“I know his mother.” Gillian’s mother nodded toward Lady McElreath and her eldest child. “We both serve on the Greater London Orphans Relief Fund Committee and the War Veterans Relief Fund Committee. I know his baptismal name is Colin, and I recognize Grantham when I see him, not only because Lady McElreath introduced us once at one of her drawing rooms, but because Gr
antham and his oldest sister greatly favor their mother. Anyone looking at them can tell that that’s a mother and her two children.”
Gillian glanced down the row of chairs. “There is definitely a family resemblance. The mother and the daughter are quite lovely.”
“The girl is Lady Liana. She’s making her curtsy at the next royal drawing room.” Lady Davies frowned. “She’s here so the gentleman can get their first look at her. But she isn’t officially out, so she won’t be allowed to dance with anyone but her father or brother until she’s presented.” She looked at Gillian. “And there’s Lady Dunbridge and her niece. They aren’t dancing, either.”
Her mother told the truth. Gillian wasn’t the only lady who wasn’t dancing. She wasn’t even the only young lady who wasn’t dancing. But she was the only young lady not dancing who had been presented to society and who wasn’t chaperoning someone else, acting as a companion to one of the elderly matrons, or rumored to be increasing.
Gillian gave a little self-deprecating laugh. She hadn’t heard all the pertinent rumors circulating the ballroom, so she had no way of knowing for certain, but she hoped that wasn’t the rumor about her. Or the truth. But she knew Papa was afraid she might be. Not that her parents wouldn’t welcome a grandchild, but Gillian knew that they would prefer to meet her husband before they met his heir. She hadn’t told her father about Colin’s other wives, but she knew the only reason her papa hadn’t secured an annulment of her marriage was because he was waiting to see if she was increasing.
A month had passed since her elopement, and Gillian wasn’t able to enlighten her father about her condition because she simply didn’t know. Her monthlies had never been regular. She never knew when they would appear or how long they would last. And now that she desperately needed the information, there was no way to know for sure if she had missed them.
Gillian shifted on the hard seat and tore another bit off the edge of her dance card. She felt like such a hypocrite. She no longer belonged in the society she inhabited. She wasn’t a husband-hunting innocent and she had no business pretending to be one. It didn’t matter that, in their circles, marriage was little more than a binding legal agreement. What mattered was that she had followed her heart and trusted a man who betrayed her. What mattered was that Gillian knew how it felt to put her faith and her hopes and her dreams for the future in the hands of a man who had dashed them. What mattered was that she didn’t want to be a guilty accomplice in doing the same to any man who was foolish enough or desperate enough to pay court to her.
Her father might think it vitally important for her to resume her place among her peers and salvage what was left of her reputation, but Gillian knew in her heart that she had no right to do so. She was a fraud. A counterfeit virgin. The only husband she was interested in finding was the one she’d married—the one who had left her alone in Edinburgh. The one who had abandoned her and disappeared without a trace. Until she knew what had become of him, until she knew why he had chosen her, there was no point in pretending to lead a normal life. She sighed. Still, it would have been nice to forget her troubles and dance...
As if reading her thoughts, Gillian’s mother leaned closer and whispered, “Don’t worry, Gilly-flower, the dancing won’t last much longer.”
Her mother’s use of her pet name brought Gillian’s tears to the surface. She took a deep breath. “Oh, Mama, how could I have been such a fool?”
“Shhh, Gilly.” Lady Davies gave Gillian’s fingers a gentle squeeze. “We’re all fools at one time or another. You made an error in judgment. A mistake. That’s all.”
“You and Papa have been so wonderful to me and so forgiving.”
“You’re our daughter,” Lady Davies told her. “Your father and I are sorry that you felt the need to elope, but in the vast scheme of things, an elopement is nothing. We were afraid you’d been kidnapped and taken against your will. We feared for your life. And now that you’ve returned to us safe and sound, we want you to be happy.”
“Kidnapped?” Her mother’s words gave Gillian pause. The idea had never entered her mind until now... Was it possible? Had he romanced her and convinced her to elope to Gretna Green in order to conceal a kidnapping? And if so, why hadn’t he demanded a ransom after stealing all her jewelry and coin? Unless he’d needed her jewelry in order to prove he had her...
“We never got the letter you just described, Gillyflower,” Lady Davies confided, “but we did receive a packet containing your gold locket and a note requesting fifty thousand pounds to cover your living expenses.”
“What?” Gillian’s face lost all color. “When?” She turned to her mother. “Oh, Mama, I’m so sorry for the trouble and the pain I caused you.” Her tears brimmed over and slowly rolled down her cheeks. She looked down at her lap, at her mother’s hand covering her own. “I can’t believe it! Fifty thousand pounds.”
“Shhh, now. Don’t cry. We didn’t pay it,” Lady Davies rushed to reassure her daughter. “We would have, of course, if we had thought you sent the note or if you needed the money. But since the note arrived the morning of the day you returned home, we knew you hadn’t sent the request.” She smiled at Gillian. “No more tears. We can’t have everyone thinking the rumors are true.”
“Even if they are.” Gillian looked up at her mother. “Mama, I’ve made such a mess of things. What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to muddle through as best you can, Gillian. And before you know it, everything will be all right. You’re not alone. Your father and I are here, and we’re going to support you in every way we can.” Lady Davies removed a delicate handkerchief from her evening bag and pressed it into Gillian’s hand. “Dry your eyes and smile,” she said. “I see Lady Harralson and it looks as if our hostess is as good as her word.”
Gillian dried her tears, then looked up and met her mother’s gaze, a glimmer of hope mixed with disbelief sparkling in her eyes.
“That’s right, my dear,” Lady Davies continued. “She promised us an evening of dancing, and she’s escorting a gentleman of whom I could definitely approve.”
“She is?”
Lady Davies nodded. “A viscount, no less.”
Chapter Seven
“This is the night
That either makes me or fordoes me quite.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
Othello
“Lady Davies, may I have the honor of dancing with your daughter?” The viscount’s warm, rich voice, deeply reminiscent of his native Scotland, sent shivers of awareness up and down Gillian’s spine as Lord Grantham took her mother’s hand in his and bowed.