Page 37 of The Reclusive Earl's Scandal
But with the weight of Elena’s glare that proved difficult.
Eventually, his sister left his study in a huff of displeasure, leaving Edward to his play, but his focus was broken. He closed his book and sighed, sinking back into his chair.
Chapter Twelve
Rebecca’s thoughts hadn’t stopped flurrying ever since she had suggested her idea to Edward in her bedchamber, watched over by their mothers.
Marriage, one of convenience, at least. Now, standing in the greeting line at the Balkans’ townhouse, she felt rather nervous. At the time of her suggestion, she had been bold, confident, but now that had all drained away. At her side, her mother and father guided her onwards, taking over the actual greeting with the marquess and marchioness. As they spoke, Rebecca kept an eye out for Edward, but if he was there then he had already headed into the ballroom.
Her eagerness had her hurrying into the ballroom as soon as her parents were released from Lord and Lady Balkan’s attention. In her gown of gossamer in a deep green color which she had happened to learn was a color of the Thornshire, hoping to send a message before one was truly announced, Rebecca approached the balustrade and looked over the expanse of the dance floor and space beyond.
She scanned the faces there, immediately finding Catherine and Mary hovering near a tall, thin pillar as they watched the suitors file in and out of the ballroom. They were already deep in conversation, the two looking to be whispering about who bypassed them.
Hopeful, Rebecca looked for Edward. Would tonight be their announcement night? Would they host their own betrothal ball like this one? Did he look for her, too? Rebecca still hadn’t fully recovered from her week of illness after falling into the river, but she knew that the deep exhaustion in her bones wasn’t only from the illness; it was from her sheer fatigue of searchingfor a suitor. Of the endless dances and attempts to charm every suitable gentleman.
She wasn’t interested in any of them, she only wanted to remain comfortable and provided for, and she believed she had found that in Edward. No longer did she want to dance around the floor with more strangers and men who thought boasting about their business ventures and acquaintances was the highlight of their whole conversation.
And although Edward remained her friend, she thought his company was the best she had been in all Season. Surprisingly, Rebecca felt ready to commit to him. He made her feel comfortable, safe. And she could admit that he was very handsome, with that dark hair that he had grown longer than most lords, as if it was a small rebellious streak due to the fact that he had secluded himself for so long in the countryside.
Descending into the ballroom with her chin lifted proudly, Rebecca was ready to find Edward and announce their betrothal, or at least begin circulating the fact of it. But before she could spot him, she was met with Mary and Catherine instead. The two of them linked their arms through hers, tugging her to the side.
“Rebecca!” Catherine cried happily. “It issogood to see you back on your feet.”
Rebecca looked back at her friend, weary. She thought once more of Edward asking how genuine Catherine was with him, and a pang of sympathy went through her for him, for Catherine didn’t sound at all pleased about her being back in a ballroom.
Still, Rebecca smiled, and she maintained her pretence.
“It was lovely of Mary to come and visit me during my week of illness,” she noted gently, wincing when Catherine’s face hardened into a scowl that quickly smoothed into faux pleasantness. “Although, I would have liked to see you too, Catherine. After all, you were there when I fell.”
Catherine… She is very jealous. She told me that she wishes she had been the one to fall into the river.
Rebecca’s eyes flicked over Mary, recalling her friend’s words, before settling back on Catherine. The cracks she had already begun to see were widening, deepening. How had she never seen it all before?
“You must have heard I have been rather occupied,” Catherine said, ever so nonchalantly. “You see, I am certain any day now Lord Thornshire well…” She gave a soft, quiet hum. “I do not want to jinx it, but I believe I remain in good standing with him. I know he is your friend, Rebecca, but surely you wish for the best for two of your friends.”
“Indeed, I do,” Rebecca answered, not trusting her friend with her true plans. “I never suggested otherwise, Catherine.”
Her own words held a similar edge to her friend’s, and it was clear Catherine had not expected the challenge. She snapped her mouth closed before laughing, too high, too false. Rebecca only watched Catherine.
“I am only happy for myself,” Catherine sniffed. “I had a bad Season last year. This year has provenfarmore prosperous. I cannot believe Lord Thornshire has chosenme, of all the eligible ladies in theton.”
“Has he truly, though?” Mary asked, and Rebecca was glad she did. “After all, he has not truly professed anything to you.”
Catherine set a narrowed glare that went between them both. “Yes, I am sure,” she snapped.
Rebecca herself kept her mouth shut, for she was now learning not to trust Catherine, at least not like she once had. She still had not confirmed it was her who had gotten Harry Maudley involved in hertonbusiness, but her suspicions were increasing by the day.
Catherine fixed them both with one more glare before she turned away sharply, sauntering off. As she did, Rebecca lookedout at the ballroom, and her eyes clapped on Edward himself. He stood across the room, his eyes already fixed on her. As soon as her stare met his, her heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught, and she felt the excitement surge through her, knowing she might end the night as a betrothed woman.
But the butterflies didn’t lessen. If anything, the longer she held the earl’s gaze, the butterflies in her only grew.
She dismissed them quickly. It was purely only her excitement and elation at knowing she would be able to stop desperately trying to win the favor of every lord she came across.
While Catherine drifted over to her parents, no doubt to discuss the particulars of the betrothal she thought would be happening for her soon, Rebecca walked across the ballroom while no eyes lingered too long on her. Soon, she had drifted to Edward’s side, and the two exchanged a glance and then a nervous laugh.
“Hello,” she greeted.
“Good evening,” he answered, looking away from her, down to the floor, and then outwards at the ballroom.
