Page 95 of His Runaway Duchess

They barely made it a quarter of the way across the ballroom—there were chairs set out for matrons at the opposite end of the room, by the refreshments table—when Beatrice hissed, stumbling. Her hand flew to her rounded belly.

Anna noticed at once, frowning. “Beatrice? Are you well?”

“It’s too hot,” Beatrice murmured, “and crowded. I am sorry, but I must go back. I’ll find a quiet room to sit in until things quieten down.”

Anna bit her lip, glancing between her friend and her sister.

“Go with Beatrice, Anna,” Daphne said. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll go with her,” Theodore said firmly. “Stay with your sister, Anna.”

He offered Beatrice his arm, and she took it gratefully.

The four of them moved off, trying desperately to stick together in the jostle of the crowds. The heat was intense, and Daphne felt sweat bead on her neck and trickle down her back.

There were plenty of stares thrown her way. Long, calculating looks from disapproving faces. The noise of chatter pervaded the whole room, of course, but somehow the sibilant whispers still made their way to Daphne’s ears.

“What isshedoing here?”

“I wouldn’t show my face in Society ever again if I were her.”

“Hear, hear. Modern women have no shame.”

“That husband of hers will come and drag her home by her ear soon, I wager. She’ll learn the way of things.”

Daphne clenched her jaw and concentrated on not responding.

They were getting to the middle of the ballroom when a cluster of people descended upon Anna and Octavia. Daphne faintly recognized them as family friends, although she did not miss the quick, disapproving looks thrown ather.

In a trice, the crowd had separated their group in two. Octavia and Anna were left to talk to the family friends, civility keeping them prisoner, while Daphne and Emily were rapidly pushed away by the crush.

Emily, faintly panicked, stood up on her slippered tiptoes, trying in vain to look over the heads of the crowd.

“Mama? Anna!” she called, waving her arm. “We’ll meet you by the refreshments table!”

“Did they hear us?” Daphne asked.

Emily shrugged. “No way of telling. We’ll never get back to them now. Heavens, this is such a crush. I hate parties.”

Hand in hand—Daphne was now terrified that her sister would be torn away from her, too—they pushed onwards through the crowd.

If we can get to some seats, all will be well. We’ll drink some champagne, and things will start to feel better. I’ll dance just once, with Theo, as Anna told me to, and then we can leave. And then my first appearance in Society after my wedding will be over, and that will be that. I’ll be safe. It’ll be over.

She swallowed hard, tightening her grip on Emily’s hand, and tried to repeat to herself over and over that all would be well.

And then the Misses Jenkins stepped in their way.

There were three Jenkins girls, all very pretty, all resembling each other enough to almost be considered triplets. This was their first Season, and the girls remained unmarried. It was generally thought that their faces were not pretty enough andtheir fortunes were not large enough to make up for their needling personalities.

Daphne had never personally disliked the Jenkins girls, and she privately thought that they were simply doing what they could to marry well and find their places in an ever-shifting world, as well as getting out from under their overbearing parents’ thumbs. They were referred to as Miss Jenkins, Miss Minerva, and Miss Clementine.

“How lovely to see you in Society again, Daphne,” Miss Jenkins fluted. It was lucky that she was the eldest and could be referred to as simply Miss Jenkins, as Daphne happened to know that her first name was Ermingarde, and Miss Jenkins thoroughlyhatedit. “Although, I suppose it’sYour Grace, now.”

Daphne smiled tentatively. “It is, but I hate the title. You can still call me Daphne. We are the same age, after all.”

Miss Minerva and Miss Clementine exchanged meaningful glances, but they let their older sister do the talking.

Miss Jenkins pursed her lips. “I should congratulate you on your good fortune. Not every woman has the luck to marry a duke. I, for one, would settle for a plain, old lord.”

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