Chapter 5

Anastasia gasped in surprise. She had not noticed there was a man standing at the railing until she was almost there, and then when she turned to look at him, she could barely believe who it was. It was the man she had met in the gallery; the one with the striking eyes and the unusual scarring. The Duke of Willowick.

"Sorry your grace," she murmured, as his eyes widened in apparent alarm. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Not at all." He shook his head. She frowned. He seemed to be smiling, but perhaps that was just her imagination. His green eyes were hard to read in the half-light of the terrace, and they were mesmerizing enough to make them hard to read anyway. She felt a little like a rabbit, staring at an eagle. His gaze stunned her, held her in place.

"I didn't see there was someone at the railing," she explained, remembering how to speak.

"I was standing still," he said, a tilt at the edges of his lips making her sure he was grinning. "It's hard to spot me when I stand still. I'm rather good at it."

She giggled. "It's a good talent to have. Remaining motionless, I mean." She smiled at him. "I am rather unskilled at it, I fear. Should I hear a melody, my foot begins to tap before I can suppress it, and then there is no hope of achieving stillness thereafter."

He laughed. The sound was so bright, so unexpected in light of his somber expression, that she felt a shiver of joy.

"I am pleased to hear that you have an appreciation for music," he remarked warmly. "It appears that but few individuals attend soirees with the intent to dance, or to truly savor the delight of dancing." A touch of melancholy clouded his gaze.

Anastasia grinned. "I have come to just the same observation as you. I do believe that all present are gathered here to display their ostentation before one another."

His smile lit his green eyes. In high contrast to his hair, they seemed like emeralds in his pale face. She felt her heart thump hard in her chest.

"I think that you have deciphered the key to London society. It is a display of vanity."

She giggled. "I'm afraid so," she agreed, her happiness wearing off a little at that thought. It was, sadly, absolutely true. The ton were forever parading in front of one another, trying to outdo each other in their performance of Perfect London Elite.

She looked up from her contemplation of the town to find his gaze on her. His green eyes held hers with an intensity that made her shiver. She did not feel afraid, though, as she did when Lord Ridley looked at her. She felt, instead, a tightness in her heart that had nothing to do with fear. It was closer to the anticipation she felt before an event she loved than it was to fearfulness.

"You are wise," he murmured.

Anastasia's cheeks flared and she giggled. "No. Truly no." She laughed at the thought. "My friends all tease me for getting distracted even by butterflies or the candles in the candelabras. No. I am not wise."

"It is wisdom to observe the small things," the duke countered. "Or that is what I have always believed. To value the small, simple things in life is the road to contentment. That is what my father always said."

Anastasia felt her blush deepen. Her body was heating up, a mix of embarrassment and delight making her want to twist her skirt in her fingers, a habit she had when she was just a little girl. His words made her soul sing, since she agreed with them absolutely.

"Your father seems like a wise man."

"He was." The duke swallowed hard.

"You must miss him a great deal," Anastasia said gently.

He nodded, his eyes glistening with tears. "Every day," he murmured. "I think of him often."

Anastasia felt her heart twist. Though she was not close to her father, she could not begin to imagine what it might be like to lose him, or her mother, to whom she was extremely close.

"I am sorry," she said softly. "To lose someone so close to you...it must be terrible."

The duke nodded. His eyes were damp, and he looked upwards so that the tears did not fall. "It is...confusing," he said slowly. "It is almost too confusing to feel pain—at least for the first year." He sniffed. "I almost wished I could have felt more."

Anastasia nodded. "I think I understand," she said slowly. "It is too huge, too unbelievable."

"Yes. Yes, exactly." He nodded, a tear running down his cheek. "This is the first time I have cried for him."

Anastasia swallowed hard. "I am sorry," she murmured again.

He smiled gently. "Do not be. I am glad. I am relieved that now, I can cry."

His green eyes held hers. Anastasia gazed up at him and he held her gaze. It felt as though she was drowning, floating in the depths of those eyes. She stared up and he leaned just a little forward and her heart thudded with a sudden longing she had never felt before—a longing to feel those thin lips pressed to her own.

"I say!" a voice interrupted them. Anastasia's gaze shot up to see a man with rust-colored hair and wide brown eyes approaching them. He had a softer face than the green-eyed duke, who was gaunt and angular. The brown-eyed man grinned at her.

"Good evening, my lady!" He bowed low. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I am Lady Anastasia," Anastasia managed to say. "Daughter of the Earl of Graystone."

"Oh!" The brown-eyed man smiled. "I am Lord Barrydale. And if I know anything, this fellow here has not introduced himself?" He gestured with a fond expression to the tall man who stood beside him.

He must be a friend of his, Anastasia thought. The Duke of Willowick shot him an angry glance, but the brown-eyed man smiled.

"Lady Anastasia, may I have the pleasure of introducing His Grace, the Duke of Willowick?"

"Your Grace," Anastasia murmured, dropping a low curtsey. She was pleased to have a formal introduction to him—the first one she had received.

"Lady Anastasia," he said softly.

Heat flooded through her at the sound of his saying her name. He made it sound beautiful, a treasure on his tongue. Her heart thudded in her chest. She gazed up at him and he gazed at her, his green eyes holding her own.

"I'm going back indoors, old chap," Lord Barrydale murmured to the Duke of Willowick. If you will pardon me, I wish to claim the next dance with my beloved wife."

"Of course," the duke said with the faintest trace of a grin. "I will join you shortly."

Anastasia stared up at him, her heart thumping at the fact that he had not gone back inside with his friend. He had chosen to remain outdoors, and she suspected it was so that he could talk to her. She looked around swiftly. Camilla had come outdoors with her—the only reason it was proper for her to be out here. She checked that she could spot her friend, and her eye rested on some striking reddish hair where Camilla leaned on the railing. She was talking to a mutual friend of theirs, Lady Emily, and with them were two tall men, one of whom appeared to be wearing a dress uniform. She grinned. Camilla had always fancied men in uniform.

"It's cold," she murmured, trying to think of something to say.

He smiled. "It is quite cold, indeed. However, I find the atmosphere in the ballroom to be oppressively warm. I would gladly endure the chill than succumb to the heat."

"What say you?"

She tilted her head, considering the question. "While it may be more prudent to avoid the heat, I must confess my inclination leans towards warmer climes. I have a great fondness for the delights of hot weather." She looked around the terrace. While there was a cool breeze, it was still perfectly possible to be outside in her thin dress and shawl. Summer and spring were cheerful, happy seasons where it was possible to linger the entire day outdoors and the sun set later and later. It always made her happier when the weather was warmer—it felt freeing.

He laughed. "I regret having to maintain the opposing view. While one can wear a greatcoat and avoid the worst of the winter's chill, one cannot do much to avoid the heat."

"Perhaps," Anastasia replied. She smiled at him. He was an amusing person to talk to. He was ready to speak about anything, and he was knowledgeable on most things—or at least, having discussed art even briefly with him, it certainly seemed that he was very knowledgeable about art.

He gazed at her and her heart thumped. His stare was so arresting, and she had to admit, as she looked up at him, that, though the scar was the first thing one noticed, the features beyond the scar were not repellent. He had a slim, almost gaunt face and thin lips and his neck and posture were upright and proud. With that thick brown hair and striking green eyes, one could have said he was quite good-looking, or at least unusual.

""Do you find pleasure in balls and soirees?" he inquired, causing her to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"I've never given it much thought," she murmured. "I do attend such events, but..." She tilted her head, contemplating. "I adore dancing," she declared suddenly. "And music, in general."

"Indeed?" He seemed genuinely intrigued. "Do you play any instruments?"

"The pianoforte," she replied promptly. "I take great delight in it. My friend Camilla sings, so we often perform together." She glanced over at Camilla, who was standing with Emily and laughing and talking with the officers.

"My sister plays the pianoforte," the duke replied.

"You have a sister?" Anastasia asked with a note of excitement in her voice. "So do I."

"A younger sister?" he guessed. She nodded.

"Yes. She is ten and six. She is not yet out in society. I think she envies me for the balls and parties." Anastasia smiled fondly, thinking of Lily, who was filled with excitement at the prospect of her own come-out the following year.

"I, too, have a younger sister," the duke said with a smile. "She is wed to Lord Barrydale there."

"Oh!" Anastasia felt her brow lift. "I thought that you and he are surely friends."

The duke inclined his head. "Yes, we are," he agreed. "I am glad that Amy wed Henry. He is a level-headed, kindly man."

Anastasia nodded. "That is important," she agreed. She knew how he felt. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought of Lord Ridley. If Lily were even to have to dance with such a man, she would feel angry.

"You are cold," the duke murmured, seeing her shiver. Anastasia shook her head.

"No...it's not too cold out here," she contradicted. He chuckled.

"I know now that you prefer the heat to the cold. So, I must insist that you go indoors. I will join you. It is surprisingly chilly out here," he added a little more softly.

"Oh." Anastasia grinned, her spirit soaring. She had hoped to be able to continue talking with him. He was diverting and interesting. She glanced over at Camilla, hoping that her friend would see and come inside with them. Camilla happened to turn and see her and her eyes grew large and round as she stared at Anastasia.

"I must tell my friend I am going indoors," Anastasia murmured to the duke. He nodded.

"Of course, my lady. I shall wait at the door."

Anastasia hurried over to Camilla, who was staring at her as if she had just walked in wearing a funny, weird outfit.

"I'm going inside," Anastasia said swiftly. Camilla frowned.

"That is the Duke of Willowick you are talking to, is it not?"

"Yes," Anastasia said lightly. "Yes, it is."

"Do be careful, dear," Camilla said swiftly. "I am coming with you."

Anastasia felt dismayed—she did not really want Camilla to come with her, since she was enjoying talking to the duke and Camilla was so fearful of him that it would not be comfortable with her listening to them.

"We shall all go inside," Emily said swiftly, and the two tall officers grinned and nodded.

"At once, Lady Emily," the one said, as if she was a senior officer.

They all laughed, and Anastasia walked back into the ballroom with her spirits lifted. As he had said earlier, the Duke of Willowick was standing by the door. He stepped aside and followed them all in, coming to stand with Anastasia.

"It sounds like a waltz is playing," he said after a moment of awkward silence. Anastasia nodded.

His voice sounded strained, and she stared up at him, a small frown on her brow.

"Yes, it does," she agreed. He looked tense, his brow furrowed. She wondered what had troubled him.

A second later, he cleared his throat. "My lady, might I have the honour of requesting a dance with you?" he asked.

Anastasia felt her heart flood with warmth. She inclined her head, reaching for his hand.

"I would be delighted to," she agreed.

They proceeded gracefully side by side toward the dance floor. The music commenced, and she performed a delicate curtsey, while he executed a low bow. Then, placing his hand gently upon her shoulder, they were swept into the waltz, her feet feeling as light as air as they glided effortlessly and elegantly across the dance floor together.