Chapter 1

Chapter One

" E liza," Lady Lymington interrupted, her voice sharp. "You must listen attentively to Lord Beecham. He is a man of great wisdom."

Eliza forced a smile, startling. "Of course, Aunt. I was just considering how lucky I was to be amidst Lord Beecham and others with such great wisdom."

Lady Lymington raised an eyebrow in warning at Eliza's tone.

Oblivious to Eliza's sarcasm, Lord Beecham adjusted his monocle and leaned closer, his bushy gray eyebrows wagging.

"Now, as I was saying, Miss Huxley, you must understand the importance of proper breeding in our society," he droned, his monocle glinting as he gestured expansively.

Eliza Huxley nodded politely, her eyes glazing over with boredom.

"Indeed, My Lord," she replied, her voice strained with forced politeness.

Her aunt, Lady Lymington, stood nearby, casting approving glances in their direction. Eliza suppressed a sigh, wishing fervently for an escape from the tedious conversation.

The ballroom was filled with the chatter of London's elite, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and candle wax. Eliza's gaze wandered over the assembled guests, longing for a friendly face.

Her best friend, Diana, was conspicuously absent, staying at Whitehall to await the birth of her first child.

"Of course, a lady of your standing must be acutely aware of the responsibilities that come with such a prestigious lineage," Lord Beecham continued, his voice a monotonous drone.

Eliza felt her heart pounding in her chest, a sense of panic rising within her.

The future that Lord Beecham described was not one she could ever accept.

Her mind drifted, and she imagined herself far away from the stifling ballroom, perhaps wandering through a lush forest or riding along a beach, the wind in her hair.

"Miss Huxley?" Lord Beecham's voice pulled her back to the present.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"I was asking if you have had the pleasure of visiting Bath. It is a marvelous place for a young lady to make advantageous connections."

Eliza bit back a sigh. "I have not had the pleasure, My Lord."

"Ah, you must visit. The waters are most rejuvenating."

Lady Lymington's eyes bore into her, a silent command to engage more enthusiastically. "That sounds delightful, My Lord," Eliza said, hoping to appease her aunt.

"Indeed, it is. I would be most pleased to escort you there sometime," Lord Beecham offered, his smile oily.

Eliza's heart sank, and a shiver of disgust ran through her at the implication. She had thought he only was interested in her because she was the only one that would listen to his prattling, but the invitation implied courtship, something she could not imaging. Lord Beecham had to be fifty, if not older.

"That is very kind of you, My Lord," she replied, her voice devoid of enthusiasm.

In her assessment of the soiree, she could count maybe a handful of guests under the age of forty. As her attention wandered, she failed to notice her aunt move closer.

Lady Lymington stepped forward again, her smile tight. "I am sure Eliza would be honored, Lord Beecham."

Eliza's mind raced, searching for an excuse to extricate herself from this unbearable situation.

"If you will excuse me, My Lord, I must take my leave for a moment," she said, curtsying gracefully before making a hasty retreat.

She moved quickly through the crowd, her heart pounding. Her aunt would not be happy with her quick departure, so she hoped she could get lost in the crowd of other matrons and chaperones.

As she moved through the ballroom, she spotted an open window in a far corner. The cool breeze beckoned her, offering a moment of respite from the oppressive atmosphere.

She made her way to the window, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

Eliza closed her eyes, feeling the cool night air on her face. She had to find a way out of this, but the path seemed impossibly narrow.

She could not let her aunt's cruelty dictate her future. Somehow, she would have to muster the strength to fight for her own happiness, even if it meant defying her aunt's iron will.

"Eliza," Lady Lymington began, her voice low and controlled to avoid the other guests from overhearing, "why did you leave Lord Beecham so abruptly?"

"I needed some air, Aunt," Eliza replied, trying to keep her tone light.

She wanted to yell at her aunt for the audacity of trying to push Lord Beecham on her. The season had barely begun, and already suitors had been thrust upon Eliza.

"It was quite stifling in there," she continued.

Her aunt's eyes narrowed, unsympathetic. "Do you think yourself a great catch, dear niece? Because you are not. Despite the handsome sum your father left for you, the ton still remembers you were in a finishing school. No mother would want you as a bride for her son," Lady Lymington looked over Eliza again, saying, "You do not even have looks going for you."

Eliza's cheeks burned with anger. She bit her tongue forcefully to avoid calling her aunt any number of names. "I do not think myself anything, Aunt. I merely needed a moment to breathe."

Lady Lymington's face twisted with fury, but she released Eliza's arm.

"I have had enough of your insolence," she hissed back. "You will come with me, and you will apologize to Lord Beecham."

Eliza rubbed her arm, glaring at her aunt.

"Fine," she relented, having no other choice.

Lady Lymington grabbed her wrist and dragged her back towards Lord Beecham.

Eliza's heart pounded with anger. She could feel the eyes of the other guests on her, whispers spreading like wildfire through the crowd. Did they notice her aunt's roughness towards her? Did they laugh at her weight? She did not know, and she hated not knowing.

"Lord Beecham," Lady Lymington called out, her voice overly sweet. "Eliza has something she would like to say."

Eliza forced a smile, curtsying stiffly. "Lord Beecham, I must apologize for my abrupt departure."

"Ah, Miss Huxley, there you are," he replied, his eyes glinting with possessive interest. "I hope you found some lemonade and stayed away from the sweets. I do think too many young ladies indulge themselves too much. In fact, that reminds me, too many young ladies do favor champagne over lemonade, but I believe that too much is never good for a lady of standing…"

Eliza clenched her hands tightly around her fan, her patience wearing thin. "Of course, Lord Beecham," she replied, struggling to keep her tone civil.

"The importance of a well-matched marriage cannot be overstated," Lord Beecham went on. "Have you considered your future, Miss Huxley?"

Eliza's stomach churned at the thought. "I have given it some thought, My Lord."

"Excellent," he beamed. "It is crucial for a young lady to be discerning in her choice of suitor. A proper marriage ensures stability, obedience, and the continuation of one's lineage. A wife must always be prepared to serve her husband and maintain the household to his satisfaction."

Eliza felt a cold dread settle over her. "Serve her husband, My Lord?"

"Why, yes," Lord Beecham continued, oblivious to her discomfort. "A good wife must be obedient and dutiful, always placing her husband's needs above her own. It is her responsibility to ensure that his wishes are met without question. This is something I have been looking for since my dear late wife passed."

Eliza's forced smile wavered as she imagined a life of servitude and subjugation. The thought of spending her days catering to the whims of a man like Lord Beecham was horrifying. She tried to mask her growing unease, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

"Furthermore," Lord Beecham droned on, "it is the wife's duty to produce heirs, particularly sons, to carry on the family name. A woman's worth is largely measured by her ability to bear children and manage the household efficiently. I am, in fact, still hoping for an heir someday, myself."

Eliza's mind raced, searching for a way to escape this unbearable conversation. She could feel Lady Lymington's piercing gaze on her, silently demanding compliance.

"Indeed, My Lord," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lord Beecham smiled, evidently pleased with her response. "I am glad you understand the virtues of marriage, Miss Huxley. A young lady of your standing must be prepared to embrace her role with grace and humility."

Eliza nodded, clenching her jaw with the audacity of the old coot. As he returned to droning on about the virtues of Bath, she struggled to maintain her composure.

"Excuse me, My Lord," she said finally, using the sweetest, most polite voice that she could manage, "I am in need of refreshment. Perhaps you could spare me for a moment?"

Lord Beecham inclined his head, slightly annoyed, but forced to be polite. "If you must. But I dare say, mind my advice about the sweets."

Pretending that if she did not look at her aunt, she would not take issue with Eliza departing from Lord Beecham again, Eliza made her way to the refreshment table. She looked between the options of cakes and finger sandwiches, taking a moment to steady herself.

Lady Lymington appeared beside her, her gaze sharp. "What do you think you are doing?" she hissed. "Stay away from the food while Lord Beecham is around. You do not want to give him any more reason to find fault with you."

Eliza clenched her jaw, trying to keep her voice calm. "I will go back to him soon, Aunt. I only need a moment."

Lady Lymington's grabbed Eliza's arm, her fingers digging in painfully. "Your options are limited, Eliza. I will not waste more of my fortune on you. You will marry this season, whether you like it or not."

Eliza winced, trying to pull her arm free. "You are hurting me."

"Do you not remember how poorly last season ended?" her aunt hissed. "Everyone knew you were engaged?—"

"It was never announced!" Eliza interrupted.

Her aunt shook her arm. "It does not matter! And a failed engagement is only one step above ruin if you ask me or anyone else. You will be lucky if the ton does not remember your scandal. Worse, you have done nothing to better yourself, lost not even a breath of weight. Really, if you end up married to anyone, it will be a miracle."

"Well, I am glad," Eliza hissed. "I was horrified at the thought of being Baron Haversham's wife, and I will be loath to marry any of the old men you try to push on me."

Her aunt's grip only tightened. "You think you can defy me? You will do as you are told."

Keenly aware that other guests hovered nearby, Eliza hissed through her teeth. "Go ahead and hit me, Aunt. I am used to violence." She stared directly into Lady Lymington's eyes, her voice steady and challenging. "Mrs. West's was far worse."

Her aunt's eyes bore into her, flicking with a rage only dampened by the presence of other guests. "I will be glad to be rid of you as soon as possible, you insolent wretch."

With that, Lady Lymington turned and walked away, leaving Eliza to wrestle with her frustration and helplessness. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable return to Lord Beecham.

The evening seemed endless, but she had no choice but to endure it.

She picked up a tea cake and took a delicate bite. However, she could not help but overhear the conversation of two elegantly dressed ladies nearby. They looked to be about her age, maybe younger, finely dressed with slender figures. Eliza felt a burn of embarrassment and shame, feeling guilty as she nibbled at her cake.

"Have you heard? The Duke of Redfern is absent again," one of them whispered, her fan fluttering in front of her face.

"Yes, I heard," the other replied. "He has been avoiding all social events all year, despite this being his first season as a duke. They say he never wished to marry before he inherited, but many assumed he would change his mind. Does not seem to be the case. Such a shame with his fortune and title."

"Not to mention his looks," the other giggled.

Eliza's curiosity piqued, but she had little time to dwell on their gossip. She needed to return to Lord Beecham and face whatever dull conversation awaited her before her aunt could come to berate her again.

With a sigh, she wondered how long she would put up with her aunt. She thought if she played along with Lady Lymington's demands, she could stall any more engagements until she found someone she could bear marrying. However, her tactic was becoming more difficult than she thought it would be.

When she approached him, Lord Beecham's expression was expectant, his eyes glinting with determination. Lady Lymington looked smug, standing next to him with her glass of champagne. Eliza did not like her look whatsoever, her stomach sinking with dread.

"Miss Huxley," Lord Beecham began, his voice louder than necessary, "I have decided to make an offer for your hand in marriage."

Several nearby bystanders gasped, and someone even tittered with laughter. Lady Lymington's face lit up with satisfaction, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

Eliza felt like the world had turned upside down. She hoped that she did not look like a scared deer, but she had no strength to cover up her inner horror.

No, no, no!

Her mind screamed in panic.

Without thinking, she quickly blurted out, "I cannot marry you, Lord Beecham."

A hush fell over the small group around them. Lady Lymington's smile vanished, replaced by a glare that could cut right through glass.

"Eliza!" she hissed, barely containing her anger.

Lord Beecham looked taken aback. "May I ask why, Miss Huxley?"

Eliza's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing for a plausible excuse. "I… I do not wish to marry at this time, My Lord. I am not ready."

Lord Beecham's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of annoyance in his gaze. "Not ready? Miss Huxley, a young lady of your age and station should be more than prepared for such a prospect."

Lady Lymington stepped forward, her voice sugary sweet but her eyes flashing with warning. "My Lord, I am sure my niece is simply overwhelmed by the honor of your proposal. She will reconsider, I am certain."

Eliza's stomach churned. She felt trapped, suffocated by the expectations and pressures surrounding her. She could feel everyone around her staring at her, waiting and wondering how she would reply. They all waited for the scandal that would emerge or to witness firsthand what everyone would gossip about tomorrow.

Finally, with her heart racing and mouth dry, she blurted out, "I apologize, my lord. The truth is… I have accepted another man's offer."

Lady Lymington's eyes widened in shock, her face paling. "Eliza, what nonsense are you speaking? You have done no such thing!"

But Eliza, desperate to escape the unwanted proposal, stood her ground. "I have, Aunt. I have accepted an offer."

Lord Beecham looked thoroughly bewildered, looking between Eliza and Lady Lymington. "Whose offer have you accepted, Miss Huxley?"

Eliza's mind raced, searching for a name, and soon enough one sprang to her lips before she could think it through.

"The Duke of Redfern's," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

Lady Lymington's face turned an alarming shade of red. "The Duke of Redfern?" she echoed, her voice shaking with fury.

Lord Beecham's expression darkened. "You mean to tell me that you, Miss Huxley, are engaged to the Duke of Redfern? A man who is well-known for avoiding all social engagements and has never shown interest in marriage?"

Eliza swallowed hard, her heart pounding. "Yes, My Lord. We have kept it a secret, but it is true."

Lady Lymington grabbed Eliza's arm, her nails digging in painfully again. "You are lying," she hissed. "How dare you fabricate such a story?"

Eliza winced but held her ground. "It is not a fabrication, Aunt. It is true."

Lord Beecham's eyes narrowed further, suspicion and anger mixing in his gaze. "I will have to verify this claim, Miss Huxley. If it is found to be untrue…"…"

"It is not untrue," Eliza insisted, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. "I am engaged to the Duke of Redfern."

Lady Lymington's grip on her arm tightened even more, but she forced a smile. "Of course, we understand, Lord Beecham. My niece must be overwhelmed. Perhaps we should allow her some time to rest and collect herself."

Eliza's mind whirled, praying that her impromptu lie would hold, at least for the moment. She could feel the weight of her aunt's fury and Lord Beecham's scrutiny, and she knew that this night was far from over.

"Well then, of course, I must rescind my offer," Lord Beecham continued, his lips pursed.

Lady Lymington's mouth opened to protest, but Eliza pressed on, her words spilling out in a desperate stream, "Aunt, you know the Duke's reputation. He wished to keep our engagement private until the right moment. We had planned to announce it soon."

Lady Lymington's eyes narrowed, studying Eliza intently. The wheels in her mind turned, calculating the benefits of such a match. A duke offering for her niece was far better than a lower-rank lord, and the prospect of such a prestigious connection made her hesitation falter.

Lord Beecham, though visibly shocked, inclined his head. "I see. If the Duke of Redfern has indeed made an offer, then I cannot compete with that. I understand, Miss Huxley."

He bowed stiffly and took his leave, his disappointment palpable.

Eliza exhaled deeply, a wave of relief washing over her. She had bought herself some time. Now, she just needed to find another solution before her lie unraveled.

Lady Lymington's grip on her arm loosened, her expression shifting from anger to a grudging acceptance. "A duke, Eliza. You have done well if what you say is true. We must ensure this engagement is solidified. The Duke will be a far more advantageous match than Lord Beecham."

Eliza nodded, trying to keep her face composed despite the turmoil inside. "Yes, Aunt. I understand."

But as Lady Lymington turned to rejoin the other guests, Eliza's mind raced.

What had she done? She had no plan, no idea how to make her lie a reality.

The Duke of Redfern, a man she barely knew, was now the key to her precarious escape.