Chapter Three

"Darling," the dowager duchess said softly. "I truly do believe that you will enjoy yourself this evening. Everyone we know will surely be there. And I believe that it will do you some good to get out and mingle with society."

Rowan sighed. He had been staring silently out the window in the seat beside his mother during the ride to the Lindmere estate. The air in the coach had been only marginally warmer than his usual interactions with the dowager over the past few years. Now that she had spoken, however, her words had flustered him. There was nothing to enjoy about the evening. There was nothing to enjoy about being out amongst high society members.

As a nobleman, everything was about duty and responsibility. And as a man who had made a vow to his late father after his passing, his ducal duties were the most important things in his life. In fact, they were the only things. Forevermore. Including the one over which he had fought with his father before the late duke's premature demise.

"You look very dashing this evening," she said, trying again to engage Rowan in conversation. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but her face was shrouded by the shadows cast by dusk through the carriage windows, so he could not see her expression. He considered responding to her for a moment. But the weight of his grief over the death of his father, and his resentment over the strain in his mother's and his relationship was suffocating, especially after the dowager's remark about it being a nice evening.

Choosing to keep quiet, Rowan looked back toward the window. Even if he'd wanted to speak to his mother, he didn't know what he would say. That was the first time she had said more than five words to him in one day. There were many things he wanted to say to her. But he knew that was hardly the time to do so.

When he continued saying nothing, the dowager fell silent again for a minute before speaking again.

"Rowan," she said, clearing her throat.

Rowan felt a pang of guilt. Was she trying to engage with him emotionally, and he was just brushing her off? Or was she just trying to keep him from ruining her night, like he had ruined her life when he became responsible for his father's death?

He looked at her again just in time to see her nod and try to hide her hand wiping at her cheek. She was crying, and Rowan was sure it was his fault. He sighed again as his mother went quiet once more. He knew she would not speak to him again that evening, and part of him felt horrible. However, part of him found fresh resentment for the dowager. She had been doing her best to stay far away from him for eight years, especially after her cruel accusation of being the cause of his father's death. Surely, she didn't expect him to just forget about it, now that she had decided to try to make an uneasy kind of peace with him.

Perhaps, if she had been doing it for the sake of making up for so many years of coldness to him, he would have relented and spoken to her. But he knew, just as he knew that she blamed him for his father's death, that it was only to keep them appearing loving and unified in front of their friends and peers. As loving as his parents had once been, they had both been retentive about their appearance where the entirety of the ton was concerned. He wished, especially after his father's passing, that his mother could focus on the family they had left. Which was none but each other.

She was right, he thought as the guilt threatened to claim him as it had so many times before. Father wouldn't have gone into the water if not for our argument. He would have never left the manor that day. It was a point he had acknowledged every single day since the duke died. And yet, it never ceased to hurt less than it did the first time it dawned on him. He might not have taken his father's life with a gun, a blade or poison. But he might as well have. Words could be sharper and deadlier than any weapon, after all, and he had spoken with the intention of upsetting his father enough so that he would drop the subject of him marrying. He was a murderer, no matter how he tried to justify it.

That is why I must marry, he thought, the weight in his heart increasing. Father died because of my stubbornness on the subject. I cannot let it be in vain. Even if it kills me. And as the carriage pulled up in front of Yardley Estate, he thought of what he had to do. He had made the promise eight years prior. And tonight was the night when he would begin to fulfill that promise. Even though the thought filled him with dread.

Steeling himself for the night ahead, Rowan helped the dowager descend from the carriage. She gave him a formal, tight-lipped smile, which he returned with a stiff bow. He offered her a tense arm, which she took as though disgusted to touch him any more than she had to. They walked inside the townhouse behind a small group of noblemen and women, who barely paid them any heed. Rowan was grateful to not yet be noticed. He needed the brief minutes between the time they entered the townhouse, and the time acquaintances began bombarding him with greetings to put on a mask of polite refinement.

His movements became more precise and formal as they followed the group to the ballroom, and he had a practiced, bright smile on his face as the butler announced the arrival of him and his mother. He hid behind his plastic smile as his senses were flooded by the sights and sounds of the party. Guests were talking all throughout the ballroom, and it felt as though his hearing had been amplified.

He couldn't hear individual conversations, but it sounded like a hundred wasps buzzing right around his head. The color scheme of the ball was pink, yellow, and lavender, all of which seemed too bright in the light of the silver chandeliers. Streamers and ribbons wafted, lifted by the gentle breeze entering the room from the open balcony windows. The refreshment tables were filled with every cake and cookie he could imagine, as well as red wine, white champagne, and a large crystal bowl filled with some yellow drink with rose petals floating atop the liquid. He desperately wished to disappear with three glasses of wine to the darkest corner of the ballroom. But he could not. He had business to attend to.

When he saw Lord Lindmere approaching from just a group ahead of where he and his mother stood, Rowan's heart leapt into his throat. Especially once he saw that the earl was not alone. On the earl's arm was a young lady he knew only vaguely, and only because of the promise he had made. It was Lady Serena herself, and she was giving him a sweet, polite smile that made his heart stop.

The earl locked eyes with Rowan and he bowed as he and his daughter reached Rowan and the dowager.

"Your Grace," he said with a broad smile. The man's mouth offered the polite greeting, and his tone boasted pride and expectation. But his eyes looked much like Rowan imagined his own did; filled with anxiety and worry. Rowan thought the earl looked like he might flee the room at any moment. And Rowan could understand that desire, as well. Especially now that he beheld Lady Serena. "Allow me to formally introduce you to my daughter, Serena Yardley." He paused, turning to his daughter with a warm but practiced smile. "Serena, darling, this is Rowan Davenport, Duke of Dalenwood, and Eleanor Davenport, the dowager duchess of the same."

Rowan bowed, but not before noticing a quizzical expression on the debutante's face. She had noticed her father's emphasis on the word ‘formal,' and she was no doubt curious. Rowan thought quickly, as he knew it was not yet time for her to learn what his connection to her and her father was.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Serena," he said. "You look lovely this evening."

He nearly choked on the words as he spoke, even though what he said was true. She was beautiful in her white silk gown, with her blond hair curled around her head and topped with a tiara. Her blue eyes glimmered with excitement and sweetness, and there was a faint blush to her porcelain cheeks. She was a sight to behold, to be sure. And yet, Rowan wished he could get as far away from her as he could get.

She curtseyed perfectly to him, giving him another warm smile, which made his heart skip again.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she said in a musical voice. "And it is wonderful to make your acquaintance."

Rowan gave her a nod, struggling to keep the smile on his face. He worried about an awkward lull in the conversation, which his mother would no doubt notice. But then, Lady Serena delicately extended her hand to him. He understood what was expected of him, and he took her hand, grazing the back of her white glove with barely his breath. She seemed to relax a little with him, and Rowan thought their interaction would conclude. But when the orchestra began to play, the eagerness in the earl's eyes amplified. He understood what was expected of him once more, and the burden he had been carrying for years grew heavier still.

With a stiff bow and another tense smile, Rowan turned to Lady Serena.

"Would you do me the honour of sharing this dance with me?" he asked. It was an invitation extended out of duty, rather than desire, and he hoped that she would decline, pleading a full dance card and relieve him of part of his weight. But Lady Serena merely gave him another polite smile and nodded.

"It just so happens that I have this spot empty on my dance card," she said. "I would be delighted to dance with you, Your Grace."

Rowan nodded, leading her onto the dance floor without a word, moving like a machine with no genuine life of its own. He began to lead the young lady in the dance, moving with practiced precision and cold detachment, counting the beats until the song ended. He had always despised dancing, finding it tedious and unnecessary. But to be dancing with the woman who followed him in the dance made him more uncomfortable than ever on the dance floor.

Before Rowan knew it, he had allowed his thoughts and displeasure with the situation distract him so much that he forgot one of the steps of the dance. His foot caught on Serena's, and in his attempt to keep from falling, he stomped down on her slipper. They both stumbled a little, and he clenched his jaw to keep from grunting aloud. He quickly regained his composure, but his blunder only deepened his unease. Had anyone noticed? He knew Lady Serena would not be able to ignore his boot stamping her foot. He silently cursed his clumsiness, wishing he could be anywhere but in that ballroom, trapped with Lady Serena and the weight of the expectations placed on him.

He began the dance again, trying to pretend as though nothing had happened. The entire ordeal had only lasted a second or two, but it felt as though it had lasted forever. He didn't say a word to Lady Serena, even though he knew he should at least apologize. But he didn't think he could bear to look her in the eye and ask for her forgiveness in front of the other dancers, not after making such a foolish move at her own debut ball and no doubt embarrassing her. He said nothing, despite the pain and irritation he saw in her eyes. He might not want to be there, and he might regret the road that lay ahead. But he made another silent vow as the dance continued in uncomfortable silence. He would keep his promise and carry on as planned. No matter the cost.