Chapter 8

Chapter 8

A few days later

As expected, the ball could not be canceled. Dolores was as smug as the kitten who'd gotten the cream.

Dorian had not slept properly since his arrival back home. No matter what he did, he could not properly get his feet underneath him. Dolores' fingers had managed to get into everything that they ought not to be involved in. Mother had done little to curb her daughter's overly ambitious behavior, and Dolores did not seem to care in the slightest that their mother was still so wrought with grief that she could not leave her room.

And yet, she still managed to have the audacity to be upset with him over the fact that he was being what she considered to be "rude" to their guests. The only good thing about the ball was that he could snoop.

It would be the perfect opportunity to find out more about the events he had missed during his time away. He could no longer trust Dolores' reports on anything when she kept insisting on altering stories to benefit her. That, or she only told him the bits and pieces of things she wished for him to know. She was far too prone to omitting important details and he would not be made a fool by her again.

She even had the nerve to stop wearing her mourning dress. Instead, she was dressed garishly in a peach gown that clashed with her fair skin and black hair. She had tried her very best to get him to change out of the all-black as well, but he had refused. He would chip away at her power little by little if he had to. One way or another, she would learn.

But knowing her, the retaliation would be swift and on a large scale.

What Dorian had not yet figured out was the end game to his sister's plotting. Surely there was more to scheming than simply wishing to have free rein over the house. She could not inherit the title. No matter if he got married or not.

He would have thought it would have better served her to have her ambitions pointed toward finding a well-ranked husband of her own that she could outlive. Certainly there was a duke in his older years of life in want of an heir. That seemed right up her alley. And yet, she was wholly and utterly opposed to even speaking to any of the men in attendance this evening.

Ironic, in his opinion.

"Ah, there you are Dorian," Dolores said.

He had not been hiding from her, per se, but he had been actively avoiding her. He had already greeted a half-dozen women that were on her little list and been deeply unimpressed with each and every one.

None of them were appealing. He did not feel as if he had anything in common with any of them, and thus he did not need to get to know them. He knew this. Yet, with every one that he ignored, Dolores seemed to grow more and more frantic in her efforts.

The poor young thing she hauled behind her now could not be older than seventeen or eighteen. It must have either been her first season in society, or the one right after. Either way, she was far too young for him.

She was a petite thing in a sea-foam green gown that brought out the freckles peppered across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. Her strawberry-blonde hair was twisted up elegantly over the top of her head, adorned with pearls, and a fan made of white feathers hung from her wrist. She was certainly pretty, but he had no interest in speaking with her either.

"I have been searching for you everywhere, my lord!" Dolores spoke through clenched teeth. The girl in her grip winced slightly as Dolores wrenched her forward. "This is young Lady Maribel. She is over the moon to make your acquaintance. She is from a good family and loves to read. There, speak."

Dolores had pushed her forward with enough force that the poor girl stumbled.

He needed to get as far away from his sister as he could possibly manage. With a curl of his lip, Dorian offered his hand to the woman in front of him. He had not even caught her name. He was certain Dolores had said it, but he had been too angry to properly hear it.

"She has a spot on her dance card left, my lord, and I took the liberty of filling in your name on your behalf." Dolores smirked and placed her hands on her narrow hips.

"Of course you did," Dorian grumbled. This was too far.

Dolores picked up the girl's hand and placed it on Dorian's arm, all but pushing them toward the dance floor to finish out the remainder of what might have been the most uncomfortable dance of his life. He never truly considered himself to be a man of great grace or coordination by any stretch of the imagination, but Claire had always been so light on her feet that she had compensated for it. It was easy to dance with her because doing anything with her was simple.

"I am sorry if I have offended you, my lord! I did not mean…" the girl offered. The poor thing looked as if she were about to cry. He had been too cruel, it would seem. It was not the girl's fault that she was stuck in the middle of Dolores' ambitions.

Dorian's posture softened as he awkwardly led them through the dance. "It is not you. Forgive me, young miss. I did not catch your name."

"Lady M-Maribel, my lord. I am terribly sorry for stepping on your feet." She turned a furious red shade of embarrassment.

She was so slight that he had not even noticed. He smirked; of course she was just as nervous as he was. Perhaps he could do them both a favor, of sorts. "Perhaps it would be better if we took a walk instead?"

"If that is what you wish, my lord," Maribel answered, but her focus was not on him. Nor was it on Dolores. Rather, she looked at a stern-faced woman on the edge of the dance floor with hair so similar that she must be her mother.

Of course she would be thrilled that her daughter was dancing with an earl, so Maribel likely could not refuse. The whole system was barbaric. He did not wish to be a part of these politics.

"The garden will be quieter." He extended an arm for her to leave the dance floor.

Another petite woman that he presumed to be Maribel's lady's maid followed the pair of them out of the overly warm ballroom and onto the veranda. They took the stone steps to the garden in silence, which suited him just fine. But the farther they walked, the more the poor girl started to shiver and shake. It was unseasonably warm so she could not be cold. Perhaps she was frightened?

"Are you all right?" Dorian asked.

Maribel nodded, "Of course, my lord. I am quite fine. I think all of the evening's excitement has just gotten to me."

Dorian sighed and stopped walking. He turned to look at her, to properly see her for the first time all evening. He could see the tear roll down the side of her cheek despite how quickly she tried to wipe it away. He glanced down at her glove-covered hand to see that the tips of all of her fingers were damp. How long had she been crying? He needed to get it together.

"If you are all right, Lady Maribel, why are you crying?" Dorian tried to be as gentle as possible.

Her maid stepped closer. He appreciated that she was protective over her charge.

"P-please, my lord, do not choose me. Please. You have ignored all women but me tonight and I fear… I am scared." As soon as Maribel started speaking, the torrent of emotions seemed to unfurl from her all at once and she seemed wholly unable to stop them from flowing.

He had managed to frighten a girl to tears.

"Dear child, I assure you, I have no intention of choosing you. I am not in search of a wife, I just thought the pair of us could use some fresh air. Nothing more, nothing less," he said gently and pulled his handkerchief from inside of his jacket to hand to her. "I promise."

"T-truly?" Maribel hiccuped.

"Yes."

"B-but your sister said… she said…"

"I am quite certain that my sister must have said a great many things—almost none of which, I am also certain, are even close to the realm of truth. She likes to allow her mouth to run away with her. I am sorry if I gave you the wrong impression." Dorian offered a soft smile to the girl in the hope that she might calm down.

"Lady Dolores said I must be perfect. She said that I should not speak unless spoken to. And that if I was pretty enough and perfect enough, she would promise a proper marriage. My mother was so excited! Oh, she is going to be so cross with me… I tried to explain that I was already in love with someone else, but she did not wish to hear it," Maribel said.

The muscle in Dorian's jaw twitched. He did not care for the implication that his sister was attempting to coach the young women on how best to appeal to him. Nor did she have any right to make promises on his behalf.

"Well, Lady Maribel, it would seem we have that in common at least." He smiled tightly. "If you wish it, you are welcome to use one of my carriages to go off and see your beloved. I shall think nothing of it if the carriage does not return promptly. We should not both have to be miserable at this ball."

The girl smiled brightly, her tears drying. "You are far kinder than Lady Dolores said. Thank you, my lord, thank you!"

Maribel gathered her skirts and signaled that her maid should follow her closely. The pair of them took off across the lawns in the direction of the carriages.

Perhaps he should do the same thing. He did not wish to entertain this silly ball in the first place. It would serve her right that he left. Then Dolores could have to explain to all of those that she invited against his will why he was not there.

If he stayed, all he would do was keep looking for Claire's face in every corner of the room despite knowing good and well that she was not there.

Before he knew where he was going, his feet had carried him to the stables. Dorian had the saddle on his horse before he had even fully realized that he had made up his mind. He could not continue living this sort of half-life here in London—he needed answers from Claire one way or the other. Be it for closure or clarity, it mattered not.

He had to see her. There was a confrontation to be had, once and for all.