Read Online A Compromised Lady by Elizabeth Rolls - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Rolls
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keep a polite smile plastered on her face.
And the knowledge that the following evening she was expected to attend a ball feathered chills down her spine.
People kept touching her, brushing by her. They couldn’t help it, of course, in the press, but nevertheless her skin crawled and her stomach clenched, a solid lump of panic churning within.
Each time she kicked her chin a notch higher and breathed with fierce determination. It was foolish, irrational—she wouldn’t give in to it!
As various people greeted them, Thea’s nerves began to steady, and she realised with an odd shock that, although she disliked the crowd, the fear of exposing herself was ebbing. She might be uncomfortable, but she wasn’t going to faint or panic, even when one dowager went so far as to prod her with a fan, commenting that it was time and more that she did her duty. She shot a gimlet-eyed stare at Lady Arnsworth. ‘And I hear you have that nephew of yours with you. Well, it might be worse!’ and stumped off, leaning on a cane.
‘Such a dreadful crush!’ pronounced Lady Arnsworth in scathing tones, as the dowager retreated.
‘Really, I wonder that Louisa cares to invite so many. I have not seen a single person I wished to see.’ She smiled graciously, inclining her head at another lady. ‘Lady Broome! How nice…yes. A frightful crush. I shall look forward to a comfortable cose later!’
Lady Broome sailed away into the seething silks and satins.
Lady Arnsworth shuddered. ‘Vulgar creature! Her father was a merchant. I vow she smells of the shop!’
Thea remembered Lady Broome as a very good-natured, unaffected woman—not at all vulgar. And her own fortune, now respectably invested in the Funds, derived from her uncle’s involvement with the East India Company. Perhaps Lady Arnsworth’s sense of smell was selective…like her tolerance for other failings.
The gentlemen were no less assiduous in their attentions, several claiming to remember her from her brief Season.
She smiled and replied politely to their compliments, vaguely remembering names and faces from eight years ago. The smile was the important thing: vague, gracious, never direct. Let them think her cold, uninviting…
‘Oh, goodness me!’ muttered Lady Arnsworth, nipping at Thea’s arm in warning with gloved fingers.
Thea recognised Lord Dunhaven at once. Slightly above average height, his powerful frame drew attention as he strolled towards them, his expression intent.
‘Really! I did not think he could possibly be serious!’ muttered Lady Arnsworth to Thea. Then, in far more gracious tones, ‘Lord Dunhaven! How do you do?’
Instantly Thea was aware that although his lordship exchanged polite greetings with Lady Arnsworth, all his attention was on her. Intent, knowing eyes looked her up and down. She stiffened her spine against the tremor that went through her as Lady Arnsworth presented her.
‘You recall Lord Aberfield’s daughter? Miss Winslow, this is Lord Dunhaven.’
Thin lips curved in acknowledgement. ‘Certainly, ma’am. I called on Aberfield earlier and he mentioned that she had arrived.’ His gaze returned to Thea. ‘Good evening, Miss Winslow.’ He extended his hand with all the air of one conferring a signal honour upon the recipient.
Thea repressed a shudder, violently aware of her scanty bodice, as she placed her hand in his. She remembered Lord Dunhaven well; she had never liked him. Lady Dunhaven had always been casting nervous glances at him, agreeing with everything he said.
‘How do you do, my lord?’ She curtsied slightly as he bowed over her hand, and the odour of his pomaded hair sank into her. Her stomach roiled, but she lifted her chin. His lordship seemed inclined to retain possession of her hand and place it on his arm, but she withdrew it firmly.
Something about Lord Dunhaven made her skin crawl, even through her white kid gloves. She quelled the urge to rub her glove as though it might be soiled. There was
And the knowledge that the following evening she was expected to attend a ball feathered chills down her spine.
People kept touching her, brushing by her. They couldn’t help it, of course, in the press, but nevertheless her skin crawled and her stomach clenched, a solid lump of panic churning within.
Each time she kicked her chin a notch higher and breathed with fierce determination. It was foolish, irrational—she wouldn’t give in to it!
As various people greeted them, Thea’s nerves began to steady, and she realised with an odd shock that, although she disliked the crowd, the fear of exposing herself was ebbing. She might be uncomfortable, but she wasn’t going to faint or panic, even when one dowager went so far as to prod her with a fan, commenting that it was time and more that she did her duty. She shot a gimlet-eyed stare at Lady Arnsworth. ‘And I hear you have that nephew of yours with you. Well, it might be worse!’ and stumped off, leaning on a cane.
‘Such a dreadful crush!’ pronounced Lady Arnsworth in scathing tones, as the dowager retreated.
‘Really, I wonder that Louisa cares to invite so many. I have not seen a single person I wished to see.’ She smiled graciously, inclining her head at another lady. ‘Lady Broome! How nice…yes. A frightful crush. I shall look forward to a comfortable cose later!’
Lady Broome sailed away into the seething silks and satins.
Lady Arnsworth shuddered. ‘Vulgar creature! Her father was a merchant. I vow she smells of the shop!’
Thea remembered Lady Broome as a very good-natured, unaffected woman—not at all vulgar. And her own fortune, now respectably invested in the Funds, derived from her uncle’s involvement with the East India Company. Perhaps Lady Arnsworth’s sense of smell was selective…like her tolerance for other failings.
The gentlemen were no less assiduous in their attentions, several claiming to remember her from her brief Season.
She smiled and replied politely to their compliments, vaguely remembering names and faces from eight years ago. The smile was the important thing: vague, gracious, never direct. Let them think her cold, uninviting…
‘Oh, goodness me!’ muttered Lady Arnsworth, nipping at Thea’s arm in warning with gloved fingers.
Thea recognised Lord Dunhaven at once. Slightly above average height, his powerful frame drew attention as he strolled towards them, his expression intent.
‘Really! I did not think he could possibly be serious!’ muttered Lady Arnsworth to Thea. Then, in far more gracious tones, ‘Lord Dunhaven! How do you do?’
Instantly Thea was aware that although his lordship exchanged polite greetings with Lady Arnsworth, all his attention was on her. Intent, knowing eyes looked her up and down. She stiffened her spine against the tremor that went through her as Lady Arnsworth presented her.
‘You recall Lord Aberfield’s daughter? Miss Winslow, this is Lord Dunhaven.’
Thin lips curved in acknowledgement. ‘Certainly, ma’am. I called on Aberfield earlier and he mentioned that she had arrived.’ His gaze returned to Thea. ‘Good evening, Miss Winslow.’ He extended his hand with all the air of one conferring a signal honour upon the recipient.
Thea repressed a shudder, violently aware of her scanty bodice, as she placed her hand in his. She remembered Lord Dunhaven well; she had never liked him. Lady Dunhaven had always been casting nervous glances at him, agreeing with everything he said.
‘How do you do, my lord?’ She curtsied slightly as he bowed over her hand, and the odour of his pomaded hair sank into her. Her stomach roiled, but she lifted her chin. His lordship seemed inclined to retain possession of her hand and place it on his arm, but she withdrew it firmly.
Something about Lord Dunhaven made her skin crawl, even through her white kid gloves. She quelled the urge to rub her glove as though it might be soiled. There was
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