Tom Courtney was a good man who had warned her, and she had listened. But, he did not know the power of her father. Surely, no one would incite his wroth. She certainly did not.
And so, she allowed her father to lead her deeper into the room.
She let her gaze swing over the company. Yes, surely the man in the corridor, Mr. Courtney, had been exaggerating. And yet there had been something in his eyes that she had not seen in a gentleman before. A certain earnestness, a certain determination to see that she was unharmed.
She had never seen such care before, and he did not know her at all. Was it a ruse?
Well, she could not allow herself to think on it. In all events, she would never see Mr. Courtney again.
But if she was honest… as he had marched off into the night, a part of her, deep in her soul had urged her to run after him, to beg him to take her away from this place and the company that he reviled as much as she did… to give her a role away from the shackles that he understood she was about to wear…
That she had been wearing her whole life.
Oh, they were not the sort of shackles that so many knew, the great misery of the cruelty of society that put so many under the rule of slavery and great poverty.
She would never be so arrogant to say such a thing, but there was a sort of imprisonment to her life, where she had no choices of her own, and she might never have if she was not careful.
So, when Lord Turnbridge ventured before her and smiled his beautiful smile as he stretched out his hand and asked her to dance, she quickly let her gaze swing to her Papa, hoping he would say yes.
Her father nodded, as expected given Turnbridge’s title of marquess.
Calmly, she took up Lord Turnbridge’s hand and set to the floor again.
Turnbridge was the perfect candidate.
Tall, strong, well-read, and charming. His orations in the House of Lords were much admired.
He would be an absolutely perfect match.
So, when he swept her up into his arms and swung her about the room, she smiled up at him the smile she had practiced a thousand times in the mirror, one she knew that would win over any gentleman.
He was looking for a wife.
They were all looking for wives.
Only a few of the young men were here for pure debauchery, and her father had warned her about them. She would not succumb to a rake or roué.
No, she would find her husband here and hoped it was Lord Turnbridge. For she wished to get away from her father as soon as she could manage it.
“Dancing with you, Lady Elizabeth, is always heavenly.”
“Thank you,” she demurred, “but I could not possibly be so heavenly without such an excellent guide about the room.”
“A perfect reply,” he said, inclining his head.
She bit back a dry laugh and smiled instead.
That word.
It was used for her far too often. It made her uncomfortable. But if people wished to think she was perfect, she would not stop them.
“You are a lady of incredible beauty,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord. I am fortunate in that my mother was very beautiful.”
“I’ve seen portraits of her, you know,” he informed.
“Have you?” she queried, surprised by the intimacy of the admission. Surely, a good sign!