Scales and Sensibility by Stephanie Burgis

Chapter 29

There was no time for Elinor to warn Benedict before the ball began. As the great Mrs. De Lacey and the most honoured guest anyone in the neighborhood had ever known, she was required to stand in the receiving line between Lady Hathergill and Sir John to greet the long stream of lesser guests whose carriages rattled up outside Hathergill Hall at eight o’clock.

Two more hours…

Elinor’s skin twitched with impatience as she touched her gloved fingers to hand after hand, nodding to each new guest with a smile that felt more forced with every passing minute. At least Penelope was trapped in this receiving line as well; that was her only consolation. As long as Elinor found Benedict the very moment the ball began, to warn him of what her cousin had in mind…

Penelope leaned up to whisper in Sir John’s ear, with an imploring look, just as old Mr. Adams from the next village clasped Elinor’s gloved hand.

“Enchanting, enchanting,” mumbled Mr. Adams. “Now when I was a lad, and went to London…”

Beside her, Lady Hathergill said loudly to Mr. Adams’s granddaughter, “Good God, but I pity the bird who died to make your hat!”

But Elinor still caught Sir John’s words to his daughter. “Of course you can, puss. Take all the time you need.”

Penelope curtseyed prettily to the line of remaining guests, and hurried away with a determined bounce to her step. A moment later, she was lost in the crowd.

“I beg your pardon,” Elinor said to Mr. Adams, “but if you’ll excuse me—”

“Nonsense,” said Sir John, overhearing. “You won’t abandon us at the post, will you, Mrs. De Lacey?”

The guests around them might have missed the warning in his tone. Elinor did not. She gritted her teeth.

The queue had to end soon. There weren’t that many people in this entire county, for heaven’s sake. All she had to do was wait a few more minutes.

“Of course not,” she said, and smiled fixedly at Mr. Adams’s granddaughter as the receiving line moved forward.

As usual, nowadays, her aunt had been perfectly correct: the huge, goggle-eyed stuffed pheasant that weighed down the girl’s bonnet looked as if it wanted to weep with outrage at its own indignity.

Sir Jessamyn, however, had the opposite reaction. He leaned forward, golden eyes fixing hungrily upon the bonnet. His tongue darted out from his mouth. The muscles in his legs bunched as he prepared to leap.

“What a pretty dragon!” Miss Adams said. “May I pet it, please?”

“It would be wiser not to.” Elinor put a steadying hand on Sir Jessamyn’s neck before he could lose all control, lunge forward and snatch himself an after-supper snack.

“Never mind,” she whispered to him consolingly, as Miss Adams moved forward in the line. “It was old and rotten anyway.”

Sir Jessamyn subsided, grumbling.

Fortunately, there were no more dead animals on the headpieces of the remaining guests. Only ten more minutes passed before the last guest had been greeted, and Elinor was free. She started forward through the crowd.

“Oh, Mrs. De Lacey—”

“Mrs. De Lacey, if I may—”

“Excuse me,” she said, and then raised her voice as her uncle’s neighbors clustered closer. “Pardon me!”

“Oh, but Mrs. De Lacey, if I could have one quick word—”

“Just a moment for my daughter’s sake, if you please…”

There was no way to push past the gathering circle of local matrons and their husbands without risking the touch of bare skin. Elinor could have screamed with frustration. She hung onto her patience with every ounce of self-control she still possessed.

Then she remembered: for this one last night of her life, she was still Mrs. De Lacey. Why on earth should she bother with self-control?

“Will everyone please move out of my way?” she bellowed.

There was a moment of frozen silence. Then the local gentry scattered before her, bowing and scraping and apologizing in agonized embarrassment.

“Much better.” Elinor unfurled her aunt’s second-best black evening fan to cool her face as she sailed forward. Sir Jessamyn sat up alertly on her shoulder, his golden gaze sweeping the room.

“Benedict,” she murmured to him. “Look for Benedict, not for food. We need to find—”

She was cut off by a sudden fanfare of flutes and horns. Sir John stood before the orchestra in the corner of the room, looking ready to burst with pride as the guests paused in their conversations and turned to listen.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “We’ve gathered in honor of the prettiest girl in England tonight. And now, ready to lead off the first set of the evening…my daughter!”

He pointed to the center of the room, where Penelope stood next to a politely smiling Benedict. His gaze searched through the crowd and met Elinor’s; his smile turned rueful. He gave an infinitesimal shrug.

She tried to give him a reassuring smile in return, but his face was lost to her within seconds as other young ladies and their partners surrounded him, taking their places for the dance.

At least Penelope couldn’t do anything in front of so many people, Elinor told herself. Her cousin would have to trick Benedict into taking her out of the ballroom if she wished to create a compromising situation. All that Elinor had to do was intercept him the moment that the first set of dances ended, and he would be perfectly safe.

“Mrs. De Lacey.” Gavin Armitage bowed before her. His evening coat emphasized his broad shoulders, and gold thread glittered on his waistcoat, picking out a pattern studded with tiny jewels. “May I have this dance?”

She smiled thinly. “Thank you, but I do not dance tonight.”

“Oh, but you must. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you dance before, in London, so you can’t pretend to be too old and staid. How can you possibly refuse me?”

“With great ease.” Elinor turned pointedly away from him. She couldn’t dance with anyone, of course; there was too great a risk of bare skin brushing in the turns of the dance. But with Gavin Armitage, of all people, she felt no need to pretend regret. Surely blackmail removed any need for courtesy between them?

She would have walked away without looking back, but Sir Jessamyn let out a warning chirrup. She turned just in time: Mr. Armitage’s bare hand had been about to close around her bare arm, in the dangerous gap between her cap sleeves and her glove.

“I beg your pardon!” She snapped her fan out between them like a shield.

His blue eyes were glittering with anger, his social mask dropped for the first time since she’d met him. “So you should,” he said. “Why is Miss Hathergill dancing with Benedict Hawkins, may I ask?”

“She must have promised him this dance,” Elinor said coldly. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“She promised it to me,” said Mr. Armitage. “Now she’s shifted my dance to the second set. What have you been telling her, Mrs. De Lacey?”

“To marry you, of course,” she snapped. “Much good may it do either of you.”

She was horrified to realize that she was trembling, an involuntary response to the menace that suddenly thickened the air. She took a shallow breath, and forced herself not to step back. They were standing in a crowded ballroom, for heaven’s sake. There was nothing he could do to her. But as Elinor looked into Gavin Armitage’s eyes, she suddenly had no doubt whatsoever that he would physically hurt her, if need be, to get what he desired.

He might even enjoy it.

Good God. She fought not to let the horrifying realization show on her face. I can’t let him marry Penelope after all.

Her cousin was many things, almost all of them horrid. But even Penelope didn’t deserve to be wed to Gavin Armitage.

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

Elinor lifted her chin. “If you will recall,” she said coldly, “I have until ten o’clock to secure your future happiness.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Gavin Armitage stepped back. “Until ten o’clock.”

She turned her back on him and walked away. But the quivering tension in her muscles didn’t relax until the crowd had closed between them, and he could no longer see her.

Then she closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. She would have gladly collapsed if there had been a chair at hand to fall into. As it was, though, she was being watched by far too many people, not to mention Sir Jessamyn, who was nuzzling her cheek with deep concern.

She had to find her courage, and her spine.

Elinor opened her eyes and found at least ten of Sir John’s neighbors watching her with open fascination. She bared her teeth, and they turned hastily away. Good. Later, she might feel guilty for how badly she’d behaved, but right now, she didn’t have time to make sparkling conversation about London life and high society. Muffled under the cheerful tones of the orchestra’s quadrille, the clock in the corner was chiming a warning that resonated through her bones. It was a quarter to nine, and she had no time left to lose.

If she wanted to save herself—and, maddeningly, Penelope—from the Armitages, she only had one choice. She had to find out what was making them so desperate to secure the betrothal now, tonight. There was only one person who could help her.

Elinor took a deep breath and struck out through the crowd. It was time to deal with the problem of Lucinda.

* * *

It wasn’tdifficult to find Penelope’s friends. At this ball, like so many country balls, there were too many young ladies and not nearly enough gentlemen, so Lucinda and Millie were both waiting this set out, standing together by the refreshment table. Millie watched the dancers with open envy. As her eyes followed Penelope, her hand fluttered unconsciously to her left shoulder; it would not be long, Elinor thought, before she started wearing a peacock feather of her own. If it hadn’t been for Lucinda’s cooler head and guidance, Millie probably would have given in to temptation and worn one tonight, earning Penelope’s eternal ire.

Lucinda, though…her lips might have been smiling as she chatted to her friend, but her gaze moved ceaselessly about the room, sharp and searching, taking in every detail. Who could she possibly be looking for? Elinor frowned as she glanced around the ballroom. The shifting patterns of the dance filled the center of the floor, while the older gentlemen, matrons and wallflowers flowed about the sides of the room. She squinted, taking it all in, and for one dazzling moment they all blurred into a whirl of colour and sparkles.

That’s it. Elinor sucked in a breath at the realization. Lucinda wasn’t looking for any one person—or any person at all. She was looking at all the sparkling things that filled the room. All the gentry of the county had flocked to Hathergill Hall tonight, wearing their finest attire…and accessories. There wasn’t a woman there, apart from Elinor herself, whose throat, ears, and wrists didn’t glitter with her most expensive jewelry.

Lucinda would never be able to resist.

How was she to be caught in the act, though? Elinor worried at her bottom lip as she puzzled it through. It had to be soon, before the music could stop and Lucinda could be swept up into the patterns of the next dance. And it couldn’t be Elinor herself who set the trap. Lucinda knew not to trust her.

But who else could possibly be asked? Benedict was still trapped in the dance. Mr. Aubrey was sitting the quadrille out, of course, crossing his arms and glowering at the triviality of the dance, but he wore no jewelry to provide a temptation—not even a gold watchfob of the type many gentlemen favored.

That left only one dangerously unpredictable possibility.

“…And I was sick for days!” Lady Hathergill said cheerfully behind her. “I puked like a pig. Disgusting!”

The vicar’s wife made a muffled sound of horror and fled as Elinor turned. Her aunt shrugged philosophically as she watched the other woman run away. “Ah, well,” she said. “Horrible woman. Her husband only married her for her dowry, you know. He was actually in love with her sister, but she ran away with their footman ten days before they were meant to be wed. A ridiculous way to escape, if you ask me. She should have at least held out for a butler, don’t you think?”

“I—well, I suppose…” Elinor blinked. Then she put the story aside to be wondered at later. “Aunt—I mean, my old friend. I need to ask a favor of you.”

“You can always ask,” Lady Hathergill said. “But I may or may not say yes. I used to agree to everything, you know, only because it seemed so much easier not to argue. Nowadays, though, I feel quite invigorated. Almost like a different person!”

“I know.” Elinor winced. “But I need to expose a thief—one who’s ruined a young girl’s life only to save her own reputation and standing. Will you help me?”

A smile spread across Lady Hathergill’s face. She leaned towards Elinor and tapped Sir Jessamyn approvingly on his snout. “Do you know,” she said, “I’d actually believed that this whole evening would be a crashing bore. How glad I am to know I was mistaken!”