Page 1 of The Slipper Scandal
Chapter One
Elizabeth Bennet had spent precisely an hour at her first London ball before she required a quick escape—or perhaps just a suitor-sized hole in the floor.
This was not at all what she had expected when her friend Arabella had invited her to town. Oh, she had anticipated some manner of revelry; after all, a Twelfth Night masquerade in London was bound to be a little freer than a country assembly. But she had not counted on the level of forwardness displayed by certain gentlemen. This one, all false charm and cool entitlement, was currently attempting to steer her into a shadowed alcove with all the subtlety of a fox herding a particularly naïve hen.
She wasnota hen.
Elizabeth took a step backward, her laughter light but her eyes sharp. “I do believe the drink has addled you . . .” Her voice trailed away, for she had been introduced to a great many people this evening, but not him.
“Lord,” the man said with a smile he clearly believed charming. “Lord Ellington.”
“You seem to have mistaken me for someone else.” She glanced around but could not find Belle or her friend's parents. Could not see much at all, in fact, when so many of the guests were taller than she.
Lord Ellington’s teeth flashed behind his mask, his eyes glinting with amusement rather than offence. “Oh, I think not. And even if I had, would it matter? It is Twelfth Night, after all.”
Elizabeth bit back her irritation at this paltry excuse for ungentlemanly behaviour. She glanced towards the grand entry, weighing the likelihood of reaching it and slipping out of the ballroom without notice. Unfortunately, Lord Ellington had manoeuvred her far too well, placing himself between her and the safety of the rest of the house. Perhaps she was safer here, though? She shuddered to think of Lord Ellington finding her alone with none but the servants to protect her. At least the ballroom was filled with people, though with the laughter, the hum of music, and conversation too loud for anyone to overhear her firmly protest, it was notmuchbetter.
So she smiled. “Indeed, it is. But I find that the very best part of Twelfth Night is the revellers changing partners.”
She did not wait to see if he took her meaning. Instead, she turned lightly on her heel and walked away. Not so hastily as to draw pursuit, of course. The trick was to vanish before a gentleman realized he had been left.
She strolled in a random manner, first weaving through couples to the left, and then, when she thought he could no longer see her, to the right. She glanced over her shoulder and did not see him following. For a moment she felt relief.
But then she heard his voice.
She hid herself among a lively group of several couples, raising her fan to disguise the quick flick of her eyes as she scanned theballroom. Where was Arabella? If she could just find her friend, she could concoct an excuse, something that would allow her to slip away unnoticed. Perhaps to the card tables, perhaps even back to the Abernathys’ home.
Before she could spot her friend’s familiar figure, the very group she had been using as a shield began to move.
Elizabeth hesitated just long enough to make retreat impossible. A lady ahead of her had looped her arm through her husband’s, laughing at something he had murmured to her. The two gentlemen behind her reached out to usher their own ladies forward, blocking Elizabeth in-between. The three couples moved together as one towards the wide-open terrace doors, chattering about how stiflingly warm the ballroom had become.
Elizabeth had two choices: either push against the tide and risk drawing attention to herself or allow herself to be carried along and extricate herself once they were outside.
She chose the latter.
A rush of cool air met her as they stepped onto the terrace, a welcome relief after the oppressive warmth of the ballroom. The group paused only briefly, and Elizabeth slowed her steps, hoping they would linger so she might slip back inside unnoticed.
But then, a giggling lady whispered something to her companion, and the entire party continued towards the garden.
Elizabeth stiffened. They had no chaperones. No one carried a lantern. Their laughter dropped into something more hushed, more private.
Ah. They were not seeking fresh air. They were seeking privacy.
Elizabeth finally spied an opening and stepped to one side, intending to retreat before anyone noticed she had been swept along in their wake. But they were already disappearing beyondthe hedges to the far corners of the garden, their footsteps crunching softly against the gravel path, their murmurs growing fainter.
And then, quite suddenly, she was alone.
The terrace doors were still open, but she did not move. A smug voice floated towards her from just inside. Lord Ellington. Elizabeth’s heart hammered in her chest.
She needed him to move on. If she stepped back into the ballroom now, she would be walking directly into his path. He might not have seen her being pushed outside, but if he found her out here, alone?
Her jaw tightened. She could not return to the ballroom yet, but she must find a place to hide until she could.
The garden was less illuminated than she expected, its paths marked only by dim lanterns flickering at intervals. Elizabeth moved swiftly, her heart still thrumming with the need to put distance between herself and her unwelcome admirer.
Then—disaster.
She stumbled upon the uneven stones, and as she moved awkwardly to regain her balance, she lost one of her dancing slippers. She stumbled, catching herself against the cold marble of a bench before she could fall entirely.
