Chapter 4

CHAPTER4

Susanna stayed firmly in the corner of the ballroom with her heart thudding so hard in her chest, she swore she could see it fluttering her skin.

What a dance that was!

She had never known that feeling. More than once she had felt guilty for dancing with a man like the Duke of Belbridge, one who clearly desired a perfect partner.

That is plainly not me, is it?

Yet, he had danced with her anyway. He had stopped her falling over too, catching hold of her waist with so much vigor to stop her from falling that he had made her quite breathless.

Susanna couldn’t help the way her mind had wandered at such a touch. The Duke was a handsome man, and the thought of such a man touching her in that way was an intimate thing, yet there was more to it too. There was something alluring about the idea of making a man so concerned with propriety bend his rules a little.

“Susanna?”

She jumped, turning round to see Donald was approaching her.

“Donald, you scared me half to death!” She laughed with the words and patted him round the arm in reprimand.

“Ah, forgive me; you’d think sneaking up on you would be a difficult thing to do as you are backed into the smallest corner of this ballroom, but you appeared to be in a world of your own. Is there space for another here? I come bearing gifts.” He proffered forward two glasses of wine, one for her to take.

“Thank you, Donald. I think I need this.” She took the sparkling wine and took such a hearty gulp that he laughed as he leaned on the wall beside her.

“Good Lord, you were thirsty,” he chuckled under his breath. “I would have brought you two if I had known you needed them.”

Susanna smiled at his kindness and turned to lean her shoulder against the wall, the better to turn her focus on her friend. Donald was just like her in many ways.

We are outcasts.

Though for different reasons. Susanna was thought odd since she was something of a free spirit, who was not a refined dancer and did not like to do many things other ladies were fond of doing such as playing the piano and practicing how to walk. Donald’s differences were sometimes harder to see.

He was an introvert, through and through. He preferred his life with his books and had a fascination for science and insects that made him curious to some people. In particular, he was fond of the readings on praying mantises and other such animals. Susanna could still remember the day Donald’s father had compared him to one of the very praying mantises he liked to study.

The late Earl of Keats was not the nicest of men.

From a young age, she and Donald had been friends, for his mother had been a good friend of Agnes’ and Susanna’s own mother. Susanna had defended Donald, again and again, over the years. What had manifested from it was a true bond of friendship.

“I dislike these events,” Donald said with a sigh as he looked around the room. “You do know that you are the only reason I come to them these days.” He shot a look her way with pale blue eyes. His thin stature was leaning against the wall at such an awkward angle that she laid a hand to his arm, worried he would fall.

“And I you. Well, that and Agnes. I have to come. She says she longs for my company here though she seems to have enough friends of her own.” She gestured across the room to where Agnes was talking to her friends. “I am glad you are here at last though.”

“I have been here a little while. I saw you dancing. Was that the Duke of Belbridge you were dancing with?”

“It was. Do you know him?” Susanna couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. She turned on the wall and looked across the room again, seeking out the sight of the Duke. “He’s quite a fascinating man.”

“Fascinating? Pah! You see a different man than I, Susanna.”

“You do know him, then?” Susanna asked distractedly.

“Not exactly, not personally at all.” Donald shook his head, making the pale brown hair on his forehead dance. “Yet, I have heard what people say of him. He is a man who is fond of correctness and decorum, I am told.”

“Hmm, perhaps it is something more than that,” Susanna mused to herself. She had noted just as much in her conversation with the Duke of Belbridge, but it was his choice of words relating to that discussion that had interested her so much.

Perfection.

It had suggested not just a fascination with decorum but something altogether more beautiful. She imagined every woman he took on his arm to dance was beautiful, and that every item of his clothes was elegant too, perhaps without a stain or a broken stitch on them.

Oh, he would despair at my wardrobe, I do not doubt it.

“Did you enjoy your dance?” Donald asked, turning his focus on Susanna and away from the dance floor.

“I did.” She couldn’t stop the smile that lifted her cheeks. At last, she saw the Duke of Belbridge again. He had just come off the dance floor with a lady who was undeniably beautiful though to Susanna’s mind she was also as stiff as a wooden plank. She did not smile, laugh, or offer any words at all as the Duke parted from her. On the contrary, she was rather like a porcelain ornament. Beautiful but almost not human.

Then the Duke looked across the room. His eyes found Susanna’s without restraint.

Susanna could have sworn that look did something to her body. Goosebumps raised on her skin, and her breathing grew faster. She kept imagining she was dancing with the Duke again, and he would take her waist as he had done before.

Illicit. I know it would be, but… would it not also be thrilling?

She practically shivered, just thinking of that touch.

“Susanna?” A hand was waved in front of her face. Susanna snapped her gaze away from the Duke and looked back to Donald at her side. “Ha! You were quite away with the fairies.”

“I am sorry,” Susanna said quickly, laughing off her odd behavior. She had never known her body to react to a man in this way before. It was thrilling, intoxicating, and yet scandalous too. “Let us talk of you, Donald.”

“Me?” He jerked in surprised and lifted his champagne to his lips. “There is not much to talk of.”

“Do not talk yourself down so.” Susanna waved off the matter. “Come, let us get more champagne. With a little more in you, you will be glad to talk. It has a habit of loosening your tongue.”

“You know me quite well.” He laughed but gave her his hand regardless. With that hand, she towed him toward the nearest drinks table and filled up both of their glasses.

Susanna grew rigid when she felt eyes upon her. It wasn’t like the pleasant burn of the Duke’s stare but something altogether much more uncomfortable. Pausing in her work with the glasses, she looked up to see nearby the Countess of Rumpton’s daughters were staring at her. One of the ladies had her fan to her face as she whispered as if the fluttering of the fan was as good as a curtain, masking her lips from view.

“Susanna? Is something wrong?” Donald asked in panic, moving to her side.

“It is nothing,” she murmured though she nodded her head in the direction of the sisters regardless. “My latest admirers,” she added sarcastically. “They no doubt think ill of me for pouring champagne for a gentleman, let alone for an earl.”

“Then ignore them as I do,” Donald said with finality.

“I intend to.” Susanna smiled and lifted their glasses, offering one to Donald which they chinked. “Here, let us have a toast.”

“What are we toasting?” he asked, his light brown brows furrowing.

“You, my dear friend.”

“Me? Whatever for?” He looked ready to choke on his champagne.

“To your future as an earl, of course.” Susanna smiled and lifted her glass higher. She knew the late Earl’s passing had been hard on Donald. He’d been both gutted at his father’s death and a little relieved. They’d had a mixed relationship, one of affection and one of resentment.

Had the late Earl not been so much of a bully, things could have been very different, but it was not to be. Susanna had seen poor Donald struggle with how to grieve his father, yet now the time had come to take off his mourning weeds, and she was determined to see him smile again. “Things are about to change for you, Donald. I am certain of it. Change is in the air.”

“In which case, I’ll drink to that.”

* * *

“I am confused.” Joseph’s words made Anthony stop with his fencing. He pulled the mesh covering down from his face as Joseph held back the foil in his hand.

“About what?” Anthony asked, looking casually around the room. They had arrived at their sports club early today with Anthony keen to work off the frustration he had felt all night.

Not that I will be talking about that frustration.

It was the kind that kept him up to late hours, thinking of one thing only to gain satisfaction — activities of the night — though such satisfaction was out of reach. He had satisfied himself with imaginings instead, and only one woman had featured in his dreams.

It was the same woman who had challenged him to a ride the day before and then danced with him, leaving behind a reminder of her presence in the shape of a hair clip.

“I am confused why you are going to go all the way to this lady’s house to return something so simple as a hair clip.” Joseph shrugged, lowering the foil to his side so that the tip of the sword was planted in the floorboards beneath his feet.

“I cannot keep it. That would be highly improper! It would suggest some sort of bond, would it not?” Anthony pointed out. “Now come, up with the weapon again. I am not done yet.” He put the mask back on. His friend scrambled to get his own mask on though Joseph barely managed it in time before Anthony advanced forward.

They both knew Anthony was the finer swordsman, but today, he was especially vigorous, almost merciless. With two lunges he had caught Joseph in the stomach, pressing the weapon into the padding.

“Good Lord, you are determined to work off some energy, are you not? Enough, enough! I call surrender.” Joseph loped off to the side of the room, carrying his weapon under his arm and shrugging off his helmet.

“Come on, Joseph. You said now that you are a Baron you wanted to be better at such skills.” Anthony practiced a few more lunges, earning a rather pointed glare from his friend who was returning his weapon to the racking at the side of the room.

“I can still surrender when my opponent has other things on his mind.”

“What things?” Anthony said, freezing with his sword in the air.

“Come off it, Anthony. I’m a man, same as you. You think I do not know when a man is pent up with frustration of a certain kind?” Joseph teased him. When Anthony abruptly lowered the weapon, Joseph laughed heartily. “I thought that might be the case. What lovely lady has captured your attention this time? Is it one of the elegant Lady Rumptons, perhaps? The Countess’ daughters are certainly fair. Or perhaps Lady Islington?”

“No, none. In fact, I am not having this conversation.” Anthony returned his weapon to the racking too and shrugged off his padding, reaching for his waistcoat and cravat with care. As he put them on, he was very attentive, needing to make sure his appearance was just right.

“Whyever not? It is a natural thing, isn’t it? To desire a young lady.”

“To talk of it, though? Come off it, Joseph. We are gentlemen.”

“Does that mean our urges are not the same as the common man?” Joseph laughed and sat on the bench beside him. “I am not so great a fool to think so. If a lady has turned your head, then you are no doubt as susceptible as the rest of us to their charms, even if you are a duke.”

Anthony stared as he looked in the mirror. His hair had become a little wild during their fencing, and he worked to straighten the wayward wisps, choosing not to respond to Joseph’s words. He didn’t have to acknowledge that he was being driven mad by desire — not to anyone.

Especially when I know it is mad.

Try as he might, he could not forget the dance with Lady Curtis. The fact she had nearly fallen or even made missteps hadn’t mattered to him. All that had mattered was the touch of her hand, the way she had challenged him with her bold words, and the feeling of her waist beneath his palm when she had nearly fallen.

“Wait a minute. Is that why you are so eager to return Lady Curtis’ hair clip to her today? Is it Lady Curtis who has captured your mind so?” Joseph asked with mischief, leaning forward.

“No, indeed.” Anthony shook his head. “Lady Curtis is a little different to the rest of the ton, is she not? I could hardly be…”

“Associated with her? That is a little proud, Anthony,” Joseph grimaced, clearly not liking the words. “She is still an earl’s daughter.

“That is not what I meant.” Anthony assured him, shaking his head as he pulled on his tailcoat and checked his appearance another time. “All that I meant was that no, your suspicions are quite wrong. I have not come fencing today to work off the frustrations of pining for a young lady. Especially not Lady Curtis.”

“The gentleman doth protest too much methinks.” Joseph’s misquote of Shakespeare may have made Joseph laugh, but Anthony simply shot him another glare.

How can he read me like a book? Old friends. We clearly know each other’s secrets without having to utter them.

“I must depart to return this clip. Same time next week?”

“Yes, yes, I will keep to your routine, have no fear.”

As Anthony left Joseph on the bench in the sports club, he grew distracted. Making his way to his horse that awaited him outside, he thought only of Lady Curtis.

I thought of her enough last night. Surely in the day I can free my mind of her.

Yet, it didn’t seem to be the case. As he rode to her house, he incessantly fidgeted with his appearance, making sure that everything was just perfect, and there were no unwanted creases to his tailcoat or waistcoat. When he found her house, only having discovered her address thanks to the enquiries of his butler that morning, he stopped outside the townhouse in the road.

Lady Curtis lived with her godmother, the Marchioness of Follet. The townhouse was a grand one, certainly, but with just a glance Anthony could tell it was different to the other houses in the street. The curtains in the windows were quite bold in color, and even the door was decked with a rather ostentatious door knocker in the shape of a flower.

Leaving his horse with a boy in the road, whom he tipped a small amount of change to, Anthony made his way to the door and knocked. The townhouse was set back from the street a little with a good garden that was visible from the front.

When no answer came to the door straight away, Anthony stepped back from the front step and glanced into the garden. It was then a happy hum reached his ears of someone murmuring a buoyant tune. Moving down from the step, Anthony crept around the house, the better to see the bearer of that tune.

At the flower borders, a young woman was down on her knees, bearing soil on her gown and around her fingers. She was singing quite happily to herself as she pruned some roses, taking off the dead heads and letting the pure yellow blooms shine through.

Lady Curtis.

Anthony wasn’t sure what to think first. Should he be enraptured by her looks? Her cheeks had blossomed pink in the heat of the day, and her hair teased her neck, reminding him of his dreams to play with those tendrils. She was singing the tune which they had danced to the night before, suggesting that she had not been able to forget that dance any more than he had.

Then another thought struck him. She was coated in dirt. It was over her gown and her hands, not to mention, she was doing the work of a gardener.

How is this remotely appropriate?

One cheek had a smear of dirt, high on the cheekbone, making her entire look asymmetrical, and she tilted her head to the side as she sang, emphasizing the appearance of things being uneven.

This lady needs to be taught how to act like a lady!

For a second, Anthony feared the thought had escaped his lips, for her eyes shot up from the roses, and she found him there, watching her.