Page 53 of Oddity of the Ton
Eleanor would have preferred to remain outside in the rainstorm. Outside, she could savor the fresh, clean water on her face, together with the unmistakable aroma of dust in rain—a veritable heaven compared to the chattering crowds with their sharp voices, shrill laughs, and bright colors that always tortured her senses.
“Oh, Mama!” Juliette cried. “The weather’s ghastly—and we’ll have to walk past all those carriages! Why didn’t we leave earlier?”
“We would have done had your sister consented to wear the dress I’d chosen for her.” Mother gave Eleanor a sharp glance. “I wanted you to look your best tonight—and you won’t in that hideous thing.”
“I like this gown,” Eleanor said.
“Pink isa la modethis Season, not green. And you wore that dress at Lady Stiles’s soiree last month. People will notice.”
“Nobody will noticeme,” Eleanor said.
“Everyone’seyes will be on you tonight.”
Eleanor suppressed a shudder.
“Which is why,” Mother continued, “you must not let the family down. For Juliette’s sake.”
“ForJuliette?”
“You mustn’t take all the attention, Eleanor,” Juliette said. “That would be selfish.”
“Quite so,” Mother added. “Juliette must not be without a partner tonight.”
“The Duke of Dunton has asked to partner me for the first two dances,” Juliette said.
“Excellent,” Mother said. “But we mustn’t grow complacent.”
“You want to be courted byDunton, do you?” Eleanor asked. “But he has a reputation for—”
“If you can secure a duke, why can’tI?” Juliette said.
“Quite right, darling,” Mother said. “You’re the prettiest girl of the Season. Lady Fairchild says you’re prettier even her Irma.”
“What about Lady Arabella?” Juliette said. “Some say she’s the prettiest.”
“Ah, but she lacks your sweet disposition.”
Eleanor met her father’s gaze and bit her lips to stifle a giggle. Papa, unable to show similar restraint, let out a bark of laughter, which he disguised with a cough.
“Are you unwell, Leonard?” Mother asked.
“No, Grace, my love. The air’s a little dry, that’s all.”
Mother glanced at the rain, which was forming a mist as it splashed off the pavement. She glanced at Papa and opened her mouth, but before she issued a reprimand, a face appeared at the window.
Montague.
Eleanor’s stomach somersaulted. He was handsome enough in the middle of a ballroom, dressed in finery. But here—outside, his hair windswept and disheveled, with an undercurrent of primal savagery—he was breathtaking.
The door opened, and she was met with the full force of his gaze.
“Miss Howard, what a pleasure,” he said. “Sir Leonard, Lady Howard—and Miss Juliette. Do you require assistance? This weather’s not for the fainthearted.”
“That’s most kind, Your Grace,” Mother said.
Whitcombe glanced over his shoulder. “My man!” he cried. “We’re in need of assistance. You too, if you don’t mind?”
Two footmen appeared. “Yes, Your Grace?” the first asked.
