Surely a gentleman of high birth and decorum wouldn't have the audacity to comment on ladies' fashion, when as a man he has little to no experience of such a matter. Lady Eliza, evidently, was dreadfully mistaken from the conversation she had just overheard between the Marquis of Kent and his cousin, the awful Duke Harrington. Both men had had the gall and audacity to criticise her as though she was nothing more than a lame mare, to be looked at and judged.
Silently she curses their children, and their children's children as she walks down the west corridor of Haineworth House, her anger barely contained in her clenched fists. It had not been her idea to attend such a lively event, as her disdain for others often kept her confined to her uncle's estate. In fact, she had slipped away to find the library when she had stumbled upon the men, cigars in their hands, hidden in the shadow of the doorway. Unimpressed that the entirety of London's elite was in attendance, it appeared to Eliza that the two men were seeking the same solitude as her, which had afforded them an ounce of sympathy from her before they decided to insult her pride.
It was people like them, shallow and ignorant souls that thought that an excessive income provided them with the excuse to insult and sneer at the slightest thing that gave them displeasure, whom Eliza could not stand, nor entertain.
Breathing in deeply, she plasters a polite smile upon her face, determined to act at the height of decorum. Tonight could be an exception, as her most devoted friend, Lady Charlotte Bennett is celebrating her engagement to Thomas Haineworth, a most loyal and kind man, who Eliza had approved of the moment Charlotte had introduced them. She will be happy, she will smile and curtsey and pretend that nothing is amiss.
A flash of gold catches her eye and she pauses in front of an ornate mirror, a foot away from rejoining the ball. Floor length, it reflects the dark wood of the hallway, the many eyes of the paintings behind her staring into her soul. Their unturned lips and high noses seem to judge her dress of pale blue silk, sneering at the meek colour and modest neckline.
While Eliza is no fashion expert, however, she had thought that the lace sleeves and tiny frills upon her waist made her look ladylike and presentable. She had even paired it with a simple set of pearls. The critical eyes of the late Lady Haineworth did not agree. With a sigh, Eliza casts a disdainful look over her appearance, tucking loose black curl back into place, and heads through the double doors to the party.
The large ballroom gleams with the light of many candelabras, the golden light painting the scene below in a warm glow. The floor was a sea of gorgeous dresses, the women smiling as they dance with men in tailcoats, the more boisterous girls flirting with suitors as their parents look on with furrowed brows. Champagne is downed in unfathomable amounts as butlers navigate the sea of people, drinks stacked up on silver serving plates.
At the bottom of the stairs and feeling in dire need, Eliza snatches a flute from a passing orderly and downs it in a second, barely feeling as the alcohol flows down her throat. She discards the empty glass and reaches for another as she scans the room, searching for Charlotte. Feeling as though she is being watched she glances to her right to see Lady Celeste Lincon staring at her with a scandalised expression.
Offering her a small smile, Eliza wipes her mouth as daintily as she can with her white gloves and raises the second glass to her lips, taking a polite sip. A sliver of golden brown hair draws her attention away from the shocked girl, to where Charlotte is sitting with her fiance, many friends gathered around.
"My dear Eliza, you look awfully flushed," Charlotte says, as she notices Eliza approaching, rising to greet her. "Did you find what you were so eager for?" She takes her hand and pulls her down to the chaise lounge. Their audience leans forward, thirsting for the gossip that might pass through her lips.
"Did something happen?" Thomas asks, his handsome face creased with concern.
"No, I thank you. I am quite well," Eliza replies, but as she turns away she flashes Charlotte a pointed look.
"I am in need of a dance," Charlotte announces, patting her fiance's hand, before seizing Eliza's elbow and whisking her away from the gossip vultures of the ton. Arm in arm, they glide through a throng of well-wishers who rain compliments and congratulations upon Charlotte. Although shy, she handles each with grace and composure, smiling and nodding as hands grasp hers and kisses are exchanged. The girls work through the guests, intending for a corner tucked behind one of the ten pillars in the room, but before they reach it, Eliza steals another glass of bubbles, pushing one into her friend's hand.
Nestled in their dark corner, Charlotte addresses her oldest friend, worry filling her beautiful face, her fingers running restlessly up and down the stem of the glass.
"What happened?"
"It is nothing to be concerned with," Eliza says begrudgingly as she plays with the lace of her sleeve. Steadying the anger that threatens to rise, she inhales and takes a large gulp of her drink. "Is my dress drab and an insult to the female form?"
Charlotte freezes, her blue eyes widening. Recovering, she takes a step back to take a better view. After a moment she says, "Not at all, why do you think so?"
"Only I may have overheard it said in conversation in which I was described as such," Eliza admits as she tosses back the remaining dregs of her champagne and places the glass next to a vase of lilies.
Charlotte gasps and clutches at her friend's arm. "Who on earth would say such an awful thing?" she asks.
Eliza steals her untouched glass and swallows it down. "Oh, tis not that dramatic, I only ask because I do not want draw too much embarrassment to you. This is your night and I could not bear to ruin it for you."
"Oh, you are a darling, you could never embarrass me," Charlotte says with a loving smile that fades as she reevaluates the dress in question. "I admit it does not flatter your lovely features as it could, and the neckline is...quite interesting for this day and age."
"Oh, then you and Duke Harrington will have plenty to talk about," Eliza bites out.
Charlotte raises a hand to her mouth. "Twas the Duke? I am shocked, I would expect more from such a well-respected gentleman."
"And yet I would expect nothing less from a man such as him," Eliza says with bitter distaste. Confused, Charlotte creeps closer to her in interest.
"You are acquainted?"
Eyeing her friend, Eliza leans against the pillar and sighs.
"We are not acquainted; we were introduced once and I have held a delightful discussion with him in which he called me "Vexing minx" and I called him an "Arrogant juvenile." The memory makes her grin.
"Your opinion on him is ill." Charlotte says, "Why do you care for his view? He does not know you, and therefore it should not matter."
"I.....he....it.." Eliza stutters trying to find a reason.
"Whatever the reason, be wary for he has entered." Charlotte inclines her head to the west door.
Eliza follows her indication to where Duke Harrington and has emerged, flashing a brilliant smile glowing, ravenous eyes darting from lady to lady. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she watches him do a tour of the room, kissing each hand thrust into his path, charming each girl with a lazy smile. Her fingers tighten on her glass as he nears her corner, his dark eyes and strong features become the obsession of each lady he greets. It would be foolish to discard the charm he wields, his high cheekbones and full lips able to disarm the most stoic lady of the ton.
A dark look enters Eliza's eyes and she finishes her third glass of champagne with a flourish. With a flick of her wrist, she rids herself of the glass and slowly stalks towards the duke, Charlotte following wordlessly behind.
Eliza removes her gloves, tucking them into her right hand in case they are needed for a well-aimed strike. He is raising his head from kissing the hand of a young girl as Eliza and Charlotte arrive in front of him. He raises a thick eyebrow but does not comment on their impropriety.
"Lady Bennett, I must offer my congratulations on your upcoming marriage." he says, bowing his head, "And my apologies that I did not approach you sooner."
Charlotte curtsies delicately. "Thank you, my lord." She sweeps her hand to Eliza, "May I introduce my dear friend, Lady Eliza Turner. I believe the two of you met briefly some time ago."
Eliza twists her face into what she hopes is a neutral polite expression, meeting his gaze boldly.
His lips twitch. "Indeed, it is a pleasure to be meeting you again." He bows shallowly and rights himself to receive the tiniest of bobs from Eliza. "May I introduce Lady Rosemarie. You will find no sharper wit elsewhere."
He places an arm around the girl and pulls her to his side. The two ladies curtsy to his companion and exchange smiles, Charlotte's genuine, Eliza's a twisted grimace.
"You will find her more and more charming each word she speaks," he adds with a dashing smile. "Or at least I do."
"I think everyone could see that," Eliza remarks quietly so only the Duke could hear. His head whips in her direction and a scowl appears.
"You're such a lucky lady, I wish I will have the same luck in a husband as you," Rosemarie says to Charlotte with a shy smile. Her voice is sweet and melodic, and she fidgets with the material of her pink gown as she talks.
"I am sure you will." Charlotte gives her warm smile, "But if you ever need advice I would be delighted to assist."
"That would be oh so enchanting," Rosemarie says, and then she turns her attention to Eliza, "Lady Turner, how are you finding this season?"
Eliza stops glaring at Harrington, to address the timid girl. "Oh, I confess I am finding it rather drab. Some of the suitors that believe themselves worthy are simply an insult to the male form, and I do not have the heart to tell them such." She laughs quietly, pressing a hand to her mouth, "But then again, there is only so much you can expect from a man. Isn't that right?"
Her eyes fall onto the duke, and he raises an eyebrow at her words, his lips thinning.
"Oh." Rosemarie seems lost with how to continue the conversation.
Charlotte nudges Eliza slightly, giving her a chastising look.
"This only because I have no use for a husband so looking for one is a waste of one's time," Eliza says quickly, "I am certain for you it will be different."
Rosemarie opens her mouth to speak but Harrington cuts through.
"You have no use for a husband? You must be the first woman ever to think such a thing." Harrington sneers. "No respectable woman remains a spinster for her entire life, don't you agree Lady Rosemarie?"
"Well...I..."
"I am sure Lady Rosemarie understands the need to remain true to her heart and doesn't wish to conform to society's updates and misogynistic wishes, right?" Eliza's gaze turns steely.
"I understand..."
Harrington barely contains a growl. "You must understand that women without husbands are shunned by society. A woman needs a man to take care of them, how else are they to live?"
Eliza's temper flares and Charlotte shuffles on the spot, aware that a crowd is gathering and watching them with interest.
"Do you not agree Rosemarie?" He adds as an afterthought, his tone softening.
"I believe that Lady Rosemarie and I are quite capable of being clever, independent women that have no need of men, particularly men with such clear disadvantages," Eliza pauses in mock thought and smirks, "Like a rake for example. Who would want one of them?"
He stiffens as she looks him up and down wrinkling her nose. A fire burns in his eyes, but he is silent. Sensing the imminent explosion, Charlotte offers her arm to Rosemarie.
"Would you like to meet my fiancé and my friends? They'd be delighted to make your acquaintance."
Rosemarie looks between Eliza and the Duke, but neither cast her a spare glance, so she smiles gracefully and tucks her arm into Charlotte's.
Straightening up, Eliza carefully tucks the flyaway curl behind her ear and huffs.
"You certainly know how to make a scene," Harrington admonishes with a scowl.
Eliza crosses her arms over her chest with a scoff. "Me? How about you with that male control thing?" she hisses.
"Minx."
"Maggot"
"Vixen!"
"Vixen? Oh, how rich." Eliza hits him with one last terrible glare, before storming off. Duke Harrington watches her go, rage causing his hands to tremble. Shaking his head he straightens his jacket, turns on his heel and marches towards the west door.