Chapter 5

CHAPTER5

After the ball, Amy was assisted by her maid, Edith, to change into her night rail and to undo the sensible bun that her hair had been bound into. As soon as the thick tresses had been let down, she could swear she felt the blood rushing back into her scalp, and she could not resist a soft sigh.

The preparations for a night at a ball were so tedious, and it was always such a relief for her to finally change out of the gown and the constraints of being forced to mingle in a Society that did not want to accept her.

"Is there anything else you require of me, Milady?"

Amy shook her head and gave the maid a small smile. "That will be all for tonight, Edith. Thank you. You may go back to your quarters."

"Thank you, Milady." The maid bobbed a curtsy before leaving the room.

Finally, Amy was once more all alone with her thoughts. In a crowded ballroom, the combined cacophony of laughter, chatter, and dance music would thankfully drown out the voices in her head. But when the music died down and she was all alone, she would find herself dwelling once more in her head.

Like tonight.

She sighed and walked over to the bed, slipping underneath the covers as she always did. Her eyes stared up into the canopy above her, and she bit her lower lip.

Come on, Amy...you can do this! Cry, for heaven’s sake!

But her eyes remained dry, blinking as she picked out the patterns on the canopy. She had already memorized them after the countless nights she had done this exercise. Still, she could not manage to shed a tear.

The words that all the others had hurled against her began to shout at her in her mind. She closed her eyes, and they began to talk louder.

Frigid. Unfeeling. Ice queen—no, an ice monster.

So many of them had hurled their insults to her back, thinking she could not hear them. Or maybe, they wished she would heed them.

Even her former betrothed had angrily remarked that she was the only woman who would not shed a tear for her own broken engagement.

At that time, Amy had convinced herself that, maybe, it was just because anger and indignation were the main emotions engulfing her.

Or maybe, she truly was a monster—a cold, uncaring one incapable of shedding tears. He had looked at her with so much disdain that thinking about it now made her toes curl.

Had she truly lost her humanity?

But then, there was someone else…

Tonight, the Duke of Leonbridge—to her surprise and that of the rest of the ballroom—had asked her to dance not just once but twice. She would have refused him, too, as she had done with countless others, if not for the agreement she had made earlier with her father.

He had looked at her with some sort of amusement and admiration—and not as though she was a freak of nature but rather, truly a desirable young lady. Nothing at all like the way other gentlemen of the ton, including her own betrothed, had regarded her.

Even when she had been at her worst, he had come back for a second dance.

And when verbal sparring would not deter him, she had dug her own foot into his several times to express her displeasure at being asked to dance, only for him to promise that he would see her again.

"I look forward to dancing with you again, My Lady," he had told her.

Was he jesting? The expression on his face did not seem like he was...

With a groan, Amy turned her face into her pillow and closed her eyes. Who truly knew what the Duke of Leonbridge was thinking? Perhaps he had been put up to it by some of the other gentlemen although she could not imagine that there would be anyone else who could make a duke do anything against his will.

A prince, maybe, but no one other than that.

Can I not think of something else while I am lying in bed?Amy thought to herself.

But already, the fatigue from the events of the night finally seeped into her already weary body and mind. As she drifted off to sleep, she could not help but wonder what would happen if the Duke, indeed, made good on his promise that he would see her and dance with her again...

* * *

"Good morning, my dear. I heard you had quite the enchanting time last night!"

Amy tried so hard not to glare at her beaming aunt. No doubt about it—the fact that she had danced with the Duke of Leonbridge at the Glendale ball should have exploded all over London by now. If there was anything that tantalized the very bored, very petty creme de la creme of Society, it was gossip, and she was sure that something as unseemly as her socially hideous self capturing the interest of a bachelor like the Duke of Leonbridge was prime fodder for the gossip cannons.

"Good morning to you, too, Aunt Dorothy," Amy mumbled, choosing to ignore her aunt as she shuffled into her seat.

Her father put down the morning paper and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "You do not seem pleased at all, my darling."

Of course, how could she be pleased by such a thing when the Duke just casually threw a wrench into her plans?

Instead, she just shrugged her shoulders. "It was only one gentleman, Father."

"Not just any gentleman but the Duke of Leonbridge," her aunt pointed out in a dramatic whisper. "And such a handsome young man, too! He has to have such impeccable taste to be able to pick out our darling Amy from a sea of frivolous young women."

"You mean he has the worst vision in all of London?"

"Oh, pish posh! You do not need to put yourself down so much, my dear," Aunt Dorothy scoffed. "I swear, if I ever come across that young gentleman of yours, I would beat him over the head with an umbrella—"

Amy felt her hands clutch at the edge of the table reflexively. "He is not my gentleman, Aunt Dorothy. Nor would I wish to be his lady or whatever."

The thought of being with that hideous waste of human sensibilities made Amy’s skin crawl, and it was only breakfast.

"Well, why would you when you have His Grace?" her aunt continued with nary a care in the world.

"Quite, quite," the Marquess agreed. "His Grace is a thousand times better than that poor excuse of a gentleman."

"He is not even worthy of being called a gentleman, cousin dear."

"Certainly not when compared to the Duke of Leonbridge."

"Well, what do you say, Amy darling?"

Amy casually looked up from the piece of bread that she had been buttering and smiled at the both of them.

"I think that you are both making a great fuss over nothing," she told them calmly. "It is as the gossips are probably saying right now—how could His Grace possibly look at me in that way? After a good night’s rest, he should have come to his senses now, and he will wonder why he ever did the things he did last night."

She spoke with such confidence, but deep inside, she was wracked with nervous anticipation. His Grace treated her with sincerity last night, and he did not seem like he had been put up to it by his peers as Amy had been put up to it by the joint forces of her father and aunt.

But then again, how could he ever be attracted to her when all of London’s finest young ladies were falling over him and his title?

She shook her head inwardly at that. Stop thinking about it! He’s not going to come back...He has most likely proceeded to the next eligible young lady, who will—

"Yes, George, what is it?"

Amy pursed her lips as she followed her father’s line of sight to where their butler, George, was standing.

Or what seemed to be George buried under that humongous monstrosity of a bouquet.

"My Lord," their faithful butler intoned, "His Grace, the Duke of Leonbridge, sent these flowers over for Lady Amy, along with his card. He also expressed his desire to pay a visit to her at a more appropriate time." He cleared his throat as if he could hardly believe it himself. "Later this afternoon at teatime."

If Amy had been of a weaker constitution, she would have dropped her knife in a most disgraceful manner. Instead, she just held on to it with a force enough to bend steel itself.

Meanwhile, Aunt Dorothy let out an excited squeal. "Matthew, cousin, did you hear that? The Duke of Leonbridge wishes to pay a call to our dear Amy. Our darling girl finally has a suitor."

"Err...yes, I heard that, dear cousin." The Marquess of Irington turned to the butler with a crease in his brow. "Are you sure you are not mistaken, George?"

Amy nearly rolled her own eyes at that. After all his declarations, even her own father was doubtful that the Duke of Leonbridge was ever serious about her. Her aunt, however, was beside herself with happiness.

"Yes, My Lord," George replied. "Shall I tell him no, then?"

"NO!" both Aunt Dorothy and the Marquess yelled in horror.

"I mean yes, of course, we will allow him to call on Lady Amy," her father corrected hastily as the butler turned to leave. He cleared his throat and looked at Amy with a knowing glint in his eyes. "See what happens when you open up yourself a bit more, my dear?"

Amy could only stab at her food with rising despair.

George, the butler, looked at the rest of the family in amusement. "Very well, I shall tell His Grace that we will be expecting him at... four in the afternoon, perhaps?"

"Yes, that would be lovely, George. Thank you," Aunt Dorothy beamed at him.

"Now, where am I supposed to put these flowers, My Lady?"

"Ah, in Lady Amy’s rooms, of course! After all, His Grace intended for her to have them." She turned to her niece and winked at her. "And I suppose Lady Amy would love to enjoy their beauty in a more, ah, private setting."

Or maybe, her Aunt Dorothy just did not want to see her trashing the beautiful bouquet in view of the servants.

Either way, she was stuck with the bouquet, and even worse, His Grace actually made good on his promise.

As an unconventional young lady of her times, she could not find it in her heart to rejoice at that.

* * *

Amy paced around in her room. Once in a while, her eyes would fall upon the exceptionally large bouquet and narrow as she mumbled to herself.

"Idiot, idiot man!" she muttered.

It would have been better if the Duke of Leonbridge stayed further away from her after their disastrous dance last night, but no! He not only chose to call on her today, but he even sent a bouquet of flowers to go with it, so there was no mistaking his intentions!

She sat down on the settee and stared glumly at the cheerful blooms glaring back at her. They were indeed rather beautiful flowers, but that was besides the point!

Surely, His Grace knew that she was not the type of woman to enjoy such ridiculous and vapid niceties!

A soft knock intruded on her thoughts, followed by a respectful call. "Milady, ’tis Edith."

Amy looked at the door with despair. "Come on in, Edith."

Even her own maid looked quite happy when she walked into the room and saw the flowers. No doubt about it, the entire household seemed to be rejoicing in the fact that some man finally saw her value.

"Milady, should I help you dress for afternoon tea?"

Amy pursed her lips at that. Of course, she could not refuse the Duke, or she would forfeit her father’s challenge. His Grace also seemed rather unperturbed by her antagonistic behavior last night.

Maybe I overdid it last night, she sighed inwardly. By being quite adversarial, he probably saw me as some sort of prize to be won...

The thought of it filled her with righteous indignation. How very like a man! They only ever saw women as possessions not human beings.

Therefore, if the Duke was only emboldened by such behavior, perhaps she should try a different tactic... but what?

Previously, her sharp tongue was enough to deter any gentleman brave—or foolish—enough to approach her, but this time, she was up against a duke. Of course, the usual stratagems might not work for someone of a loftier status.

Fortunately, Amy was quite adept at adapting to her situation and after several Seasons, she had a firm grasp of what went on in a gentleman’s mind.

"Perhaps the green frock would be best for His Grace’s visit," Edith told her with a winsome smile. "That dress does bring out the color of Milady’s eyes beautifully."

Bring out the color of her eyes? Of course, Amy would have none of that.

"No. I will wear that brown one instead."

Edith blinked at her from the mirror. "But the brown one is—"

"The brown frock please, Edith."

As the maid shook her head slightly in confusion and continued to brush Amy’s hair, a small smile lifted at the corner of her lips.

She wanted to see how far His Grace, the Duke of Leonbridge, would go with this farce of his...