she might be able to slip quietly into the mix without attracting too much attention.
That, of course, was totally impossible. Gwendolyn almost laughed out loud at her foolishness, for it was as if she had momentarily forgotten who her escort was, had forgotten he would be the center of ever yone’s attention.
Gradually the other guests began to take notice of the new arrivals. There were several clear gasps of astonishment and more than one cold glance. Gwendolyn could feel the loathing
emanating from a few of the assembled company. She knew she must not panic, knew she must somehow keep her head held high. Still, her hand went to her throat as she tried to settle her nerves.
The extreme irony of the situation was that for four long years she had told herself that she did not care. She did not care that she was shunned, that she was an outcast. She did not care that she was thought to be a tarnished woman, an immoral female. Yet to her surprise, as she stood there facing the harsh stare of society, Gwendolyn realized that she was truly bothered by the treatment she had received.
“Do not let them sense any weakness or else you are doomed,” Lord Fairhurst instructed as all emotions on his handsome face disappeared behind a bland smile.
The muscles of Gwendolyn’s neck dragged her head and chin higher. The viscount was right, though she could not resist voicing an observation. “You sound as though you speak from experience, my lord.”
“Far more than you would ever know,” he muttered under his breath, his voice so low she was certain she must have misheard the remark.
They began to circle the outer edge of the room slowly, greeting the other guests.
“I can see your uncle casting daggers of surprise in our direction,” the viscount said. “Obviously you ignored my advice and neglected to inform your relations that you would be attending the ball.”
“Dorothea knew.” Gwendolyn sighed. “It was pointless to mention the party to my aunt or uncle, since they could easily have forbade me to attend.”
“Would you have obeyed them?”
“Contrary to popular opinion, I do not relish the role of being disobedient or notorious. It would have been difficult to defy them outright. Therefore I did not tell them of my plans.”
She followed his gaze to where her relatives were clustered around the refreshment table. Aunt Mildred seemed mildly confused, but Uncle Fletcher carried a thunderous expression of disapproval on his face.
“We will avoid them until your uncle regains his composure,” Lord Fairhurst decided.
“That might take all evening.”
“Then we shall hope the party ends early,” Lord Fairhurst drawled. He looked about the room, a slight frown on his face. “Your family is not the only ones exhibiting an extreme interest in us. Nearly all the women are peering at us over their fans and the men are hoping the milling throng will cover their open curiosity.”
“Surely, you expected it,” Gwendolyn replied, her voice sounding high and strangled, as if her throat were being squeezed.
Lord Fairhurst exhaled. “The key to our success lies in showing no hint of strain or stress. No matter what the situation, Miss Ellingham, you must learn to feign pleasure.”
“A task you seemed to have very adeptly mastered, my lord.”
“I have indeed. But there are certain instances when only real pleasure will suffice. I encourage you to learn the difference.”
Warmth flooded her body at the brazen look he gave her and she struggled to ignore the heat rising up her neck to her cheeks. The very last thing she needed was to encourage an improper flirtation. “We should circu-late among the guests,” she suggested, needing a change of topic. “Together or separately?”
“Together to start. I will not abandon you like a lamb to the slaughter,” the viscount promised. “But as you obviously realize, we must eventually separate.”
“I know,” Gwendolyn said. “The gossip would be unbearable if we stayed glued to each other’s side all evening.”
Over the course of the next half-hour, Lord Fairhurst slowly made his way around the room, steering her from one group of guests to the next. Gwendolyn pretended to be unaware of the speculation in nearly everyone’s eyes and though there were a few frosty comments now and again, no one overtly snubbed or ignored her.
As they approached another cluster he leaned close and asked, “Refresh my memory, please. Who is the gentleman in the ill-fitting dark blue coat standing next to Mr. Ardley?”
“Mr. Chelton. He owns the largest dairy farm in the county and fancies himself a country squire. It would delight him to no end if you addressed him as Squire Chelton.”
The viscount did as she suggested and the conversation went smoothly. They had just started to move toward another group when a masculine voice interrupted them.
“Gwendolyn! We are astonished to see you here.”
She knew it was her uncle without even looking. Fortunately he was not alone. Both her aunt and Dorothea were with him, blessed allies in Gwendolyn’s opinion.
“The viscount was kind enough to offer his escort and I was pleased to accept his invitation,” she said calmly, though her tone was more defensive than she had hoped to make it.
Uncle Fletcher pinched the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and forefinger. “I do wish you had consulted me first. It was just this sort of reckless, impulsive behavior that landed you in trouble four years ago.”
Gwendolyn raised her chin, but before she could reply, the viscount spoke.
“The burden of that fiasco lies squarely with you, sir, and I expect you to offer Miss Gwendolyn the support she needs and deserves now that she is re-entering society.”
Uncle Fletcher snorted, yet apparently he realized it was against everyone’s best interest to make a scene, so he changed the subject. “The dancing will be starting soon. I shall partner you, if no one else asks.”
It was a somewhat insulting remark, but Gwendolyn decided to be gracious. “Thank you, Uncle Fletcher. I doubt I will take to the floor, but I appreciate the offer.”
Aunt Mildred laid a hand on her husband’s arm, gazing at him with a long look of entreaty. “We only want you to be happy, Gwendolyn. Isn’t that true, Fletcher?”
A tenseness cinched Uncle Fletcher’s mouth, but he made no further remarks. The two departed, and Gwendolyn finally found a smile. She turned to her sister.
Dorothea looked stunning. Her hourglass form was shown to perfection in a low-cut gown of white silk that made her hair seem an even lighter shade of gold.
Gwendolyn was proud of her lovely sister. There was no question in her mind that Dorothea outshone most of the other simpering young women in attendance.
“I would like to join the gentlemen gathered at the sideboard for a round of brandy,” the viscount said. “Will you be all right on your own?”
“I will stay with her,” Dorothea volunteered.
He hesitated, his lips pursed in consideration. Gwendolyn could almost see the thoughts burning through his mind. Finally, he reached his decision. “I shall leave her in your capable hands, Miss Dorothea.”
He turned, but Dorothea tapped him on the arm with her closed fan. “Do not stay away too long. I know bringing her here was all your idea, my lord. So I expect you to return to my sister soon.”
“Pay no attention to Dorothea’s fussing,” Gwendolyn said. “I shall manage well enough on my own. In fact, if you wish to visit the card room, you need only follow the trail of men making their way across the hall.”
“My goodness, Gwendolyn, everyone knows that Lord Fairhurst does not gamble,” Dorothea admonished.
“Quite right,” he chimed in. “Gave it up years ago.”
His voice sounded oddly strained. Gwendolyn regarded him closely, noting how the momentary gleam of interest abruptly vanished from his eyes, causing her to wonder about his true feelings about gaming.
As Lord Fairhurst strolled away, Gwendolyn was able to fully appreciate how elegant he looked, especially among so many provincially dressed men. Dressed in black breeches that hugged his muscular thighs, a fitted black evening coat, and a starched white cravat tied to perfection, he was easily the most intriguing man in the room.
“It is rather unfair that he is so disturbingly handsome,” Dorothea commented with a sigh. “But it is his title rather than his person that has been such an advantage for you tonight. I am so glad you came, Gwendolyn.
I was worried that you would change your mind at the last minute and si
t brooding in your bedchamber for the night.”
“I did consider it,” Gwendolyn admitted.
“Miss Ellingham, I believe this is our dance.”
“Mr. Harper.” Dorothea consulted the small card that dangled from her wrist on a white satin ribbon. “Yes, I see your name, written so neatly. You have excellent penman-ship.” She turned to Gwendolyn. “Are you acquainted with my sister, Mr. Harper?”
“Ahh, not formally. Good evening, Miss Ellingham.”
Gwendolyn felt a flash of sympathy as the young man blushed and stammered, but to his credit he managed a polite bow and a civil greeting. Dorothea’s lips quivered and a dimple appeared on her right cheek as Mr.
Harper led her out for the opening dance.
The voices swirled around her, laughing, joking, gossiping. Gwendolyn found a comfortable chair, sipped a glass of champagne and sat back, feeling oddly relaxed.
For the first time in four long years she was seated within the bosom of society.
Well, not precisely within the bosom. More like clinging to the outer edges, but no one had dared to cut her directly. On that point the viscount had been right. She glanced through the potted palm fronds across the crowded floor to the corner where the older women sat and gossiped, telling herself she was not their exclusive topic of conversation.
And then realized that even if she was, it did not matter overmuch.
The dance ended and the next one began. Gwendolyn could see her sister had a new partner and was glad. It was past time that Dorothea received some attention from the male population. But Dorothea dancing another set left Gwendolyn alone. She settled back and waited.
Suddenly, Lord Fairhurst swept by. He plucked the half-empty glass of champagne from her hands. It made a sharp click as he set it down on a mahogany sideboard near her chair. “How kind of you to save this dance for me.”
Gwendolyn allowed herself to be pulled to her feet and led onto the dance floor, trying to suppress the feelings of panic when the viscount chose the center of the room. For the benefit of those looking discreetly, and the others who were openly staring at them, Gwendolyn faced him with a bright smile.
How to Enjoy a Scandal Page 10
