Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

" M y, my, what a striking display," Modesty drawled, her lips pursed in a disapproving frown. "This was not what I spent precious time picking out for you, is it?"

Lucy had anticipated a moment like this, but having been caught off guard, she struggled for cogent words. "Uh… It is a bit different, yes." She stammered.

Behind them, the grand ballroom buzzed with chatter and laughter. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow on the polished wood floor, where couples twirled in a mesmerizing waltz.

Lucy, adorned in the lavender dress Duncan had gifted her, stood out amidst a sea of silks and satins. The dress hugged her curves perfectly, the color mirroring the flush that rose to her cheeks as she surveyed the scene.

"Hmm," Modesty scoffed. "And the duke, my son… where is he?"

Lucy scanned the ballroom eagerly, also wishing greatly for Duncan to appear. "I believe he is around, somewhere. He went to–"

"Leave him be," Modesty interrupted. "He is a man, and he can handle himself. You, on the other hand… one would have expected a lady of your… background to possess a tad more… decorum."

Lucy strained to maintain her composure. The dowager duchess's constant critiques and unsavory remarks were proving impossible to contain. She balled her fists in anger, hoping the sensation of her pinching at her palm would help her keep focus.

Lucy steadied herself, her smile faltering for a fleeting moment. "I assure you, Lady Elkins," she replied, her voice surprisingly steady, "I am quite capable of conducting myself as befits a lady."

"But–"

"No buts!" Lucy said, in a low and commanding voice that surprised even herself. "Your Grace, I have tried… Oh, I have tried, repeatedly, to win your favor, but with you, nothing works. I have cried for days on end thinking of the next vile things you might say about me, or my family. I have done everything within my power to accommodate your proclivities. And oh, what a fool I have been. Nothing I do or say would ever please you.

In your eyes I am but an opportunist, and you've taken every chance you could get to ensure I never once forget what you think of me. But I will not have you shame me or my family any longer. I am not what you think I am."

Lucy paused to catch her breath. She tried to hide her shock at being able to speak in that manner. She had imagined herself standing up to her mother-in-law on many occasions, but the thought had only seemed like a dream. Perhaps she should be grateful for the chance to speak her mind for the first time. But now, it was certain what would happen next.

Her thoughts were all over the place. If only Duncan were here , she thought. His presence was the only covering that seemed to keep his mother's antics at bay. Or she could apologize.

No! The words were out already and there was no return. If there was to be a confrontation, now was the best time. At least now whilst she still had her wits about her.

Modesty cocked her head to one side, wild disbelief covering her entire face. The dowager duchess was stunned, and her eyes held a shock Lucy had never seen on the seldom flustered woman.

Modesty scoffed, inching closer to close the gap between them. But before she could retort, a hand materialized on Lucy's shoulder. Duncan stood beside her, his expression a stormy mix of anger and protectiveness.

"Is there a problem, Lucy?" he inquired, his voice low and dangerous.

Lucy squeezed his arm in grateful relief. "Nothing of consequence, Duncan," she replied, her gaze fixed on Modesty. "Mother was merely offering some advice."

A flicker of recognition crossed Duncan's face. He inclined his head towards Modesty with a curt nod. "Mother," he acknowledged, his voice devoid of warmth.

Modesty, clearly taken aback by the turn of events, managed a weak greeting, "Your Grace." Turning to Lucy, she added, "Perhaps we shall continue this conversation another time. Hmmm?"

Without waiting for Lucy's response, Modesty turned away and left. Relief washed over her as the dowager duchess flounced away, leaving them in a tense silence. The murmurs and curious glances from the surrounding couples confirmed Lucy's suspicion – the encounter had left a sour taste in the air.

"Are you sure you are all right?" Duncan asked again, this time staring straight at her face.

Lucy met his gaze, a grateful smile gracing her lips. "I am now," she confessed, her voice a soft murmur.

Sensing Duncan's simmering anger, Lucy decided to take a chance. With a playful tilt of her head towards the dance floor, where couples twirled in a graceful waltz, she offered a suggestion.

"The music sounds particularly inviting, wouldn't you agree, Your Grace?" she inquired, her voice a gentle melody amidst the cacophony of the ballroom. "Perhaps a turn on the dance floor would alleviate the tedium of the evening?"

Duncan's jaw remained clenched for a moment. Dance? He couldn't remember the last time he did that. And he wasn't sure he was up for that. It had been so long. The last time was when-

No. He wouldn't go down that road. Maybe it was just what he needed to take his mind off it.

"While I must confess that I typically find such frivolous activities rather tiresome, I see no reason not to oblige."

Lucy's smile widened, the color blooming across her cheeks like a blooming rose. And a warmth blossomed in his chest, something that only Lucy seemed to be able to do these days. With a graceful curtsy, she offered him her hand. "Lead the way, Your Grace," she said, the smile never leaving her face.

As they stepped onto the dance floor, the music swelled, a romantic waltz filling the air. Duncan placed his hand on her waist, reveling in the feel of her body against his. They moved in sync, almost as if they had been doing it forever. He couldn't tear his eyes off her even if he tried.

She was radiant, resplendent in that dress. The lavender complemented her skin well. He made a good choice and felt a swirl of pride in his chest knowing he was the reason behind it.

He could swear they were all alone, in their very own world. Every other thing, every other person had faded. It was just them. Just Lucy. And he basked in her presence, even if only for now. He would worry about everything else later. Or maybe not. A soft gasp broke him out of his thoughts.

"Your Grace…" she near-choked, "…your gloves."

Duncan glanced down at his hands. "What about them?"

Lucy yearned to press for reasons, but decided against it. "Uh nothing. I was only surprised to see you without them."

But he remained silent, not offering any explanation. He would admit his palms did look a little strange, not swathed in the thick wool material. He was still not used to it.

"Whatever was the matter between you and my mother?" He felt safer not talking about it at all.

"Oh, it was nothing. We were just having a talk." Lucy's eyelashes fluttered down. Why didn't he believe that for just a moment?

"Are you certain? I know my mother sometimes takes propriety too far."

Lucy chuckled, the sound light and musical. "What an understatement,' she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Your Grace." She countered, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Your mother and I may not share a lot in common. But where we do, I am sure that with time we shall find common ground."

Duncan smiled. "Indeed," he conceded, his voice tinged with amusement. "You look absolutely stunning tonight, Duchess." His voice dropped to a husky whisper.

It sent a blush creeping up Lucy's neck. "Your compliment is most welcome, Your Grace," she replied softly, her eyes locked on his.

The air was thick with the scent of roses. And perhaps his own longing. Their bodies swayed to the rhythm, moving in perfect harmony. He felt the tension in her hold, the restraint. It mirrored his own. Why did it feel so good to be with her? This was no normal marriage. But here, now, it felt like more.

Their gazes locked, the world around them blurring. The music swelled, the violins crying out in harmony. He felt her heartbeat against his own, a wild desperate rhythm. The music reached its crescendo, and they spun faster, his eyes never leaving hers.

And the music slowed, slowing them too. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze meeting his. With a soft sigh, Lucy rested her head lightly against his chest. The music drifted around them, a gentle melody that seemed to cocoon them in a world of their own.

"Your Grace!" came a voice from behind them as the dance came to a momentary halt. And they stepped apart, the spell broken. Lucy looked up to see Lord Castings, the viscount of a neighboring territory, walking towards them.

Duncan's smile faltered for a fleeting moment, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He excused himself with a gracious nod to Lucy. "Forgive me, Duchess, but it seems duty calls."

Lord Castings, oblivious to the interruption, grasped Duncan's hand in a handshake, his jovial demeanor at odds with the tension that settled upon Duncan. "Your Grace! Delighted to see you this fine evening! I was hoping to catch you at your leisure."

Duncan offered a strained smile. "Indeed, Lord Castings. What can I do for you?"

"Business, Your Grace, business! I was hoping to broach the subject of that parcel of land bordering the eastern ridge of your estate. You see, I've been considering expanding my sheep flock…"

Duncan listened with polite disinterest as Lord Castings droned on about sheep and grazing rights. His gaze, however, kept flitting back to his hand where the lingering touch of Castings' calloused grip seemed to repulse him. Lucy noticed his discomfort. His usually composed posture seemed slightly rigid, and a frown etched itself onto his brow whenever his eyes settled on his hands.

Lord Castings, finally catching his breath, finished his proposition with a flourish. "So, Your Grace, what say you? A mutually beneficial arrangement, wouldn't you agree?"

Duncan cleared his throat, his voice devoid of warmth. "Indeed, Lord Castings. I will review the matter and send you a letter with my findings soonest."

Lord Castings beamed, oblivious to Duncan's lack of enthusiasm. "Excellent! Excellent! A pleasure doing business with you, Your Grace." He clapped Duncan on the shoulder with a hearty backslapping motion, sending a shudder through the duke.

As Lord Castings finally lumbered away, Duncan turned back to Lucy, his face etched with a mixture of annoyance and something akin to disgust. He offered her a wan smile, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by a shadow of something darker.

"Forgive the interruption, Duchess," he murmured, his voice tight. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

Without waiting for her response, he strode purposefully out of the ballroom, his brow furrowed in concentration. Lucy watched him go, a pang of concern tugging at her heart. His sudden shift in demeanor and his fixation on his hands left her bewildered. She worried about him.