Page 52 of The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess
“Is there cheese?” Frances demanded and Elizabeth grimaced slightly.
The Smithersons were surprised by Frances’ question but Catherine was already hurrying Frances away, rudely leaving Elizabeth alone.
“Come along, Frances. I am certain there is cheese,” Catherine assured her and Elizabeth offered the hosts an uncomfortable smile, unsure of what else to say in the awkward silence. Thankfully, Mr. Smitherson saved her from having to produce any words of her own.
“Please do enjoy yourself in our home, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Smitherson said genially and Elizabeth accepted the dismissal gracefully.
“I do appreciate you having us, Mr. Smitherson, Mrs. Smitherson.”
As she moved in the direction where her sister and Catherine had gone, she overheard the lady of the house mutter to her husband.
“She is the one who snatched the Duke from Miss Priscilla.”
“Oh yes, I did think the name was familiar. How odd that she would be here when Miss Priscilla is also anticipated. You do not suppose there will be a scene, do you, darling?”
“I suppose we will see,” Mrs. Smitherson replied, a sigh in her voice. Elizabeth felt her breath catch in her throat.
Miss Priscilla. Oh no…
How had she managed to forget about the Baron’s daughter? She had become too complacent, too comfortable in the security of Brookside but she should not have dismissed Priscilla’s threats so idly. What if she were to show at the event of the year? It certainly appeared the type of party which the icy blonde would appreciate, from all Elizabeth had learned of her, and the Smithersons appeared to anticipate her arrival. Suddenly Elizabeth’s vow to enjoy herself was forgotten as her eyes darted about the filling rotunda. The desire to leave was overwhelming although she knew the protest she would hear from both Catherine and Frances.
“As I live and breathe,” a man announced from her side. “Miss Elizabeth.”
Any semblance of happiness she had managed to cling evaporated abruptly as Elizabeth turned toward the semi-familiar voice, her back tensing with anticipation. She was having a nightmarish recollection of the Fife wedding.
“Lord Cooke,” she replied, managing a tight smile. “How do you do?”
“I do much better now,” the young man leered and Elizabeth knew that she was apt to find trouble if she remained in his company. It was clear by the glitter in his eyes that he had not forgotten their encounter in Fife and was harboring some resentment toward her. She shuddered slightly as she recalled the feel of his roaming, drunken hand on her waist.
“Forgive me, Lord Cooke but I fear I am developing quite a headache.”
“I have just the solution for such a malady,” he replied, reaching toward her but Elizabeth had anticipated his unsolicited touch and agilely stepped aside. His eyes grew wide in anger and Elizabeth did not need to be near him to know that he was already a trifle disguised. His bloodshot eyes told her that he had been imbibing for a long while.
“Excuse me,” she told him again. “I must find Lady Catherine.”
She did not permit him an opportunity to respond, skilfully ducking her way through the crowds which had doubled in only a few minutes. Breathing was becoming more difficult, the combination of her mounting anxiety and the overflowing of people, knocking the air from her lungs. No longer did her surroundings seem magical, despite the free-flowing champagne and gaily dressed guests. It had become a prison in less than five minutes following her arrival, the stunning gowns of lace and silk only thinly veiling the leering inmates in their glittering chains disguised as jewels.
“We must leave at once,” Elizabeth told Catherine when she finally found her, standing off to the side of the dance floor. The orchestra played smoothly and Elizabeth did not need to look to see Frances already falling into step, albeit alone.
“Leave?” Catherine echoed. “We have only just arrived. You must sample these watercress sandwiches, Elizabeth. They are delightful—they melt on your tongue like icicles. There is something decidedly refreshing about them.”
Has she been imbibing already? I only just parted company with her!
Elizabeth could not worry about Catherine’s consumption. She shook her head vehemently.
“Catherine, I had not considered that Miss Priscilla might be in attendance. I dare not stay lest she appear.” She did not mention Lord Cooke as her secondary concern. Priscilla’s potential presence caused her more than enough woe.
“Oh,” Catherine said nonchalantly. “I am certain she will make her appearance. This gala is certainly to her taste.”
Elizabeth stared at her in surprise.
“You knew she would be here?” she asked in disbelief. “Why did you not warn me?”
“There is nothing for you to be concerned about,” Catherine replied and dropped the remainder of her sandwich into her mouth, a slow smile forming around her lips. Elizabeth did not agree but she did not wish to confront Catherine when so many were nearby. She was more convinced than before that they needed to leave before something dreadful occurred. The sense of forewarning which had plagued her suddenly burned a hole in her stomach.
“Catherine, I will collect Frances and we are returning to Brookside at once. I will not argue with you.”
Catherine’s mouth puckered into a scowl and she arched a blonde eyebrow with disdain.
