Chapter Six

Michael exhaled a quiet breath of relief upon seeing that it was Lady Abney and not the glowering viscount who approached them. He could handle the dowager viscountess right now. Lord Abney, on the other hand, may be a little difficult and he was not yet far enough in his plan to take on that challenge.

As the dowager viscountess came to stand in front of them, Elaine said, “Aunt Lorna, this is His Grace, the Duke of Ryewood. Your Grace, this is my aunt, the Dowager Viscountess of Abney.”

“A pleasure, my lady,” Michael replied courteously.

“As it is for me, Your Grace,” Lady Abney said, dipping into a curtsy. Despite her genteel manners, she made no effort to conceal the scrutinous look she directed at him. “I did not know you two were acquainted.”

“Lord Weatherby introduced us just now,” Elaine explained, her voice tinged with nervousness as she rushed to articulate her words. “And His Grace asked me to dance.”

“I had very little choice in the matter, my lady,” Michael replied, his tone sombre.

Lady Abney and Elaine both looked at him with surprise and confusion. “Why do you say that?” asked the dowager viscountess.

“When confronted with such beauty, what choice remains but to request a dance? I simply wished to share in Lady Elaine’s company a while longer and she indulged me.”

Elaine flushed furiously. He’d watched her cheeks grow red a handful of times already and each time was more endearing than the last. The plan was veering off its course. He didn’t want to seduce her, didn’t need to involve romance if he did not need to. But from the moment their eyes met, he found himself flirting with her as if it were love at first sight.

While Elaine blushed and tried to hide her smile, Lady Abney looked rather pleased.

“How kind of you to express such sentiments, Your Grace,” she responded. “It is always nice to meet a charming young man with a silver tongue. Though Elaine’s exceptional beauty is indeed common knowledge amongst nearly every man in attendance.”

“And quite rightfully so,” he heard himself say. “I merely lament asking her to dance so early. I should have saved it for the last set.”

“Oh, it is rather fortuitous that you did so, Your Grace,” Lady Elaine spoke up. “I was thoroughly unprepared to remain on my feet for such a long time and I am already longing for a respite. I am not certain whether I can handle another dance any time soon.”

“Marvelous,” he purred, grinning. “You might even share with me that deep, dark secret of yours while we rest.”

“I believed I had already done so.”

“Would you have me believe that your admission of not enjoying this ball qualifies as a secret? I must confess, this leaves my intelligence feeling somewhat affronted, my lady.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” she replied with poise. “I merely wish for you to understand that I shall not be making any further confessions or revealing any secrets this evening.”

“Mayhap upon the morrow, then? Should I call upon you?”

Her cheeks went red again. “And if I were to decline?”

“Then, I fear, you shall miss the pleasure of my delightful company.”

“I believe I shall survive quite well, even without it.”

Michael put a hand to his heart, feigning distress. “You wound me, my lady. And here I thought we had begun to build a rapport.”

“Oh, we most certainly have, Your Grace. But you see, there is one more challenge you must overcome.”

“I am being challenged? I was not aware of this.”

“Neither did I know I was challenging you, but it appears that I am.”

Michael was intrigued. He couldn’t recall when he had stopped considering his next words and simply fallen into the conversation. He studied her sparkling green eyes as he inquired, “What is the next challenge?”

Lady Elaine smiled, then looked at her aunt. Lady Abney, who had been looking between the two of them with rapt fascination, caught her niece’s eyes and frowned. “Elaine, you would not dare.”

“Aunt Lorna, have you seen Ja—”

She broke off as her aunt caught her by the hand, hauling Lady Elaine to her side. “I think I see Lord Penly looking for you, Elaine. We mustn’t keep him waiting. He did tell me that he is rather smitten with you, after all.”

“Lord Penly?” Lady Elaine sounded bemused.

“Yes, the tall, handsome, wealthy lord who hung on to your every word. I’m sure you recall him. Your Grace, it was nice meeting you. I hope we see each other again during dinner.”

Lady Abney barely gave Lady Elaine the chance to say her farewells before she was dragged off to his Lord Penly. Michael watched them go, feeling…odd.

He’d succeeded, after all. The plan for tonight was to meet her and lay the foundation in order to get close to her. And by all measures, it had gone well. She seemed to like him well enough that she just might open up to him the next time they spoke.

And yet, watching her leave him behind to seek the company of another gentleman left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Michael shook the feeling away, not bothering to question what it was. All he knew was that it was invasive and he had to focus. The night was far from over and he still had much work to do.

But for now, he would leave her be. A part of him wanted to trail after her, not willing to give up on their earlier conversation just yet. But he quelled that insane urge and turned in the opposite direction instead.

“Your Grace.”

The Marquess of Grovington slid into his path. He was a hard gentleman to miss. His presence commanded attention, his power amongst the Ton and within the House of Lords wasnearly unmatched. Even though Michael had never been properly introduced to him, he knew of the marquess as much as anyone else did.

However, he hadn’t known that Lord Grovington had a daughter of marriageable age. And judging by the way she batted her eyelashes at him and smiled softly, Michael could already tell where their sights had been set.

“My lord,” he greeted, keeping it simple. He didn’t want this to drag on for longer than he needed it to.

“I believe I have not had the opportunity to congratulate you on your title,” Lord Grovington said, his whiskered cheeks moving as he spoke. “Though I am afraid I may be a few years too late.”

Michael tried not to sneer at that. He never liked hearing those words. He’d only received the title because of his father’s death, after all. And death was never something to be congratulated on.

But he nodded stiffly instead and said, “Thank you, my lord.”

Lord Grovington seemed pleased with that response. He put his hand on his daughter’s back, guiding her forward. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Isabella.”

Michael nodded stiffly to her as well. “A pleasure, my lady.”

“Isabella was hoping to dance with you. I assured her that His Grace would not mind. Would you, Your Grace?”

Michael gritted his teeth. Lord Grovington had easily backed him into a corner and he saw no way out without being impolite.

“As you wish, my lady.”

He held out his hand and Lady Isabella smiled demurely as she slid her hand into his. The dance would not last forever, he told himself as he led her out amongst the others. It would be over before he knew it and he could get on with his life.

“How are you enjoying your evening, Your Grace?”

Michael tried not to sigh in annoyance. The last thing he wished was to prolong this uncomfortable situation by engaging in conversation. But he supposed it was not her fault he was not interested.

“I find it quite adequate, my lady.”

“As do I, Your Grace. I do enjoy such activities, after all. And you happen to be an exceptional dancer.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Do you know my father well?”

“I do not know him at all, save for his name.”

“Ah, I understand. He thinks quite highly of you. I suppose that is merely your reputation at play. It is pleasing to know that you are as kind as they say.”

Michael wasn’t fooled by such flowery words. No one would describe him as kind, nor would they think him to be reputable. He was the new duke of a disgraced title. Judging from the snippets of conversations and the curious looks he had been trying to ignore all night, they were wary of him, if nothing else.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said again, his voice bland.

“Will you be taking part in this year’s Season, Your Grace?”

Michael looked at her, surprised. She gazed up at him with natural confidence, the mark of a lady who had gotten everything she had ever asked her. She was quite beautiful, he had to admit, but there was a lack of vibrancy to her features. Like a porcelain doll. Beautiful but lifeless.

“I mean, are you seeking a wife?” she expounded when he did not answer right away.

“I have not given it any thought,” he admitted.

“Have you not? Could this evening serve to alter your perspective, then? Or are you simply waiting for the right lady to reveal herself?”

“Are you curious because you wish to know where you stand, my lady?”

Lady Isabella laughed, the sound light. “I cannot deny it, Your Grace. It is my hope to find a husband this Season. As it is the hope of every other lady here, I’m sure. Surely that does not surprise you.”

“It does not.” Though he had been hoping he was wrong about Lord Grovington’s reason for approaching him. Now there was no denying the obvious.

They lapsed into silence, a rather uncomfortable one though Michael was grateful for it. Lady Isabella seemed to be searching for something to say.

At last, she settled on another question. “What do you like to do in your spare time, Your Grace?”

The question was as mundane and uninspiring as they come, yet Michael found no reason to withhold a response. He indulged her and was not surprised when she responded saying she enjoys poetry and embroidery. He could only assume giving such a generic response was part of a lady’s lessons.

Eventually, the dance came to an end. He maintained his politeness until the very last moment, disappearing before Lord Grovington could approach him again. He supposed the proper thing to do was to escort her back to her father, but Michael had other matters occupying his thoughts. Or rather, other people.

He could easily spot Lady Elaine amidst the crowd. As he rejoined Beatrice and Henry’s side, he noticed Lady Elaine standing near the terrace doors, nodding along to something Lord Penly was saying to her. But she seemed distracted, torn between paying attention to the man and looking around for someone else.

Was she looking for him?

Why did that make him feel…sanguine? It meant the first step of his plan went better than projected, yet he could not shake the feeling that there was more to it.

“What has gotten you in such a good mood?”

He glanced at his aunt, already posed to answer her question. But then he realised that her attention was on Clarissa. He hadn’t even noticed that his sister had approached.

“Hm?” Clarissa answered absently. She was staring at something, or someone, in the distance. Beatrice’s words must have just sunken in because she blinked rapidly, head swivelling to face her. “I’m not in a good mood,” she protested quickly as her cheeks coloured. “What would make you say that?”

“Perhaps because you have a dreamy look in your eyes,” Michael pointed out. “And you were smiling like a fool.”

“Has one of these gentlemen caught your eye?” Beatrice asked eagerly. She seized Clarissa by the arm, eyes inspecting the guests spread out before her. “Which one is it?”

“It is nothing like that,” Clarissa quickly told her. But she had always been bad at lying. Michael, Beatrice, and Henry all narrowed their eyes in disbelief. She noticed their incredulous stares and, as impossible as it seemed, grew even redder. “It is the truth!”

“It is clear she does not want to talk about him just yet,” Henry chimed in, patting her on the arm. “But when he comes to call on her tomorrow, we shall see him for ourselves.”

“I shall be patient then,” Beatrice said in a tone that implied being patient was the most difficult thing in the world for her to do.

“Do not get your hopes up,” Clarissa sighed. “I do not think it will happen.”

“Oh, so there is someone?” Michael probed. He raised a brow, quelling his humour, when her eyes grew wide.

“No, there is not,” she maintained stubbornly. He nodded slowly, clearly showing her that he did not believe a word she said.

“Oh, do not pretend you are innocent in this.” Beatrice whirled on him. “Who was that lady you were dancing with?”

“Lady Isabella? She is the daughter of the Marquess of Grovington.”

“No, not her. Of course I know who she is. I meant the mysterious copper-haired lady you danced with before Lady Isabella.”

Michael ignored Henry’s eyes boring into him. Clarissa’s as well, for that matter. “She is Lady Elaine.”

“You seemed quite taken by her.”

“It is nothing of the sort.” He knew his aunt would question him like this. He already had a response prepared. “I noticed that she seemed rather lonely and so I thought I would share a dance with her.”

Now Beatrice turned her narrowed eyes of distrust to Michael. “That is uncharacteristically kind of you to do. What was your aim?”

“I only wished to help her relax, that is all. Nothing more to it.”

He supposed he should be alarmed by how easily the lies came to his lips. But he knew Beatrice would not be as accommodating of his plan as Henry and Clarissa. Even though they disapproved of it, they would not stand in his way. Beatrice, on the other hand, would attempt to thwart his every move. Her stubbornness knew no bounds.

Clearly, his lies were not good enough to get her off his scent. She frowned at him and was clearly about to ask something else when a bell rang out and the music came to a stop. Lord Jones went halfway up the stairs and faced the guests to announce that the dinner would now commence.

“Let us go,” Henry told them. “I do not know about you all, but I myself am quite famished. And I would like to put a bit of food in my stomach to face the rest of this long night.”

Michael silently agreed. After all, it was nearly time to proceed to the next phase of his plan.