she could hang herself. It didn’t even matter if the chandelier couldn’t support her for long. Once the noose snapped her neck and ended her misery, the chandelier could crash to the floor and send a few of these milksops to hell, too.
Gradually, she became aware of anticipated silence surrounding her.
She blinked and lowered her gaze to the man standing in front of her, a pock-marked fellow whose name she hadn’t even attempted to remember. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t attending,” she admitted. What did it matter if she offended him? All to the good, if he left her alone. “What did you say?”
“Not at all,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “I merely commented upon the quality of the entertainment.” He nodded toward the musicians’ nook behind a screen at the end of the great chamber. “Rarely have I heard such precision in a ballroom.”
Lily sighed wearily. Really? She had to comment upon the
precision
of the ball’s musicians?
She cast an unhappy glance around the room, where other groups of people her age were laughing together, having a grand time dancing and talking.
Meanwhile, she was isolated like an oddity at a county fair, held apart from everyone else and only approached by the most intrepid — or desperate — men.
The women all hated her, Lily knew. They didn’t appreciate interlopers in their midst and resented competition for
their
men.
An angry thought directed toward her father crossed her mind. He was dead wrong if he thought her dowry was going to land her a decent husband. No honorable man would come after her money to begin with. If he’d made her dowry more modest in size, she might stand a better chance. As it was, she had the outrageous hundred thousand pounds hanging around her neck, an embarrassingly large albatross that marked her for a ruthless social climber, when she was really anything but.
She was once again aware of the lapse in conversation.
Oh, right. The musicians. The
precise
musicians.
Five gentlemen stood around her in a circle, each making a good show of caring what she had to say about the musicians.
Might as well have a little fun
, she decided. She smiled slyly. “I suppose they’re fine. So,” she said, changing the subject, “that war … ”
That war
was always a heated topic of conversation. The news out of France came fast and furious this spring. The Allies had taken Paris, and Bonaparte was bound for exile. Everyone had something to say on the matter.
“It’s about time they got Boney,” said one man. “Wellington made some blunders in Spain. He should have had this wrapped up last year.”
Spoken like a man who’s never worn a uniform,
Lily thought crossly.
“My mother can’t wait to get back to Paris and buy a decent bonnet,” drawled another.
She rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. Thousands of men, including her betrothed, had died freeing the Continent of a maniacal emperor, and people were concerned with
bonnets
?
The pock-marked man spoke up. “I just wish they’d put
him
up in front of the firing squad and be done with it.”
“So eager for blood?” Lily curled her lip. “Hasn’t enough been spilled?”
“W-well,” the man stammered. “That is … I don’t mean to imply … ”
“Exile is an appropriate punishment,” Lily said. “Bonaparte is an emperor, after all. Or would you have us start taking the heads of kings?
Viva la revolution
, gentlemen?”
Her group of suitors fell into shocked silence. There was nothing quite like raising the specter of the Terror to get the titled class quaking in their boots, she thought with satisfaction. At least they’d ceased their namby-pamby efforts at conversing with her.
A warm hand pressed into the small of her back. “Careful,” a velvety low voice rumbled in her ear. “You begin to sound like the sympathetic rabble. Makes the aristocracy
very
nervous.”
She turned to face the speaker. The arm attached to the hand slipped around her waist.
“Good
Gradually, she became aware of anticipated silence surrounding her.
She blinked and lowered her gaze to the man standing in front of her, a pock-marked fellow whose name she hadn’t even attempted to remember. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t attending,” she admitted. What did it matter if she offended him? All to the good, if he left her alone. “What did you say?”
“Not at all,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “I merely commented upon the quality of the entertainment.” He nodded toward the musicians’ nook behind a screen at the end of the great chamber. “Rarely have I heard such precision in a ballroom.”
Lily sighed wearily. Really? She had to comment upon the
precision
of the ball’s musicians?
She cast an unhappy glance around the room, where other groups of people her age were laughing together, having a grand time dancing and talking.
Meanwhile, she was isolated like an oddity at a county fair, held apart from everyone else and only approached by the most intrepid — or desperate — men.
The women all hated her, Lily knew. They didn’t appreciate interlopers in their midst and resented competition for
their
men.
An angry thought directed toward her father crossed her mind. He was dead wrong if he thought her dowry was going to land her a decent husband. No honorable man would come after her money to begin with. If he’d made her dowry more modest in size, she might stand a better chance. As it was, she had the outrageous hundred thousand pounds hanging around her neck, an embarrassingly large albatross that marked her for a ruthless social climber, when she was really anything but.
She was once again aware of the lapse in conversation.
Oh, right. The musicians. The
precise
musicians.
Five gentlemen stood around her in a circle, each making a good show of caring what she had to say about the musicians.
Might as well have a little fun
, she decided. She smiled slyly. “I suppose they’re fine. So,” she said, changing the subject, “that war … ”
That war
was always a heated topic of conversation. The news out of France came fast and furious this spring. The Allies had taken Paris, and Bonaparte was bound for exile. Everyone had something to say on the matter.
“It’s about time they got Boney,” said one man. “Wellington made some blunders in Spain. He should have had this wrapped up last year.”
Spoken like a man who’s never worn a uniform,
Lily thought crossly.
“My mother can’t wait to get back to Paris and buy a decent bonnet,” drawled another.
She rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. Thousands of men, including her betrothed, had died freeing the Continent of a maniacal emperor, and people were concerned with
bonnets
?
The pock-marked man spoke up. “I just wish they’d put
him
up in front of the firing squad and be done with it.”
“So eager for blood?” Lily curled her lip. “Hasn’t enough been spilled?”
“W-well,” the man stammered. “That is … I don’t mean to imply … ”
“Exile is an appropriate punishment,” Lily said. “Bonaparte is an emperor, after all. Or would you have us start taking the heads of kings?
Viva la revolution
, gentlemen?”
Her group of suitors fell into shocked silence. There was nothing quite like raising the specter of the Terror to get the titled class quaking in their boots, she thought with satisfaction. At least they’d ceased their namby-pamby efforts at conversing with her.
A warm hand pressed into the small of her back. “Careful,” a velvety low voice rumbled in her ear. “You begin to sound like the sympathetic rabble. Makes the aristocracy
very
nervous.”
She turned to face the speaker. The arm attached to the hand slipped around her waist.
“Good
Similar Books
