Page 52 of Deceiving an Earl
Was there accusation in his words? Did he look hurt?
“Wh-what made you decide to do the deed now?” Why was her mouth suddenly dry? Why was it suddenly difficult to speak?
“I decided seventeen years ago, but alas, it didn’t work out.”
Her cheeks heated. There was definitely accusation in those words. She looked down at her hands, unable to meet his gaze again. There was nothing she could say to refute him. Nothing.
“There you are, dear.” Lady Armbruster approached and smiled at Ellen. “Lady Fieldhurst. How nice to see you.”
But something in her cool tone made Ellen think that the dowager countess wasn’t at all happy to see her.
Ellen inclined her head and said to Oliver, “It was nice talking to you again.” And then she mouthed, “Good luck.”
…
He’d forgotten just how much he felt like cattle at these events. Within an hour he was suffocating. His mother tried to keep most of the worst offenders away, but some slipped through, and he’d danced with many young ladies whose names he would never remember, none of whom appealed to him.
Did they not have a single, independent thought in their heads? Were they taught to agree with every man they spoke to? And what was with the simpering and the eye fluttering? He wanted to ask them if they had something in their eyes.
He was far too old for this and decided by the second dance that he didn’t want a wife who was so young she couldn’t think for herself.
And yet the evening lumbered on, and Oliver’s mouth ached from smiling, his brain pounded from inane conversations, his feet hurt in the ridiculous formal shoes, and he was angry at his mother for no other reason than he didn’t know who else to be angry at.
He’d lost sight of Ellen long ago but supposed that was a good thing. He couldn’t find a wife with Ellen lurking about. Never mind that he caught himself searching for her in the crowd more times than he could count.
For a small moment he found himself alone, an island in a sea of sharks. There was no one watching him, no mothers hovering, his own mother was not to be found, so Oliver slipped out onto the terrace and practically dove into the shadows, skirting them until he could lean against the balustrade and breathe his first real breath of the night. He pulled on his tight collar and wished he were at home with a glass of port at his elbow and estate reports in his lap.
Good Lord, but he was old if this was considered an evening of fun.
He realized too late that the secluded spot he had chosen was not unoccupied. A darker shadow shifted and turned to him.
He smiled, his relief enormous, his heart… Well, his heart hammered like a young lad.
“You escaped,” Ellen said.
He could barely see her, the purple gown blending with the shadows, but he would know her anywhere. She even smelled the same as she had all those years ago. Like roses with a hint of vanilla.
“It was perilous, and I had to do a lot of maneuvering, but I escaped.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. And you? Did you escape as well?”
“I’m not as sought after as you are, but yes, I found a moment to grab some silence and breathe the night air.”
“I’d forgotten what they were like.”
She tilted her head. “Balls in general? Or the matchmaking mamas?”
“Both.”
“And what are they like?”
“Exhausting. Are all women taught to agree with a gentleman? Are none of them taught to think for themselves?”
She leaned back against the balustrade and he breathed out. It was so easy to talk to her. Ellen could always be counted on for engaging conversation. If she didn’t agree with something, then she voiced it.
“It’s quite vexing,” she said. “And you can see it didn’t work well with me. I’m just glad that Arthur didn’t mind that I was a little more outspoken than most wives.”
