Chapter 6

The hallway was overly warm, the press of people tight and uncomfortably close. Rosalyn drew her skirts closer about her, trying to avoid stepping on the gown of the lady standing in front of her. Behind her, the chatter of voices was loud. She looked at the floor, feeling unsteady and dizzy. It was ten o’clock in the evening and the ball guests were attempting to exit the ballroom and cross the hallway to the dining room. This was not simply a matter of walking out of one door and to another but was an elaborate exercise in etiquette. They would need to enter the dining room in a line in order of precedence. The highest-ranking guests would go first.

“I believe Lady Dalforth should go ahead of us,” a woman’s voice was saying behind her. Rosalyn strained to hear, her heart thudding. Her sisters were perhaps ten paces away, trying to find a place as the guests lined up, and Sebastian was somewhere—she had lost sight of him in the crowd. Papa was ahead. She glanced around, worried that they might have taken the position of someone higher-ranking than they were. To make such a misstep in the intricate world of privilege and station could lead to ridicule or, at the very least, social censure.

Perhaps somebody would advise her, she thought wildly. She scanned the crowded space for anyone who looked a bit friendly.

“Miss Rothwell?” a voice said beside her. Rosalyn whirled around.

“Your Grace?” Surprise made her gaze widen. She lifted her hand to her lips. She had not expected to see him. After the awkward, strained silence during the dance in the ballroom, she had expected him to avoid her.

“I will escort you to dinner, if I may,” he said. His voice was cool, his expression inscrutable. He briefly made eye contact and then looked away.

Rosalyn tensed. It should have felt comfortable to stand with him—after all, she was to wed him in a little more than a month. Instead, it felt wrong—deeply awkward and uncomfortable. He made no effort to engage in conversation, instead staring blankly ahead. It reminded her precisely of his visit to Cranfield Hall, and her initial discomfort gave way to irritation.

How dare he? she thought crossly.

They stood in silence for a full minute. Rosalyn stepped forward, getting out of the way of some guests. The duke stepped with her, both silent all the while.

“Say something,” the duke hissed. “People are staring. They must wonder about us.”

“And so? If they stare?” Rosalyn asked. She tensed, amazed at her own boldness.

His grey eyes flared wide and then narrowed. “It matters. What people think matters. At least pretend to be on good terms.”

“If you were a touch more polite, then perhaps it would not be necessary to pretend.”

The duke stared at her. His gaze widened again, his mouth compressing. Rosalyn stiffened, frightened by his sudden cold temper. Her own boldness frightened her almost as much.

He said nothing. Nor did she. The only sound that she could hear was the wild thudding of her own heart. She stood beside him, focusing intently on Sebastian, whom she spotted a few paces away, chatting with her sisters. She tried to ignore the duke, whose chilly presence was like a statue made from ice. She shivered at his coldness.

He stepped into the line beside her, and she stopped breathing as he took her hand. His fingers were firm around hers in the silk opera gloves she wore; his grip strong. She shivered, his touch racing up her nerves like fire.

As the hosts, he and his mother and sister would enter the room last. People were gazing their way, some nodding in approval, some disapproving, and she focused on the back of the person standing in front of her, cheeks flaming.

“Do you like dinner balls?” the duke asked. Rosalyn squinted up at him in disbelief. He had ignored her almost entirely during his visit to Cranfield—except to inquire about their breeding program—and during the dance he had made no effort whatever to converse. Now, suddenly, he was attempting to talk to her.

“I have little experience of them,” Rosalyn admitted, deciding to be honest.

She glanced sideways up at the duke. His face was expressionless, but a small muscle near his mouth was jumping, almost as though he was trying to suppress amusement. Her heart leapt at the thought that he might smile. But his expression did not change.

“I find them tiresome,” he said.

Rosalyn blinked and tried to think of something to say. “I imagine this one will not be unpleasant,” she said slowly. “After all, it is only friends and acquaintances.” She watched his expression. His mouth compressed again, as though in disagreement.

“Some of them, yes,” he said enigmatically.

Rosalyn was going to inquire about what he meant, but then they were slowly moving in through the big doors to the dining room and she lost her chance to ask him what he meant.

The room was hot. That was the first thing Rosalyn noticed. A fire burned in the grate and the candles were all lit. They made the room almost as bright as daylight. The second thing that she noticed was that everyone else was seated. All the guests—forty pairs of eyes—were focused on her and the duke.

Rosalyn’s hands sweated, her feet almost refusing to obey her and follow the duke. Her stomach was a tight knot, and she felt nauseous. Her gaze moved swiftly to the floor again as she followed the duke across the room to the head of the table. There was one seat left—the one on his right. She went and sat in it, cheeks burning with awkwardness.

On her left, the duke was sitting straight, staring down the table towards the butler. He inclined his head to the fellow, who in turn summoned the footmen forward to start serving the meal. Rosalyn gazed down at the plate in front of her and wished that she could blend in with the wallpaper. The dowager duchess sat opposite her—given the peculiar circumstances, where neither Rosalyn nor the dowager could claim the title of duchess in the current household, neither took the seat at the foot of the table opposite the duke. The dowager duchess’ gaze on her was icy and assessing.

Rosalyn kept her eyes on her plate, ignoring the scrutiny.

Footmen moved around the room, dishing out the first course, which was soup. Rosalyn nodded her head in gratitude to the footman who filled her dish. They all sat waiting for the entire company to receive their soup before beginning to eat. Rosalyn risked a glance down the table. Papa was sitting a few seats down from the duchess and his eye caught hers. He smiled supportively. Rosalyn smiled shyly back. Beside Papa, Sebastian sat. Rosalyn grinned at him. Lady Harriet, the duke’s sister, was sitting beside him.

Sebastian beamed at her, and she fought the urge to laugh. He had no qualms about openly admiring the young woman, and she had to be impressed by that.

“A fine soup,” the duke murmured. Rosalyn glanced sideways, wondering if he had meant that comment to be for her to hear. She inclined her head.

“Yes, it is very fine,” she replied. She looked up to find the duchess staring at her icily and she decided she would not make any further remarks but remain silent.

At least saying nothing might be better than saying the wrong thing, she thought sadly.

She ate her soup, conscious of the duke’s gaze on her. It darted to her now and again, drifting away when she looked up at him. She frowned. She could not understand him at all. He behaved as though she was a nuisance, as though dancing with her or talking to her was a tiresome obligation and yet his eyes wandered to her often during the meal.

The soup was replaced with a fish dish, and then a roast, complete with baked potatoes and glazed vegetables. Rosalyn, who usually ate fairly informally, was starting to feel nauseous. She glanced across the table and froze.

A man was staring at her.

The man had thick chestnut hair and a long, narrow face. He wore a dark blue velvet tailcoat and a simple cravat, and he seemed pleasant enough. He was seated beside a brown-haired lady with a pretty face. He seemed fairly handsome. It was his eyes that troubled her. His gaze on her was not simply inquiring, nor mildly interested. It was a stare so intense and unwavering that she shivered.

“Do you favour trifle?” the duke asked her. Rosalyn blinked as his words jolted her out of her thoughts. It took her a moment to discern what he was asking.

“Um...I like most desserts,” she answered quickly. “But I am afraid I could not eat another thing.”

The duke did not exactly smile, but his lips tilted at the corners and his eyes seemed less wintry somehow.

“I am likewise sated,” he said, inclining his head. “I will be glad to make my way to the billiards room.”

Rosalyn nodded. After dinner, the men would go up to the billiards room while the women retired to the drawing room for perhaps an hour. She glanced across the table, checking that the man was not still staring, but when she looked again, he was talking to the brown-haired lady. It was a relief.

The dinner progressed, and Rosalyn was relieved when, at last, the footmen came forward to tidy away the dishes. She stood when the duke stood, and they took their place at the back of the long line that would make its way upstairs.

“Rosalyn!” Georgina called as they found her in the entranceway. “How was the dinner?”

“Was the duke tolerable company?” Isabel asked at almost the same time, brow furrowing.

Rosalyn looked away. She was not sure how to answer that question. If they had asked her before the dinner, she would have said he was unpleasant company. But before she could answer them, her mind wandered back to that moment when he had almost smiled. She swallowed.

“It was a pleasant dinner,” she said carefully. “And I think nobody here will be hungry tonight.”

“No! I could not eat another thing!” Georgina agreed. “Though the trifle was delicious.” She smiled shyly.

“It was!” Isabel agreed. “You must have liked it. You like cherries,” she reminded Rosalyn.

Rosalyn just smiled. She had felt too nauseous to eat any of the trifle, cherries or not—not just because of the food, but because of the strange man staring.

“Ladies!” The imperious voice of the duchess interrupted their conversation. “If you will proceed ahead?” she called, her voice firm and impossible to disobey.

Rosalyn glanced at her sisters, who looked equally uncomfortable, but the ladies were all moving towards the stairs, stepping aside for one another in the same order of precedence with which they had entered the dining room. Rosalyn stayed beside her sisters—in the absence of the duke, she was not going to sit far away from them.

“It is such a fine evening,” Georgina gushed as she sank down onto an upholstered chair in the drawing room. “It is a terrific start to Christmas.”

“It is a very fine house party, thus far,” Isabel agreed.

Rosalyn, seated a little set back from them, was not sure what to say. The duchess had her frosty gaze on her, but then the woman’s eyes slid away to focus on a dark-haired young lady who stood beside her. Rosalyn swallowed hard. The young lady seemed so poised and genteel.

I don’t belong here, she thought sadly. All the worries that she felt started to press close. She was a countrified girl from an obscure family. She had never been much in London—just one Season. All the other people there had certainly attended dozens of parties like this one and would know all the rules. They probably spent all the spring months in London every year and were aware of all the latest fashions.

“May I join you?” A voice asked from nearby. Rosalyn looked up. It was the brown-haired lady, the one who had been seated next to the man across the table. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Of course,” she answered, feeling bewildered. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of an introduction?”

“Oh, yes. That is remiss of me,” the brown-haired woman said, a smile brightening her neat, slender features. “I am Philippa, daughter of the Earl of Blakeley.”

“I am pleased to meet you,” Rosalyn replied. She had stood up to make the introductions, and she dropped a curtsey. “I am Miss Rosalyn Rothwell, and I would be honoured to introduce my sisters, Miss Georgina Rothwell and Miss Isabel Rothwell,” she added. Georgina and Isabel stood up, hearing her making the introduction. “Sisters? May I have the honour of introducing you to Lady Philippa?”

Both of her sisters curtseyed, and Lady Philippa likewise dropped a low curtsey. She smiled at Rosalyn.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” she said at once.

“Thank you,” Rosalyn replied, smiling at her. She gestured her to a chair beside Isabel. “Please, join us.”

“Thank you,” Lady Philippa replied and sat down. She was facing Rosalyn, and Rosalyn looked down at the table, reaching for the teapot that had been set there. She felt just a little disconcerted. Even though Lady Philippa was smiling at her in a friendly, artless way, there was something hesitant and quiet about her that made it difficult to feel comfortable near her.

“It is a fine evening, is it not?” she asked Lady Philippa, feeling the need to make conversation. Georgina and Isabel were chattering among themselves, and Lady Philippa seemed a little left out.

“Very fine,” Lady Philippa replied. “I was pleased to be invited.”

“The duchess has put a great deal of effort into this party, I think,” Rosalyn said carefully.

“It seems so,” Lady Philippa agreed. “She is fortunate to have an appreciative guest,” she added with a hesitant smile at Rosalyn.

Rosalyn smiled back. “Thank you,” she said.

“It is no less than the truth. It is always pleasant to have one’s efforts appreciated, not so?”

“Mm,” Rosalyn agreed. “Yes, that is so.”

She sat and chatted with Lady Philippa a little longer, discussing the weather, the dinner and the manor in general and how they liked it. Lady Philippa smiled.

“You are very gracious company,” she said warmly. “It has been so pleasant talking to you.”

“Thank you,” Rosalyn said appreciatively. “It has been pleasant speaking to you as well.”

“One does not often find good company at such places,” Lady Philippa replied.

“Mayhap not.”

“Ladies! May I join you?” a voice said from behind where she sat. Rosalyn glanced over and her lips lifted in a grin to see Lady Harriet, the duke’s sister, coming over to join them. She inclined her head, but Georgina and Isabel had already stood up and were greeting her, waving her over to the chair at the head of the table. Rosalyn smiled to herself.

“This is very pleasant,” Lady Harriet said, smiling warmly at Rosalyn and her sisters. Her big smile included Lady Philippa in the group effortlessly. Rosalyn nodded. She could not help liking Lady Harriet, who she guessed to be closer to Georgina’s age than her own.

Her sisters started chatting excitedly with Lady Harriet, who joined in comfortably. Rosalyn glanced sideways at Lady Philippa, wondering whether to continue trying to talk, but Lady Philippa seemed content to listen.

“...and the musicians! They were excellent, were they not?” Isabel asked.

“Mama decided to engage them for this ball. We usually have another group, but I must confess, this one was far superior,” Lady Harriet agreed.

“The quadrille was excellent!" Georgina said excitedly.

Rosalyn listened as her sisters chatted and laughed with the duke’s sister so easily and freely. She could not help smiling to herself. It was a delight to see them so happy, and a joy to feel included in the group.

She glanced over at Lady Philippa. Even she had tried to make Rosalyn feel included, and it turned out that she had included herself in their big, happy group. Rosalyn shifted comfortably in her seat, feeling relaxed for the first time all evening. She had felt so isolated, yet perhaps, in time, she could adapt. Perhaps, with patience, settling into life here would be within her reach.