Page 94 of His Runaway Duchess

Daphne grimaced. “I’m not good at being haughty.”

Anna chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. Stick with us, and all will be well.”

I wish I could believe that.

The carriage slowed and turned, beginning to rattle its way up a steep, wide driveway, well-graveled and raked, joining a line of other glowing carriages. At the top of the driveway was a large house, windows all lit up. Even from the bottom of the path, Daphne could hear chatter, laughter, and music drifting out of the wide-open front doors.

“Mrs. Whitmore’s ballroom is the largest in London,” Anna explained. “We’ll walk down a marble hallway once we greet her at the door, and then down a flight of stairs into the ballroom. Just so you know where you’ll be going, Daff.”

“Everything will be fine,” Emily said, smiling mechanically.

Daphne still did not believe them.

It seemed to take an age before their carriage rolled to a halt altogether before the wide front steps. Squeezing out of the cramped interior took a few moments, and the cold hit Daphne’s exposed skin almost immediately when she stepped outside. She pulled at her neckline self-consciously.

It wasn’t averyshocking dress, although the neckline scooped down and around her collarbones, skimming the tips of her shoulders. It was a pastel-mint color, an unusual shade and very becoming, but otherwise cut simply and demurely. She didn’t glitter with diamonds the way Anna and Theodore did, nor was she studded with emeralds like Beatrice. Even so, Daphne felt as though all eyes were on her.

I want to go home.

She did not fling herself back into the carriage, which felt like a success. She followed the others up the steps, to where Mrs. Whitmore waited.

She was a tall, handsome woman, widowed as everyone knew, and probably the richest woman in London. Her red hair glinted in the candlelight, and her shrewd grey eyes swept over the group. She greeted everyone with the greatest courtesy, one by one, and only hesitated for a tenth of a second when she saw Daphne.

“Your Grace,” she said, smiling faintly. “It is a great honor to have the Duchess of Thornbridge here. I am a great friend of your sister’s, and I hope that you and I will become friends, too.”

Daphne managed a smile and a curtsey. “I hope so, too.”

“I hope you enjoy yourself, Your Grace,” Mrs. Whitmore said, her sparkling eyes still watching Daphne with intrigue. “Do feel free to come and speak to me if anything is amiss, or if you require anything. Anything at all.”

A faint pressure on Daphne’s hand, and then Mrs. Whitmore turned to greet her next guests.

Emily’s hand snaked into Daphne’s. “Nobody will even notice us come in,” she whispered. “I’ll find us some seats and some refreshments, and we can just sit down and make fun of what everybody else is wearing.”

Daphne smiled wanly. “Thank you, Emmie. I’d like that.”

As Anna had warned, the hallway led to a wide landing, with gleaming steps leading down into a veritable sea of people. Waves of heat rushed up to meet them, as well as a cacophony of laughter and chatter, swirled by the constant shuffle of slippers on stone and the swishing of skirts. Music curled around the noise, drifting up to hang around the chandelier.

A footman by the door looked them over briefly, cleared his throat, and bellowed out their names to the crowd.

“The Duke and Duchess of Langdon! The Duchess of Blackwood! Lady St. Maur and her daughter, Miss Belmont! The Duchess of Thornbridge!”

Daphne knew at once that the herald had made a mistake. She ought to have been announced earlier, along with Anna, Theodore, and Beatrice.

It hardly mattered, though, because as the sound of her title died down, a hush fell over the ballroom.

Well, not over theentireballroom. The room was huge, the music was still playing, and most of the guests would not have heard the herald yell out the titles.

Enough did, however. It seemed like hundreds of people, all clustered near the doorway, turned and stared up at Daphne, their eyes goggling.

They know.They know about it all. About my failed wedding ceremony, about my scandal, the rushed wedding to Edward. And now they know that I’ve left him. Not a single secret of mine is kept hidden.

Emily’s hand, still laced with hers, tightened.

“You aren’t alone, Daff,” she whispered. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”

As a group, they descended the stairs. Whispers rose in a susurrus. Daphne kept her head high and tried not to notice.

To start with, the crowd parted to let them pass by, like a Red Sea of gossip. But the people closed in behind them, and gradually the noise started up again. People began to jostle Daphne and the others.

---