Page 73 of The Viscount's Promise
The carriage rocked to a halt and a footman made to open the door. Caleb stilled it with a hand and turned to Emily.
“Are you certain?” he asked, low and intense.
She nodded before she could think better of it. After one more long, searching look, Caleb opened the door.
They made their way up the wide stone staircase and through the towering double doors into the entrance hall, falling into the long receiving line. Emily gripped tight to Caleb’s sleeve, painfully aware of the tension in his arm. Imogen, too, cast worried glances her way, but she was unable to utter a single word or dredge up even the smallest of smiles to ease their minds. Knowing her scar would bring them unwanted attention, she attempted to keep her gaze on the inlaid marble floor. Yet she couldn’t help but snatch small glances to the left and right, taking in the magnificence of her surroundings. Which was not the best of ideas. Her brief glimpses of the impeccably dressed people and rich decor surrounding them had her heart pattering in trepidation. A servant came forward for her wrap and Emily reluctantly handed it over. Cool evening air immediately hit her exposed skin, and she fought the instinct to cover her décolletage. She had never been so bared before. The low-cut gown seemed as thin and inconsequential as a whisper, framing her bosom and leaving most of her chest and shoulders bare. Imogen had assured her it was the latest fashion when she had first helped Emily into it, hurriedly pinning and securing the excess material in the hem and bodice of the pale blue silk. And, being Mariah’s gown, it must be the height of fashion, for she was the most elegant young woman Emily had ever met. Even so, she could not help thinking this was a mistake. Surely these people would see her for the fraud she was, would denounce her on the spot, and chase her from the house.
To her amazement, she sailed right through the crowd. Keeping her face averted as much as possible without stumbling into anyone, gripping tight to her brother’s arm, she waited for that first sight of her ruined cheek. Dreading it. Finally, coming to the front of the receiving line, it happened.
Caleb directed them to a tall, robust matron with a large bejeweled turban on her steel curls. “Lady Beezleton,” he said with a flourishing bow and easy grin, “you are looking wonderful this evening.”
She lifted her lorgnette, peering at Caleb with obvious pleasure. “Lord Willbridge, I did not think you were in town at present. I’d heard you’d married. Lord Tarryton’s eldest, I believe.”
Caleb directed his attention to Imogen, pulling her against his side. A protective gesture, as Imogen looked like she would rather sink through the floor than be where she was. “Yes. Please let me introduce my wife, Imogen, Lady Willbridge. Imogen, you of course know Lady Beezleton? And this young lady,” he said, tilting his head in Emily’s direction, “is my sister, Lady Emily Masters.”
The woman directed her haughty gaze in Emily’s direction. Immediately the woman froze, her eyes widening in that all-too-familiar expression. Emily felt her hand creep to her cheek, began the inevitable slide of her eyes to the ground.
Instead she stopped, lowering her hand and raising her head, looking the woman straight in the eye.
The matron met her gaze. Then, to Emily’s surprise, she dipped her head in acknowledgement and smiled.
“Lady Emily, it is a pleasure.”
Emily stood stunned for a moment. Caleb nudged her with the arm she was gripping. Belatedly, she dipped into a jerking curtsy. “My lady.”
If the woman noticed the delay in propriety, she made no notice of it. “Please enjoy yourselves this evening,” she said affably. As Caleb made to guide Imogen and Emily past Lady Beezleton, she stopped him. “Oh, and Lord Willbridge. I’m in your debt, you know. Many a hostess would give her right arm to have been the one to entice you and your lovely wife for your debut as a married couple into society.” She chuckled. “The Duchess of Morledge will be green with envy.”
He chuckled, said something that made the woman beam with pleasure, and they were on their way.
Emily was dumbfounded. What had happened? Where was the disgust and horror she had come to expect? Perhaps it had been a fluke. Perhaps the woman had a strong stomach. Or horrendous eyesight.
The only way to test that theory, however, was to see how others reacted. And to do that, she must leave her bubble of comfort and actually look at people. In the eye.
It wasn’t the most palatable of plans. In truth, it had her stomach roiling in the worst way. It went against every instinct she had lived by for the past decade. Yet as Caleb was stopped time and again by acquaintances—either her brother was incredibly popular, or his marriage to Imogen truly was the event of the Season as Lady Beezleton had implied—she raised her head high, making certain she met the gazes of those she was introduced to, and took careful stock of their reactions to her.
As expected, most were taken aback, or gave her a quick and surprised second glance. Following that was the hard stare, confusion puckering their brows as they studied her scar. And then...
Nothing.
They acknowledged her with a smile and a bow, and that was that. Not one person looked horrified. Certainly there was a subdued kind of pity in more than one person’s face, but it was a type that was easily handled and dismissed. It was in that moment that Emily realized the irony of the situation. Malcolm had been right. She had been so busy protecting herself from what she believed others might think of her that she had not given anyone a chance to know her.
It was humbling and dismaying. And freeing.
Caleb must have sensed the change in her demeanor. He bent his head toward her as they extracted themselves from another group of well-wishers and said in her ear, “Emily, is something amiss?”
“Not at all,” she said with complete honesty. She smiled widely up at him. “Everything is brilliant.”
He blinked and stared down at her as if he had never seen her before. “That’s...good.”
They came upon the ballroom doors. Caleb gave their name to the butler stationed there, and they were announced. Just one step within the vast room and Caleb was immediately hailed by several friends.
But Emily was done with being waylaid. She had come here for a purpose, and that did not include meeting half of London. There was only one man in the entire city she cared for in that moment.
Malcolm.
Anticipation tingled along her skin. He was here somewhere. She would find him, and let him know what he meant to her.
Giving her brother and Imogen a quick glance to verify their attention was diverted, she slipped away into the mass of people. She had a sudden flash of that long-ago day at Willowhaven when she had plunged into the crowd to get away from Malcolm and his surly hovering. Then he had saved her from her panic. Now she boldly dove into the crowd again, to find her way to him.
