added her sapphire earrings to finish off the look and hurried downstairs. Her in-laws were walking out the front door. Thank goodness she’d been in time. Quickly, she fell into step behind them and a footman helped her into the carriage. Inside, the tension was thick.
“I don’t know what you’ve done to alienate Treadwell,” her sister-in-law said. “Things are a disaster now.”
“His Grace is looking for a wife,” she said. “He may have formed an attachment with Lady Millicent last night. He has been most generous in securing you and Lord Ruthersby invitations to events you usually do not attend. Those won’t be rescinded. You will still have a full and busy Season.”
“But he’s dropped us,” the countess complained. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at Elise. “I know it’s your fault.” She turned to her husband. “Ruthersby, this woman has caused me unbearable grief. You’re to send her and that brat of hers back to Briarcliff tomorrow.”
“If that’s what you wish, dearest,” the earl said, glaring at Elise for making his wife out of sorts.
That meant she only had tonight to find a husband. If Lord Dorsley turned her down, she would have to act quickly—and still reveal to whomever she spoke to that untruths were being spread about her. Fear filled her, knowing she had a limited time in which to ensure her future.
And Claire’s.
Elise would do whatever it took to make a good life for Claire. Anything.
As their carriage pulled up and the footman opened the door, her sister-in-law scowled at her.
“If we would have been closer to home, I would have had the coachman turn around and leave you there. Don’t speak to me tonight. Don’t even look at me. I can’t have you hanging about me as I try to undo whatever harm you’ve done to our social standing. I can only hope Treadwell will not blame us for your shortcomings.”
The earl and countess proceeded inside without her. Elise followed at a distance. She avoided the receiving line and went straight to the ballroom in a daze, accepting a programme from a passing footman and staring down at it.
Someone touched her arm. She saw it was Elizabeth. “Are you all right, Elise? You look ill.”
“What’s wrong?” Samantha asked, hurrying up, George in tow.
“I am being sent back to Briarcliff tomorrow. My sister-in-law wishes to wash her hands of me,” she said dully.
“What?” Samantha hissed. “No. They cannot.”
“They can,” she said. “I am a penniless relation. The countess has always despised me. She’s never even given me leave to address her by her Christian name. The earl has no use for me. I have no choice.”
“You will come stay with us,” George said. “It won’t be for long.”
“That is very kind of you, Your Grace.” Elise pushed aside the hurt that filled her. She couldn’t sleepwalk through this ball. “I must find a husband. Tonight. Viscount Dorsley seems to be the likely choice. I will speak to him tonight regarding a match between us.”
“No,” Samantha said. “Elise, I beg you to—”
Suddenly, she found herself surrounded by gentlemen, all clamoring for a dance. Dorsley was at the forefront.
“I’d like to claim the supper dance, Lady Ruthersby,” he said eagerly.
She rewarded him with a brilliant smile and offered him her dance card. “That would be lovely, Lord Dorsley. I have something quite particular I wish to discuss with you during supper.”
He scribbled his name on her programme and returned it to her. “Until then.”
Quickly, her card filled—leaving no room for Weston. She didn’t even know if he would attend tonight’s ball. It didn’t matter. He had a plethora of women who would be willing to wed him. She’d done her best to suggest three that would make for a good duchess. If none of them suited him, then he would have to find a bride on his own.
Samantha tugged on her arm. “Please, Elise, we must talk.”
She took her friend’s hand as she heard the musicians finish tuning their instruments. “I know that you married for love and you would wish the same for me. It’s not meant to be, Samantha. I must do what I can to acquire a fiancé tonight. Lord Ivy has already threatened to bring me to ruin this very night with falsehoods.”
“He . . . what?” George demanded.
“It doesn’t matter. I must go.” Elise smiled as the marquess who had requested her first dance approached. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Are you ready to have your toes trod upon, Lady Ruthersby?” he asked. “Come along