“I shall have a think,” Eliza began, already trying to consider who she might offer. It had been a while since she had been out in society, but she thought the Ashbys might very well have a daughter coming out this year, and the Ledgertons had several sons of marriageable age, all said to be sweet and friendly boys.
“You are related to the Ashfords, are you not?” Mrs. Winkworth interrupted.
Oh. Mrs. Winkworth was aiming very high indeed, then.
“Very distantly, through two marriages,” Eliza said. “But Mrs. Winkworth, I do not think . . . Families with titles tend to marry within their own set.”
It was as tactfully as she could think to phrase it, but Mrs. Winkworth still flushed.
“It is not always the case,” she insisted. “Why, think of Lady Radcliffe!”
“There are exceptions, certainly,” Eliza admitted. “But—”
“And Winnie will have a handsome dowry,” Mrs. Winkworth said. “I do not like to boast of it—I am not so vulgar—but my husband made an ample sum in Calcutta and Winnie will have it all.”
Eliza did not know quite what to say.
“You are related to the Ardens, as well?” Mrs. Winkworth had abandoned all pretense at subtlety now.
“My late husband’s cousins,” Eliza said slowly. “But you cannot be thinking of Lord Arden, for Miss Winkworth?”
Arden had to be almost thirty years the girl’s senior, and while he was well known to have a taste for young ladies in their first bloom, Mrs. Winkworth would surely not be willing to sacrifice her daughter to such a gentleman? But Mrs. Winkworth’s eyes were hungry.
“If your ladyship could offer a letter of introduction to the Ardens,” Mrs. Winkworth said. “I should be most glad . . .”
Eliza stared. She knew better than anyone the machinations of the marriage mart, but for Mrs. Winkworth’s calculations to be so blatant, so openly grasping! Perhaps it was the rich supper she had just ingested, but Eliza felt nauseous. She turned to gaze back toward Miss Winkworth, who was now laughing as she spun in a circle with Mr. Berwick. Her youthful cheer would not have been out of place in the schoolroom.
“Mrs. Winkworth . . .” Eliza said, knowing she would not have drunk quite so much champagne had she known she was to enter into quite such a delicate subject, but unable to hold her tongue a moment longer. “I understand the desire to see your daughter marry well, very much so, but if you will not allow Miss Winkworth the dignity of her own choice, I implore you to think of a gentleman better suited to her than Arden.”
Mrs. Winkworth’s face, as Eliza spoke, grew pinker and pinker with indignation.
“Lady Somerset!” she gasped. “I only have my daughter’s best interests at heart—that you should think to imply otherwise . . .”
“I am not trying to offend,” Eliza said hastily. “Just to speak truthfully, as one who knows what it is to be so bartered . . .”
“Bartered?” Mrs. Winkworth repeated. “Bartered?”
Perhaps “bartered” had been a poor choice of word.
“All I mean to say is,” Eliza said, “surely Miss Winkworth’s happiness is worth more than a title?”
Mrs. Winkworth dragged in a deep breath through her nostrils.
“Lady Somerset,” she said with a decided sharpness, “I had hoped, in coming to you with such a request, to be treated with discretion and understanding. Much like that with which I have been treating you these past weeks.”
“I do not understand your meaning . . .” Eliza said slowly.
“I am aware that your wealth came with certain requirements, my lady,” Mrs. Winkworth said, vindictive triumph now in her eyes. “Requirements that should not, I believe, look kindly upon Melville haunting Camden Place with you still in your blacks—and yet I have given you the benefit of the doubt thus far.”
Eliza’s heart quickened.
“Lady Selwyn has looser lips than I had thought,” she said, with more calm than she would have believed herself capable. “Do you mean to threaten me, Mrs. Winkworth?”
Mrs. Winkworth’s cheeks were ruddy, but she surveyed her with a gimlet eye.
“Will you offer the letter of introduction, my lady?” she said meaningfully.
It might have worked on Eliza, not too long ago. It would not now.
“To the Ardens, I will not,” Eliza said, gently. She stood. “Enjoy your time in London, madam. I wish you the very best.”
She wished she could have done more for Miss Winkworth. But at least she had tried.
Eliza walked around the edges of the room—speaking idly to Mr. Berwick for a moment, who she noticed was wearing a waistcoat strikingly similar to Melville’s—before heading toward the grand French windows that led onto the terrace. They had been opened to allow a breeze to waft into the room, for despite the coolness of the spring evening, with such vigorous dancing the room had become hot and close.
As Eliza drew near, she came across the Melvilles tucked into the window embrasure, in the midst of a rather heated discussion.
“I simply do not understand what can have so suddenly changed,” Caroline was hissing to her brother. “All this talk of prudence, and economy, again—you change your mind faster than a whirligig.”
Eliza checked herself, not wanting to eavesdrop, and wondered briefly if she ought to walk in the opposite direction until Caroline stormed past Eliza in the direction of the card room.
Eliza approached Melville slowly. He looked up, face drawn, and Eliza was overcome with an urge to put a smile back on his face.
“Have you spoken with Mr. Berwick, this evening?” she asked, as lightly as if she had not overheard a moment of their conversation.
“I have not,” Melville took a sip from his glass with hands that were a little unsteady.
“I admire his waistcoat very much,” Eliza said. She tilted her head toward the gentleman in question and as Melville’s eyes followed, she had the satisfaction of seeing his eyebrows fly upward, his strained expression replaced with incredulity.
“Are he and my valet in cahoots?” he demanded.
Eliza laughed, but the reprieve was short-lived: Melville’s face had already relapsed into unease.
“Did you overhear us?” he asked, regarding his glass again.
Ah.
“ ‘Prudence and economy’ does not sound like you,” Eliza said, rather than lie. She meant the words as a tease, but Melville did not seem in the mood for teasing.
“Perhaps I have changed,” he said shortly. “People can change, you know.”