Page 2 of Two Blessings For His Duchess
“I know that now.” Euphemia looked out at the room. She was scanning the crowd in segments to see who was watching. It was exhausting. “She is not wrong, you know. That is the most irritating part.”
“She is wrong about quite a lot of it,” Emily insisted. “You have to stop thinking about it, Effie. It happened months ago.”
“I shall be fine. I am only tired.”
Emily blinked slowly and angled her head, her gaze sweeping over Euphemia. She reached out and gently caught Euphemia’s hand, pulling it away from her collarbone. “There is no sense in giving those vultures the satisfaction of seeing you so flustered, Euphemia Vane.”
“I am not flustered,” Euphemia lied, though her heart was drumming a fast rhythm against her ribs.
“You are a terrible liar. It is one of your most endearing and inconvenient traits.” Emily let go of her hand but remained close, her presence a shield against the curious glances drifting their way. “You have to stop thinking about it. Lord Finch doesn’t deserve your peace.”
“He does not have my peace,” she argued further.
“Effie...”
“I will be all right.” Euphemia laughed awkwardly. “It was months ago, Emily. Trust me, I am fine. Why else would I have agreed to attend your wonderful ball?”
Emily nodded. “Come then. There is syllabub on the buffet, and Lord Hartfield has just arrived. He is considerably more handsome than any man has a right to be at this hour. You should at least look at him, it might improve your mood.”
Euphemia laughed despite herself. “I have no interest in Lord Hartfield.”
“You have no interest in anything at present, which is precisely the problem.” Emily steered her gently away from the window and back toward the warmth of the room. “You are at a ball, Effie. There is music and good wine and people who are very pleased to see you.”
“There are people who are very pleased to discuss me,” Euphemia corrected. “That is a different thing.”
“Then ignore them.”
Euphemia did not answer. She wanted to say that ignoring them was considerably easier as a suggestion than as an undertaking. That she could not simply decide not to hear a thing when the thing was happening at a volume designed to be heard, that composure was not the same as comfort no matter how convincingly she wore it. She wanted to say that she had been ignoring them for three months and it still bothered her that everyone always had something to say.
She said none of this. Instead, she took the glass Emily pressed into her hand and she looked out at the room. She did the thing she had become very good at, which was to arrange her face into an expression that bore no resemblance whatsoever to what was happening behind it.
Across the room, a woman she did not know leaned toward a woman she did and said something behind her fan. The woman she did know laughed. Neither of them looked at Euphemia directly.
She was so very tired of people not looking at her directly.
“You cannot hide in corners forever,” Emily said softly.
“I am not hiding. I am merely... conserving my resources.” Euphemia’s hand dropped to the side of her gown, her finger immediately diving into a fold of her dress to twist.
“You say that now, but you are the lady who came to London almost a year ago with stars in her eyes,” Emily reminded her, leaning closer. “You were the one who told me that you wouldn’t settle for anything less than a love match. You wanted the poetry and the grand gestures. You didn’t want to be like your sisters, who have given up on the idea of love. Which I think is preposterous given how young they are.”
Euphemia flinched. “I was young a year ago. I was also quite stupid.”
“You weren’t stupid. You were sincere. I would like to think that Lord Finch saw that. Even though he might have taken advantage of it.”
“He saw a target,” Euphemia corrected. “He saw a girl who was so desperate to believe in a fairy tale. He acted the part of the devoted suitor because he knew exactly what I wanted to hear. He took my sincerity and used it to hide what he was truly after.”
She looked away, her eyes fixed on the heavy library door across the hall. The memory of the wedding morning felt like a physical weight on her body. She could still feel the phantom itch of the lace veil she had worn while sitting on the edge of her bed, watching the clock.
“I spent three hours in that room,” Euphemia said, her voice trembling slightly. “Did I tell you that? Waiting for a man who had already fled the city. Now, I am living in my uncle’s house, playing nursemaid to a man who barely recognizes me, andtrying to avoid women like Mrs. Pembrook who think my ruin is a dinner party story.”
“How is your uncle?” Emily asked, patting her on the back.
“The same.” Euphemia’s voice softened. “He is comfortable. He does not leave the house now, and I think he has stopped expecting to. Dr. Harwell comes on Tuesdays. We read together in the evenings when he is well enough.” She smiled... a real one, small and unguarded in a way the others had not been. “He pretends not to enjoy the novels. He has opinions about every character and voices them at considerable length.”
“He sounds exactly like you.”
“He is considerably more stubborn than I am,” Euphemia said. She straightened her spine, forcing the vulnerability back down. “I don’t know, Emily… I thought I could find something real here. But the only thing real about thetonis how quickly they turn on you when the money runs out.”
