What, in heaven’s name, was she going to wear?
The crucial question of Lola’s ensemble for the evening was decided at last, due mainly to the excellent taste and critical honesty of her lady’s maid, and at precisely ten minutes past eight, Lola was presenting herself to the Savoy’s maître d’hôtel dressed in a brilliant, head-turning Worth gown of shimmering, moss green silk. White gloves sheathed her from her fingertips to her elbows, and peridot and diamond jewels sparkled in her hair, at her ears, and around her neck.
The maître d’hôtel, however, was not particularly impressed by Worth, or by jewels, or by any actress who might be wearing them.
“Good evening, Miss Valentine.” The maître d’hôtel greeted her. His tone was polite enough, and he bowed his head a fraction, but contrary to what Denys had led her to expect, the man didn’t move to escort her anywhere.
She tried again. “I am with Lord Somerton’s party.”
“Quite so.” There was now a distinct hint of distaste in the man’s voice, and he still didn’t move. Lola waited, wondering what she was supposed to do now, and as the silence lengthened, she began to see a definite smirk lift the corners of the man’s mouth, reminding her that if she continued to take this path, this daring attempt to rise above her station, she would face many more smirking faces, high and low. This, she appreciated, was just the beginning.
But Lola had no intention of being cowed by a mere maître d’hôtel. The best way to proceed, she decided, was to pretend she was on a stage, and she was playing the part of a viscountess. What would a viscountess do when faced with this sort of behavior from a mere servant?
Despite the nervous apprehension in her stomach, she managed to lift her brows just enough to seem intrigued by this lack of cooperation rather than threatened. “Shall I arrange for Lord Somerton to escort me in to dinner?” she asked, smiling a little. “Or shall I allow you the honor of doing so?”
Reminded that the viscount was on her side, the maître d’hôtel’s manner became slightly less superior. “This way, madam.”
He led her down a long corridor of private reception and dining rooms to one at the very end of the corridor. It was an opulent room of gold and white, where candlelight from crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over perhaps two dozen elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, while footmen in Savoy livery moved among them with trays of sherry. On the far wall, a set of tall doors had been flung back, revealing a long dining table of white linen, gleaming silver, and sparkling crystal.
She’d been in surroundings like this before, attended parties every bit as elegant as this, but never had she been among the aristocracy in such a setting. Suddenly, she wasn’t just nervous and apprehensive. She was terrified.
“Miss Lola Valentine.”
The maître d’hôtel’s voice seemed to thunder through the room, and all the elegant ladies and gentlemen milling about seemed to go still. Conversation faded to silence, and Lola began to scan the room in a desperate search for Denys’s face, but she got as far as Conyers and stopped, frozen in place by his cold, hostile gaze.
You are braver than you think.
Lola squared her shoulders, jutted up her chin, and returned his cold look with one of completely feigned indifference. He started toward her, but then, another man came into her line of vision, blocking the earl from her view.
Denys.
Despite all her pretenses, Lola couldn’t help a sigh of relief, but it ended in a gulp of dismay, because instead of coming toward her, he held out his hand.
Panicked, she didn’t move, for she could feel every eye in the room on her, and she was sure that with one exception, the scrutiny was not welcoming. This wasn’t like that day at the flower show, for this time, she could easily escape. All she had to do was turn and walk out. There was nothing to stop her, nothing but Denys, waiting for her at the other end of the room.
Keeping her gaze on his face, on the tender smile that curved his mouth and the steady warmth in his brown eyes, she took a breath and started forward, one step, then another, walking society’s gauntlet.
Even with her gaze fixed on Denys, it was a long journey to that side of the room, and with every step, she could feel society’s disapproving scrutiny. But at last she reached Denys’s side.
“You came,” he said, and laughed a little. “I’m glad.”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t?”
“I can never predict what you’re going to do, Lola,” he confessed as he took her hand and bowed over it. “I do believe that’s part of your charm.”
She smiled at that, but when she moved to pull her hand away, he didn’t let her go. Instead, he gripped her fingers hard in his and dropped to one knee.
“What are you doing?” She cast a frantic sideways glance at the earl, noted the purple flush of his face, and looked at Denys again, dismayed. Proposing to her in front of his entire family was like waving a flag in the face of a bull. “Stand up,” she whispered. “For God’s sake, stand up.”
He ignored her plea. “Miss Charlotte Valinsky,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “will you marry me?”
There were several shocked gasps, and somewhere behind her, a wail was heard. Lola could only assume that was Denys’s mother.
Heat flooded her face, and she took another quick glance around, but though all the faces seemed a blur, the hot breath of hostility seemed palpable. “Oh, Denys,” she berated him softly. “What have you done?”
He gazed up at her, that tender smile still curving his mouth. “Do you intend to give me an answer, or do you intend to keep me in suspense?”
She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, another voice entered the conversation.
“I have had enough of this!” The earl’s voice was low, but in the quiet room, its icy disdain seemed as loud as a dynamite explosion. He set his sherry on a footman’s tray and strode over to them. “Denys, stand up, for God’s sake, and stop making a fool out of yourself.”
Denys ignored him. He kept his gaze on her. “Answer my question, Lola.”
“If you marry this woman, I’ll disown you,” Conyers told him. “You will be dead to me.”
Denys turned his head to look at his father, but he didn’t rise. “If that’s so, I’m sorry for it, for your opinion and your affection are very dear to me. But some things—” He broke off and looked at Lola again, squeezing her hand tight. “Some things are even more important than the esteem and affection of my family. This is one of those things. Well, Lola?” he prompted, holding her gaze with his. “Will you?”
“Without my support for this marriage, you’ll be cast out of good society,” his father went on. “Beyond the pale, shunned by everyone.”
“He’s right, Denys,” she choked. “You know he’s right. Maybe you should think it over. Everyone will forsake you if you marry me. Your family, all your friends—”
“I won’t,” another male voice rang out, and Lola turned to find Jack coming toward them through the crowd. He paused beside Denys and looked at her. “I never forsake my friends, Lola. I won’t forsake either of you.”
“Neither will I.” Another male voice had Lola looking past Jack’s shoulder to find James also coming forward. “Miss Valentine,” he greeted her with a bow before moving to stand on Denys’s other side. “It’s lovely to see you again.”