The Royal Conquest(46)
A radiant smile pulsed from her sister. “I am exhausted.”
“I never thought you would be so happy at the notion.”
“Oh, Payton, I am with child.”
“Good heavens.” Payton drew her into a hug, laughing. “Congratulations. I am so thrilled for you and Anthony.”
“It has only recently been confirmed, and we are keeping it to ourselves a bit longer, but I fear I cannot keep secrets from you.”
A sweet feeling of joy curled through Payton. “Thank you for taking me into your confidence.”
They exited the room together, and for the first time in hours a sense of peace washed Payton’s senses.
The possibility had existed that Lady Davenport might have been made aware of Payton’s seclusion in the cottage with Mikhail. After handing over her coat and strolling inside the small ballroom with an affected serene countenance, it only took a few seconds for Payton to realize everyone knew.
She descended the wide marble stairs to the ballroom floor, and she felt the weight of the guests’ glares upon her. It could be her imagination, but the hollow sensation forming in her stomach reminded her of the times she had braved society after being jilted. Lifting her chin, she scanned the massive ballroom, looking for a friendly face. Dozens of eyes settled on her, some only indulging in a cursory glance, others from gentlemen in a lascivious and leering manner, and some outright rude as some young ladies giggled behind their fans, obviously discussing her.
“Why is everyone staring at us?” her mother fretted, none too softly.
A murmur rippled through the crowd, and people who had not been aware now directed their attention to Payton and her mother.
Payton’s shoulder blades prickled with uncertainty under their rabid scrutiny. She felt like such an outsider, and it took everything in her not to turn around and escape up the stairs.
“Please excuse me, Mother, Aunt Florence.”
A hand gripped her elbow and Payton paused.
“Remember, Lord Jensen will be in attendance tonight, and you are to save two dance spots for him,” her mother whispered somewhat conspiratorially and with evident excitement.
Payton spied Lady Victoria and, with a smile, walked toward her without answering her mother. It felt good to see a friendly face that was not family. Lady Victoria was surrounded by a bevy of suitors, and Payton wondered if she should intrude.
“Blood will always tell. Can we really blame her for dallying with a horse breeder?”
She almost stumbled as the too loud whisper reached her ear. Payton glanced to her left at the huddle of females staring at her, their fans to their faces, gossiping.
Jilted. She heard the whisper from her right, and she flinched, unable to contain her reaction to the dreaded phrase. The word itself had become a weapon. Young ladies and lords alike had whispered it conveniently like a mantra whenever she drew close. She had hurt so horribly then. Lord Jensen had been the one to act with dishonor, but he had not borne any of the scorn. After a few weeks the need to scream had faded, and she’d become blessedly numb.
She turned left, intending to escape to the terrace when another sly whisper reached her ear.
Ruined.
They were making no effort to be discreet.
A horse breeder.
She faltered and closed her eyes.
Lord Jensen still offered for her, after she lay with that horse breeder. He must be desperate to fill his coffers.
Bile rose in her throat.
What is the name of her horse breeder?
A Mr. Konstantinovich.
He sounds foreign.
What did you expect? No English gentleman of good breeding would willingly consort with the likes of her.
Lady Prendergast was right…blood will always tell, and it seems fitting for a commoner to lay with a horse breeder. It is terrible that poor Lord Jensen feels he must wed her.
The crush of the room almost stifled her.
Why was her ilk invited?
Her family shamelessly importunes upon the kindness of the Duke and Duchess of Calydon.
The curious side glances made Payton want to scream. Without looking to see who spoke, she pushed through the packed ballroom, her throat tight and burning.
“Some say he is a cousin to Calydon;” a closely whispered voice snagged her attention. She glanced at the speaker and identified Lady Prendergast.
“Everyone is agog to meet the new Duke of Avondale. I heard from the most reliable source that the town house at Berkeley Square is being opened.”
“I have also heard he is alarmingly wealthy.”
“He is a prince; embarrassing wealth is to be expected. He is Prince Alexander Dashkova, I’m told.”
A sudden hush settled over the throng. She was jostled and pushed, but she moved against the tide, wanting to escape.
“The Duke and Duchess of Calydon, and Mr. Mikhail Konstantinovich.”