Page 2 of Surrender Your Grace
“With such glowing praise, how could I refuse?” Cici drawled, her sarcasm unmistakable.
Elizabeth turned mid-step. “You’re not suggesting you won’t help!”
As if concerned she might refuse her, Elizabeth dropped beside her on the settee.
“Forgive me, but I’m beside myself.” She clutched Cici’s hand. “You must help. My every happiness depends on it. You wouldn’t want your only sister miserable forever, would you?”
Elizabeth’s dramatics were nothing new. An apology, though—that was shocking.
“Do this, and I won’t ask for another favor all week. I swear.”
A week’s reprieve for saving her from eternal misery hardly seemed fair.
When Cici hesitated, Elizabeth shrieked, “We’re family! Youmustdo this!”
To spare her ears and end the ordeal, Cici relented. “Fine. But if Papa’s angry I meddled in a match he arranged, you’d better defend me.”
“Certainly, I will,” she said, beaming, before stunning Cici further by embracing her.
Because this happened even less often than an apology, she demanded to know, “Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”
Elizabeth leaned back. “Why—I’m right here. Has something gone wrong with your eyes?”
Beyond doubt, all Elizabeth had to do was be herself—vain, scheming, and blissfully obtuse—to scare the viscount off.
A thought struck her. “Proposals have happened on the dance floor. What if he asks for a waltz? Am I to wedge myself between you and babble about Lord Byron?”
Elizabeth frowned, her eyes narrowing as she considered it. “That wouldn’t do. Embarrassing the viscount could cause a scene—and reflect poorly on me.”
“You can’t think I’d actually—” Cici spluttered. “I was joking. I’ve had the same instruction you have. I do know how to behave in public. I’d like to make a good match someday—and becoming a spectacle won’t help.”
Elizabeth gave her a once-over, eyes drifting critically from her red hair to her borrowed gown, as if sure her making a good match was a long shot.
Cici sighed again. This scheme had better work. She longed for her sister’s wedding day—whether to a baron or the crown prince—and for herself, the quiet promise of books, needlework, and peace.
“I have it,” Elizabeth declared. “I’ll fill my dance card straightaway. If he can’t dance with me, he can’t propose.”
“And if he insists on escorting you to supper—in front of Papa?”
She hesitated, clearly doubting her plan, then rallied. “I’ll feign illness and insist my devoted sister assist me to the retiring room.”
Cici felt trapped. She hadn’t planned to attend, but resisting was futile. Even with a valid excuse, Elizabeth would whine to Mama—and get her way.
Resigned to her fate, she set her needle aside and rang for her maid. She’d need to find something passable to wear.
Chapter 2
The landing at the top of the staircase was too narrow for all four of them. Cici’s parents and Elizabeth stepped forward, edging her to the rear as the steward’s crisp voice announced their arrival. Heads turned—the ton, as always, scrutinizing and judging. She should have been used to it. In truth, she didn’t crave the attention, but being pushed to the back like a second-class family member still stung.
Her father scanned the upturned faces with detached interest, likely unaware of his slight. Forced by duty, he endured these suffocating social events, loathing the throngs, cloying perfumes, and the arrogant display of wealth by the aristocracy. Her mother and sister, who delighted in everything he hated, were far more calculating, intentionally excluding Cici. They waited, seconds ticking by, until all the eligible males had a chance to notice Elizabeth. Only then did they descend the stairs to greet the hosts and advance through the receiving line.
“Stay close. I’ll signal when I need you,” Elizabeth said as they fastened their beribboned dance cards to their wrists.
She’d mastered the art of hissing beneath a serene smile. No one watching would suspect she was being anything but charming as she conveyed her orders to her loyal minion. When she moved farther into the ballroom, a throng of suitors instantly surrounded her.
They eagerly inscribed their names on her dance card for one of the evening’s many dances, especially the most sought-after three scheduled waltzes and the supper dance. Even if they never intended to court her, it boosted their reputation to be seen with one of society’s most captivating young ladies.
When their brief audience with Elizabeth passed, a few gentlemen politely asked Cici for a dance, too. Within minutes, each girl had a full card. She didn’t fool herself that they were seriously interested; it would have been rude to ignore her when she was standing right next to Elizabeth.
