Hunters

XIV. Socialites

XIV. Socialites 

Unfortunately, being a Duchess meant Lecia had to make sacrifices. For instance, inviting Victoria Killigrew to her masquerade was not something she had wanted to do, but the horrible girl had been invited the year before. Catherine said that meant she had to at least be invited again. It bothered Lecia that someone that horrid was the child of a well-respected Viscount. The Marchioness said that Phillip Killigrew was a rather agreeable man.

It wasn’t just Victoria that the young Duchess resented. There were a number of women she would have gladly spent the evening without, and a few men whom she might have avoided for having scorned them. Vaughan reassured her that the night would go well, that it was already a success, but that did not quell her nerves in the least. How embarrassing would it be for everyone to arrive to a fabulous party only to be let down by her dissatisfactory skill as a hostess? She’d be ruined.

Zora’s condition was too delicate to travel. Her parents weren’t coming, either. Mother had said that there was far too much to do, that her father had been overwhelmed with work for weeks now, but Lecia knew that that was just an excuse to give her space. He could have written to her, or she to him—of course, he was the responsible party who should make amends—but the both of them were exponentially stubborn. Sometimes Lecia thought of writing him to say she forgave him for his cruelty, or to tell him that she was happy despite his scorn, but she always thought better of it. There wouldn’t be any recompense unless he initiated it, and it was just childish of him to avoid her party to spare his own pride.

It was a stroke of luck, though, that the Dowager sent her regrets. Catherine said she was likely humiliated already. After all, once the invitations had gone out, the Soiree was all anyone had talked about. Drothea’s balls had always been more of a social obligation than pleasurable. Lecia thought of it being like the Opera: it really wasn’t that gratifying to go, but it was expected, revered even; in the boxes one couldn’t see a thing, and the performances were always so painstakingly long.

There had been a moment when Lecia feared everyone would follow the Dowager’s example and skip the party, but Catherine pointed out that the gossips of the ton would rather come to see her fail than respect an old hag. It really wasn’t that comforting of news.

The guests had arrived throughout the day; some had arranged to stay at Martis for the evening, others had other accommodations. Though the party would be in full swing after dark, the sun set so late in the day that Lecia had invited them to come sooner and truly see the gardens in daylight. She and Vaughan had taken a post in the Great Hall earlier in the day to greet their guests, though.

An older man, Adam le Bret, Earl of Crohill, had noted the Duke’s presence.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your company at this event in some years,” he had said.

“I’ve always made a point not to be here,” Vaughan explained.

“Well, I certainly do understand that, Your Grace,” the Earl agreed, then noticed Lecia. “You’ve certainly outdone your predecessor, My Lady,” he said to her. She blushed as he took her hand and touched it to his lips in a bow.

Most of the exchanges with guests had gone similarly. There were a few that required she bite her tongue, and others that she had needed to brush up on her French for. For example, Miss Thomassina Bohley had just come in from France; she had complimented the Duchess’ intonation.

While their visitors made their way through the palace to the gardens, Lecia and Vaughan stood in the mammoth atrium waiting to retire themselves to the party. They had matching masks of rose gold lattice that tied behind their heads with strands of silk; the costumes were simple, but elegant, and Lecia was pleased that she had followed Catherine’s advice for them to dress as a pair. Though, his suit was not cut from the exact same cloth as her dress.