appearance. She was atleast passable, and her dowry was not unattractive. Rather, it seemed fairly certain that her discomfort around strangers and tendency toward bumbling to be the culprit. Even her dance partners managed to disappear after she tramped on their toes once too often.
Thankfully, few took notice of their arrival. It helped to settle her nerves a bit, though she was grateful when they finally made it across the room so her aunt could join her friends and her uncle could make his escape from his wife’s side. That left Lizzie to stand alone on the perimeter, hoping for anonymity. At this point, her biggest desire was to make it through the evening without embarrassment.
She took a deep breath and scanned the room for a familiar face, but recognized few. Now that Angelica Fortney—oh, but it was Lady Vinedale now, wasn’t it?—was back in town from her wedding trip, Lizzie had hoped to find her at the event. As luck was not her strong suit, her friend didn’t appear to be present.
She knew better than to expect to find Angelica’s older brother in attendance. Wainsborough did not go to events that included scheming mothers.
Ever since she had met him earlier in the week, ever so briefly on the square outside Gunter’s Tea Shop, Lizzie had been unable to forget the tall, somber man that made her heart race and mouth go dry. Had even imagined those light green eyes of his, alight with interest as he looked at her.
Futile dreams. Oliver Fortney was the sixth Duke of Wainsborough, as far from her reach as the moon.
“I would like to make known to you my niece, Miss Elspeth Talbot, who is woolgathering as usual.” Lizzie straightened and forced a polite smile. “Elspeth, this is my dearest friend Lady Wrothton, and her son, the Honorable Francis Layton.”
“My lady. Sir.”
Mr. Layton had kindly eyes and his smile seemed more than polite as he bowed over her hand. Was he interested, perhaps? It would be nice to have a beau. Her first.
Lizzie smiled, this time with what she hoped was an appropriate amount of encouragement. Mr. Layton’s eyes twinkled in response.
“Mr. Layton is only recently come to London, Lizzie.” Roberta looked on, an expectant matchmaker.
“Oh? Have you been traveling, sir?”
He puffed his chest a bit, as a chaffinch would to attract the ladies then proceeded to regale her with tales of his travels across Egypt in search of antiquities.
“I’d be delighted to show you some of my more choice finds.” Mr. Layton’s smile revealed a row of neat white teeth. “For now, Miss Talbot, may I have this dance?”
When Aunt Roberta nodded her approval, Lizzie accepted and selected a place in the line of dancers beside Lady Cecilia, who was now copiously molting feathers from her bright gown.
The musicians struck up a country dance and Lizzie lost herself in the music and snatches of conversation she could exchange with Mr. Layton as they passed each other. Lizzie felt good, almost as if she fit in. She felt lighter than she had in a long time and began to dance with pure abandon.
In other words, she forgot to pay attention.
She wasn’t watching her footing as she neared the end of the dance line, skipping across the polished wood parquet. So, when her soft-soled shoe landed just so on one of Lady Cecilia’s wayward feathers, she lost her footing and went sliding higgledy-piggledy across the herringbone patterned floor.
Time slowed as if to make certain she would recall every excruciating moment in finite detail, and she skidded toward the throng of people bordering the dancing area. No one moved as Lizzie hurtled like a human ball toward a line of pins. Little wonder bowls was still illegal on public lawns.
Lizzie closed her eyes and braced for the worst.
She should have known better. Lizzie Talbot was an impending disaster, even on her most diligent days.
Tonight she would prove herself a pariah.
Chapter Two
Oliver Fortney, Duke of Wainsborough, was bored witless.
The only reason he was at the Delcourts’ ball this evening was to offer moral support to his brother, William. Wills had only just returned from the continent and their mother had managed to browbeat him to attend. Oliver figured that if he made an appearance, as well, he could help Wills escape all the sooner.
So, here he was at another dreadful ball, talking with the same people and having the same dull conversation.
When had he acquired this ennui? He needed to find something more in life, something to appreciate. Hell, something to look forward to. Something other than the utter sameness society strove for, as if they’d all been pressed from the same butter stamp.
Someone like Angelica’s friend, Miss Elspeth Talbot. A fine-looking woman who could take the social horror of a stained gown at Gunter’s and maintain her dignity as she’d been introduced to him, someone whose consequence made most men stammer. She had glowed with a joy that Oliver wasn’t sure he’d ever personally known.
And now he found himself unsettled at the memory of her, with the temptation to seek her out. To see if she could show him just a taste of such delight in life.
Had it only been a few days since they had met? It felt like an eternity.
Oliver was not here to see her though this was the type of place such an unmarried woman was to be found. He hadn’t even looked for her, at least after he skimmed the room upon their arrival. The ball was a bit of a crush, so it was possible she was there. Somewhere.
His pulse began to pound at that thought.
Just then, Wills peered over Oliver’s shoulder with the oddest expression then he reached out in warning. “Move!”
Oliver pivoted in time to see a mass of white muslin skid to a stop at his feet. A young woman, eyes wide and ankles exposed where her gown had rucked up, peered up at him.
Well, well. Miss Elspeth Talbot was at the ball, after all.
The silence of the ballroom was deafening. The musicians had ceased their play, couples had halted their dance and conversation evaporated as all eyes focused on Miss Talbot. Even the man who appeared to be her erstwhile dance partner was frozen in place as if trying to assimilate what had happened.
Oliver frowned at the fellow—Wrothton’s boy, if he wasn’t mistaken—and tried to stifle a twinge of…what? The man should help her immediately; she shouldn’t be left in an undignified heap on the floor.
Then the oddest thing happened. Miss Talbot, pretty and pink-cheeked from the dancing or embarrassment or both, tilted her head back and laughed. No dainty giggle of a laugh either, but a howl of amusement, the type that accompanied the abandon of children at play.
The room quieted even more, if that were possible. The exception being the racket from Miss Talbot, though that dwindled to a chuckle.
Here was a woman who could laugh at herself and steal the judgmental power from those who might laugh at her behind gloved hands. Oliver’s heart gave a little lurch.
He noticed that her dance partner had disappeared, leaving
