Page 46 of The Earl's Demure Spinster
No one had followed her, thank goodness, so she could run away and get out of this mess before it swallowed her up whole again. Before she had anyone looking at her as she nearly wept.
Outside, the cold night air offered a small respite. Sylvia took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the weight of embarrassment still pressed heavily upon her. She hurried towards the waiting carriage, her eyes fixed on the path ahead, avoiding anyone who might be outside watching her. She did not know if there was anyone out there, but she could not risk it. She could not stand to see another living soul.
Aunt Grace and Lord George were already inside the carriage waiting for her, thank goodness. They really were the only people that she could stand to see right now. Sylvia barely managed a weak smile as she climbed into the carriage, the safety of its enclosed space feeling like a sanctuary. The door closed behind her with a finality that sealed her off from the prying eyes of those who despised her.
The carriage began to move, taking her away from her nightmare at long last. Sylvia sat in silence, her mind a whirlwind of embarrassment and hurt. The night, which had begun with so much promise, had ended in disgrace, leaving her to ponder the cruel whims of high society and her place within it.
No, there was nothing to ponder.
Now she knew more than ever that she did not have a place within it.
Aunt Grace, sitting opposite her, reached out and took Sylvia’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Pray, Sylvia, what transpired yonder?” she asked softly, her eyes filled with concern.
Sylvia sighed, her voice barely above a whisper as she continued to force the tears to stay inside. She wanted to wait until she was locked away from the world in her bedchambers before she finally succumbed to the emotion. “A glass of red wine was spilled on my gown. It was an accident by one of the waiters, but the way everyone stared and whispered… It was mortifying. Of course, they automatically blamed me, my clumsiness because I am not as graceful as them. Not as accustomed to high society.”
Aunt Grace’s expression hardened with irritation. “Sylvia, the people in that ballroom can be exceptionally cruel. They often forget that accidents happen to everyone, regardless of their station. It is utterly ridiculous that they are trying to blame you.”
“But that is what they always do. It is as if they can not stand to have me around. They need me to know that I am not one of them, and I never will be.”
Lord George leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. “Lady Sylvia, it is not fair how they treated you. Anyone with a shred of decency would have understood it was an accident. Their reaction says more about them than it does about you. It shows how cold hearted and calculated they are.”
Sylvia nodded, appreciating their support, but the sting of the incident was still fresh. She stared out the window, the light from the candles blurring as the carriage moved through the streets and she continued to fight her tears. She could not even think about the nice time that she’d had with Lord Wesley anymore. Not without the bitterness of the wine spillage crushing her.
The carriage drew to a gentle stop in front of Aunt Grace’s home, which finally allowed her to let out a breath that she did not even realize that she was holding in.
She was here, at last, away from the ton.
But it was not far enough. She still yearned for her life in Bath. More so than ever.
Lord George stepped out first, offering his hand to help Sylvia down. She accepted his support, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. Aunt Grace followed, her presence a calming force as they walked up the path to the front door.
“Sylvia,” Aunt Grace said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder as soon as they stepped inside, “you need rest. Tonight has been difficult, but tomorrow is a new day.”
Sylvia nodded, offering a faint smile. “Thank you, Aunt Grace. I believe I shall retire to my chamber now. Good night.”
Lord George and Aunt Grace exchanged a concerned glance but said nothing more. Sylvia ascended the staircase. When she finally reached her room, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it as a sigh escaped her lips.
The events of the evening replayed in her mind, each detail etched in painful clarity. She crossed the room to the mirror, gazing at her reflection. The stain from the red wine was a glaring reminder of her humiliation. With a heavy heart, she began to change out of her gown, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft rustle. She felt like she was taking off a mask, and revealing her true self.
Dressed in her night clothes, Sylvia sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection. The image of Lord Wesley’s face, the way he had looked at her during their dance, filled her thoughts. Her heart ached with longing, but she knew she had to face the truth. She could never be with Lord Wesley. Their worlds were too different, their stations in life too far apart. The night had madeit painfully clear that high society would never accept her, and she could not bear the constant scrutiny and judgment.
Sylvia finally let the tears fall as she succumbed to the pain of the night. She had not survived the Season, nor did she wish to anymore. She just wanted to escape this, to get away from all of it, and to live comfortably once more.
