He swallowed, certain that he had repulsed both women and that they would be collapsing from hysteria before the night’s end. His mother seemed oblivious to the heavy, stifling quality the room had taken. Did she truly not notice? Or was she trying her best to salvage a terrible situation?
With everyone but the Earl’s youngest daughter looking at him with polite, but awkward expressions, Val floundered for something else to say. He had forgotten all about the social cues expected of him in such settings, and he was acutely aware that he was terribly ill prepared as a result. But before the moment could get any tense, the butler re-entered the room.
“Dinner is served,” he said, bowing formally.
Val’s knees trembled with relief as his mother smiled and requested that everyone follow them to the main dining hall. He hurriedly took her arm to escort her, grateful for the chance to gather his thoughts. He could hear murmuring behind him, compliments on the mansion and the decorations. He thought he could feel someone’s eyes on the back of his head, but he dared not glance back.
Val pulled out his mother’s seat and then hurried to his own. When everyone was seated, Val prepared to beckon the staff to begin bringing out the meal’s courses. But just as he turned to call for one of the maids, his mother nudged him gently.
“Darling,” she said, her lips unmoving and her voice almost inaudible. “Do not forget the toast to welcome our guests.”
Val’s heart sank, and it was all he could do to not flee the room. Not only was he an atrocious monster, he was also socially inept. He had never quite been as fond of social events as his mother and Lady Jocelyn had been. But before his accident, he was at least skilled with hosting them.
Now, however, he knew he seemed as brutish socially as he appeared physically. He closed his eyes and took a quick, deep breath, trying to think quickly of a proper, adequate toast before he rose once more to his feet.
“May I have your attention, please?” he asked, immediately hating how loud and nervous his voice was. “I would like to take a moment before the meal is served, to thank you all for coming. I hope you all have a wonderful evening.”
It was not until he saw the puzzled looks on the guests' faces and the sympathetic one on his mother’s that he realized he had essentially given a toast more befitting of the end of a ball. He groaned inwardly, calling to the servants for the meal and taking his seat without making eye contact with anyone.
As the first dish was served, his mother struck up a conversation with the countess. Lady Agnes and the Earl were asking Lady Cecily something quietly, but he paid it no mind. He was too busy suffocating in his own self-loathing. Would he ever get anything right again?
The food gave him the chance to avoid looking at the guests for a time, though he could hear more gentle pleasantries about the lovely home and delicious meal being exchanged. He was not hungry, but he forced himself to eat a few bites. He tried to sense without looking whether anyone was staring at him. But all there was around him was laughter and the sweet voices of the women.
After a moment, he dared to look around. Indeed, no one was looking at him. However, Lady Cecily seemed to be looking for something. He started to ask her if she was all right, but suddenly, her sister said something to her, without looking up from her plate, and the young woman looked down at her plate, her cheeks turning pink.
She had done the very same thing upon entering the drawing room. Val knew that both the young women must be unsure where to even look, what with his beastly appearance. He returned his attention to his meal, though he no longer had the desire to even pretend to eat.
He was successful in remaining largely silent, apart from giving his mother noncommittal answers to questions she asked him. He avoided eye contact, even when he thought he felt someone glancing in his direction. He knew he was being rude. But the discomfort of the young women was so apparent that he could not manage any conversation.
By the time the main course had arrived, however, there were lulls in the conversation. He realized that soon, someone would be expecting him to speak. He felt utterly horrified at the thought, but he forced himself to lift his head. As he did, he saw that Lady Cecily was looking strangely at her plate. Could it be that she was displeased with the food? Had they thoughtless served something that made her sick, and she was too polite to say as much?
Jocely ate small portions,his thoughts offered, uninvited. He blinked, surprised at the sudden memory. It was true. His former fiancée had always said that it was only proper for a lady to eat very little and be mindful of her figure. Perhaps, that was what Lady Cecily was thinking. Though, if he were being honest with himself, she was already perfect just as she was.
Val shook off both thoughts. He should not think of those things right then. He did not want to be reminded that he could never have a beautiful woman. Nor did he want to remember how Lady Jocelyn left him so brokenhearted. The dinner was difficult enough without him adding any more troubling ideas to his mind.
Chapter Five
Cecily tried to mask her discomfort by trying to use her sense of smell to identify what comprised the main course of dinner. The first two courses, which had delicious fresh fruit and a delectable carrot soup, were incredible.
Cecily had been unable to eat much due to her nerves, but the bits she had sampled seemed as though they had been straight from the gods. She marveled at the skills of the Archington Manor staff and at the hospitality of the Dowager Duchess and Duke of Archington.
Yet, as she inhaled the aromas of the main course, which she had detected to be a luscious pork roast, with potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, and celery, sprinkled with rosemary, salt and paprika, she felt her stomach churn. She could feel eyes on her, but she was not sure whose.
Was the Duchess watching her to see if she would be snobby about the food? Was the Duke trying to understand why she never seemed to focus on anything in particular when she looked around?
Her stomach twisted into knots and, although the dish before her smelled divine, she found that she could not lift a forkful to her lips. Her chin quivered, and she forced herself to continue focusing on her plate. Be damned if she would cry, on top of making herself seem rude and ungrateful.
“The meal is delicious, Your Grace,” she said. She immediately winced, realizing that she had not only not addressed either of the two directly, but that she had interrupted a conversation. There was a brief moment of silence during which she could hear her father clear his throat every so softly.
“Thank you, my dear,” the Duchess said. Her voice was warm. Too warm. Cecily knew then that her mother had had one of the same silent exchanges that she often had with Agnes. “Please, do not hesitate to let me know if there is anything we can do to improve something.”
Cecily blushed furiously, realizing that the Dowager Duchess was now thinking of her disability.
“Not at all, Your Grace,” she said. “It could not be more perfect.”
With that, she fell silent, praying that everyone would cease to pay attention to her. By and by they did, with her mother and the dowager duchess reengaging in their conversation about the Season.
She forced herself to take a bite of the meal, trying to pretend that she did not miss joining in on the excitement of discussing Season events. Her mother deserved to be happy about the Season, especially since Agnes just made her debut. But though she told her family she was not saddened by no longer being able to participate like she once did, she missed it dearly.
