They Mocked Her When Her Groom Arrived In A Farmer's Cart — He Was The Duke In Disguise
Chapter 17
Theme:
Font Size:
24px
She woke each morning to the smell of woodsmoke and fresh bread, to Callum already dressed and returning from his walk across the lower fields with mud on his boots, and more often than not, some small find tucked into his coat pocket for her: a smooth river stone, a sprig of late lavender, once a single perfect apple from the old orchard behind the cottage, offered with no more ceremony than a man handing his wife her morning tea.In the evenings, after Mrs. Ashby had banked the fire and retired, they sat together in the small drawing room, Matilda mending linen while Callum read aloud, his low voice filling the quiet cottage with verses that made her cheeks warm despite herself. She had begun, without quite noticing when it started, to look forward to those evenings more than she had ever looked forward to anything within the walls of Belgrave House.It was into this fragile, growing peace that the invitation to the winter charity ball now intruded, carrying with it a mystery Matilda could not yet name, and a dread of Violet's cruelty.Matilda did not wish to attend the winter charity ball. She had told Callum as much twice in the quiet days leading up to it, imagining Violet's delighted cruelty the moment she appeared in whatever gown the small household budget could provide against a room full of London's finest silks and jewels."You deserve a place in that room as much as anyone standing in it," Callum told her, holding both her hands in his own, his thumbs tracing slow, absent circles over her knuckles that sent warmth curling up her arms despite the coldness of the evening air. "I will not have you hide from people who have done nothing to earn your fear.""It is not fear," she said, though they both knew it was, at least in part. "It is simply... tired of being laughed at.""Then let them laugh," he said. "I promise you, Matilda, they will not be laughing for very much longer."She did not understand the certainty in his voice, only that it steadied something in her chest enough to let her agree.The ballroom at the Charitable Society's grand townhouse glittered with more chandeliers than Belgrave House had ever possessed: crystal light spilling over silk gowns and polished floors, and the assembled cream of London's aristocracy gathered to celebrate their own generosity while sipping champagne that cost more than most of their charitable causes ever received.Matilda wore a simple gown of deep blue, plainer than anything else in the room, and felt every eye that turned her way, measuring the distance between her modest dress and Violet's resplendent silver silk across the room.