“You are a duke… they want to think of you as an eligible match.”
“Very eligible! Without a penny to my name.” Elliot scoffed and tried to ride on, but Harrison had paused on his horse. Sighing, Elliot was forced to turn back, riding to a stop beside his friend. “Have you been struck by something? Harrison? You are not moving.” His friend was staring at the people of theton, his jaw slack and his eyes wide.
“Perhaps I have seen something you have not, Elliot. I see a myriad of wealthy ladies, with good dowries to their names—so much money, in fact, that a death tax could be paid like that!” He snapped his fingers in emphasis. “Look again.”
Elliot did as his friend asked. It was true there were many wealthy ladies there today, some who seemed to glitter in jewels and be draped in lace. They wore money as if it were an accessory to them.
“What if you were to wed, Elliot?”
“Wed? Pah! Like that will work.” Elliot laughed heartily, until Harrison waved his top hat in Elliot’s direction, urging him to lower his voice a little. “The dismissal of my staff was enough to start the gossip months ago. The people of thetonknow I lack money. What parent would marry their daughter to me now?”
“Maybe a parent who wants their daughter to be a duchess?”
“With no money!”
“Do you wish to shout it so loud for everyone to hear?” Harrison asked between gritted teeth. Elliot fell silent and looked around the women before him, thinking of what Harrison was saying. “Do not dismiss it outright, my friend. This could be yours and your sister’s salvation. One wealthy dowry and your money concerns could vanish, instantly.”
Elliot gulped, looking between the ladies’ faces. When he’d thought of marriage in the past, he had thought of marrying a lady he was fond of, but such an opportunity had not arisen. He would hardly be the first gentleman to marry for convenience, nor would he be the last.
“Do you think it possible?” he asked his friend after a minute of thought. Across the park, one lady waved at him with her fan.
“I think it very possible indeed.”
Chapter 3
“I should not be here.” Ophelia fidgeted with the long gloves on her hands, feeling very out of place in Lady Canning’s ballroom. “Gertrude, I am not ready for a ball.”
“Do you expect to hide at home forever? No. A ball will do you good.” Gertrude spoke with a kind smile. There was something in that expression that made Ophelia soften a little.
Earlier in the week, her father’s will had clearly been a shock to Gertrude, but Ophelia was relieved to see her stepmother seemed to have moved past that shock. She was content once again, and kind to Ophelia, as she had always been.
“Your stepmother is quite right,” Lady Chester said, taking Ophelia’s arm and drawing her into the ball. “My sister and I know how good it is to distract oneself after mourning.”
“After mourning? I have not finished mourning yet. I wonder if one ever is.” Her melancholy statement was not responded to well, and both sisters looked away from her, deep into the ballroom.
“You must look to the future, my dear.” Gertrude offered a wide smile with the words. “It is not something that is pleasing to hear at this moment; I know it must be difficult, but you must look to the future. You will someday marry, after all. Look how many eligible gentlemen there are here this evening.” She waved a hand at the ballroom, gesturing to the men as if they were actors on a stage, gathered for Ophelia’s benefit.
“Must I marry?” Ophelia asked, wrinkling her nose. “After all, my father’s bequest has made me financially secure. It is not imperative I marry now.” Her words seemed to shock Gertrude and her sister. They both stared at her, wide-eyed, their dark hair flicked around their ears. “I see the idea of a lady wishing to be a spinster shocks you both.”
“Do you wish to stay unmarried?” Lady Chester asked, then turned away, shuddering. “To think of it! What would thetonsay?”
“I do not have to hear what they say.” Her persistent dryness made both sisters step away, moving deeper into the ballroom.
“Come, Ophelia,” Gertrude pleaded, “let us find something to drink.”
Ophelia followed, though she felt her head was a little downturned compared to her stepmother’s and Lady Chester’s. She was in no mood to be here and would have much rather stayed at home. There was only one good thing that would surely come of tonight, and that was to see her friend, Miss Margery Blakely. They had been young in Cheltenham together, but Margery had been brought to London for the spring and her debut this season.
Ophelia was so busy looking for Margery that she nearly lost Gertrude and Lady Chester as she followed them to the drinks table. In the end, Margery found her.
“Ophelia,” Margery said, gushingly, as she reached Ophelia’s side. “How are you, my friend?”
“Margery.” Ophelia clasped her friend’s gloved hands, delighted to see the bright face and green eyes that were always so full of life. “It is so good to see you again.”
“I am glad to see you, too. I did not know whilst you were in London you would be attending these events.” Margery purposefully looked over Ophelia’s clothes. “May I be permitted to say how beautiful you look and how glad I am that you are no longer dressed in mourning?”
“You’re too kind,” Ophelia said. “Though in truth, I’d rather be wearing my mourning clothes. This gown is really rather itchy.” Her jest prompted them both to laugh. “There is much I need to acquaint you with.” She longed to tell Margery of what had happened with her father’s will, but Gertrude cleared her throat, getting her attention and beckoning her forward. “It seems I am being summoned. Come with me, Margery. I’ll need a friend tonight.”
“I had noticed.” Margery winced a little.