Page 27 of A Desperate Proposal

“Why not? You’ve got to do something besides go to parties and drink at clubs eventually. Mother’s getting exceedingly cross about it. This will cheer her up.”

“I am painfully aware of mother’s stance on my choices, Bella. Which is why I am seeking a commission. But that is hardly the point. Desperation is no reason to get married, and I care too much for our cousin to give her the sort of husband she’s been trying to avoid.”

“It sounds to me like she’s trying to avoid spinsterhood. You’re at least better than that.”

“Oh, well. High praise that is.”

“Unless you’re only to be a lieutenant. You’ll never do anything useful then.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’d know all about never doing anything useful.”

“Considering I’ll have to marry rich enough to buy you any rank worth—”

“Are you two going to argue all night or remember your duty at some point to congratulate me?” Henry Weston’s curt voice cut across Arabella’s, silencing both her and Alexander. Even Elinor’s gaze swung to follow his leisurely approach. His dark hair and aristocratic features were impossible to ignore. No matter how much Elinor wished otherwise.

“Apologies, Henry. We were busy enjoying our lives.” Arabella’s glare could’ve pierced steel, and she stepped a little more between him and Elinor. “I’m sure you’ll remember that sensation fondly yourself, once you’re joined with Georgiana and her crystalline braying laugh for all eternity.”

“Speaking of Georgiana, why not run along and find her, brother? I’m sure she’s in want of your company far more than anyone out here is.” Alexander spoke so harshly even Elinor felt the chill of his tone and the frost of his pointed stare as it bore into Henry.

“Alex,” she said sharply as she stood up. “Your brother is right. We were rude to not congratulate him before.” Henry grinned at that, as if pleased to see her scolding Alexander. “Many blessings to the happy couple,” she continued, reaching for Arabella. “Cousin, if you might help me inside. I believe I’ve had about as much fresh air as I can stand.”

“Of course.” Arabella took her arm, and Elinor almost drew back in shock—Arabella was trembling. But as she opened her mouth to remark on it, Arabella’s expression silenced her. They walked toward the door without comment. Neither Weston brother moved to intercept. Elinor risked a glance behind, finding Alexander and Henry in conversation. They seemed so at ease, so normal. If you didn’t note Alexander’s right hand bunched into a fist, or the ramrod stiffness to Henry’s spine. “Come on,” Arabella hissed. “The next set’s starting and I’m promised to dance with Sir Malcolm’s son.”

“It’s all right, Bella. I shall ask a maid to help me the rest of the way. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” she said as she scanned the crowd for Hannah or any passing attendant not occupied with trays of cups. She knew there was to be a dinner, and it would be rude not to attend. But it would be far ruder to go as she was now.

“That’s about enough Lady Martyrdom nonsense,” Arabella retorted. “I’ll get you to the changing room and you can have the girl in there fetch Hannah, if she isn’t too drunk to attend you. I think she and Lady Summersby’s maid are fast friends and they’re both fond of the wine cellar.” She seemed to be making the speech mostly to distract herself as they skirted the edge of the ballroom—really two rooms opened up into a single space for the night.

Arabella’s grip tightened on her arm and dragged Elinor after her, her steps quick enough to elicit a wince, but she didn’t ask to slow down. The pain was secondary to everything else, and as they wove through the sea of gorgeous gowns and smiling faces, Elinor’s heartbeat raced faster and faster. By the time they reached the dressing room, she found herself short of breath. The relative silence of the chamber crashed over her.

All of her thoughts came flooding back at once. The desperation, the anger, the fear… She tugged her arm away from her cousin and fell onto the nearest chair, her limbs light as air and shaking like leaves. “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes welling with fresh tears. She didn’t fight them back as she’d done before, glad that the room was empty save for the attending maid. “I’m not trying to be Lady Martyrdom. I promise. I’m just so … so angry.”

“Well, fury will be better for your complexion than weeping all night.” Arabella beckoned the hovering servant out of her corner. “My cousin’s hurt her ankle again. Could you find our girl, Hannah?”

“Would another cold-water bath help it, Miss Weston?”

“I think we’ll leave that until she limps upstairs. For now, Hannah can bring a fresh bandage and I’ll help her wash her face.” Elinor didn’t offer opinion on her treatment, hoping she looked suitably distraught to avoid questions. And the girl did vanish off somewhere quickly enough. Arabella, meanwhile, dipped her spare handkerchief in a waiting pitcher of water and handed it over.

“Your powder’s ruined anyway, but candlelight’s kind enough that perhaps Lord Asherton won’t notice.”

“If he ever deigns to look at me again. I shoved him, Arabella. I lost my temper and made an utter fool of myself. Over Henry.” Just saying his name made her feel sick. She dabbed at her cheeks with the handkerchief, her breaths slowing as the chill eased some of her nerves. “I must apologize to him. But obviously… not now. I can hardly manage this conversation without bursting into tears.”

“I think you must apologize now.” Arabella’s expression was unnervingly thoughtful. “Mama always says to never go to bed mad. And you cannot afford to let any uncharitable feelings settle in. Besides, you’ve just had a disappointment. Maybe he will overlook your fight on that account.” She let out a breath. “We’ll have to figure everything else out later. But at least that will clear the slates for the morning.”

Elinor winced at the idea. She could pretend all was well in front of many people, but him? Yet, Arabella was right. If she left it unresolved even for an evening, who knew how it might fester overnight? She wiped more streaked powder from her face and sat up straighter. “Perhaps Hannah could find him for me? But where shall I wait for him? When last I looked, the terrace was occupied.”

“The library? Or be terribly wild and have him come to your room. Not as if anyone’s going upstairs.”

“Bella!”

“Oh, don’t faint. I’m teasing.” Arabella checked her own reflection in the nearest mirror, adjusting her pearl necklace. “You can sort out your own apology, cousin. I’ve got beaux to enchant. I intend on having half a dozen proposals before I set foot in Town this summer.”

“I didn’t know our going was decided.” Elinor smiled in spite of herself.

“Mm. It will be. And I’ll get a full dozen proposals there.” Her eyes glinted in the lamplight. “But if one of them offers to kill Henry as a token, I might accept him. Even if he’s poor as a church mouse.”

“For only an offer?” Elinor huffed, standing up and smoothing out her dress. She might have said more, but another woman entered the dressing room, followed by another, and then Hannah who approached with a whimsical smile. If she noticed the evidence of Elinor’s distress, she said nothing, only asked what was needed. Arabella issued instructions about fresh bandages and powder, and vanished into the ballroom.

Ten minutes later, Elinor found herself in the library gazing into the fireplace from the chair Hannah deposited her in. Arabella was somewhere dancing her set, and at last, Elinor was alone.