CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Charlotte looked about her eagerly as they arrived.

The luxurious ballroom was a sight to behold and quite took her breath away. A tiny voice in the back of her head reminded her that had she been betrothed to the duke; this house might one day have belonged to her.

Charlotte was well aware that she was already tumbling inexorably down the slope toward Lord Kilby. But I can still dream, she thought sadly as she looked all around her.

Maintaining any illusion that she could avoid Lord Kilby tonight, however, became impossible almost immediately. As soon as she set foot inside the room, the whispers began, and Charlotte had still not grown accustomed to how blatant some members of society were when discussing another’s private life.

“Lady Wentworth… rumoured to be very close to Lord Kilby… imminent marriage… did you see them at the picnic?”

Charlotte tried not to listen or notice the stares, but it was difficult to keep her composure. It was one thing to be spoken of when she was proud to be associated with another, but quite different when the very mention of his name filled her with dread.

All she could think of was the duke. Standing in his house, at his ball, and having her name spoken with that of Lord Kilby was torment of the highest order. She longed to see the duke, even if it was for the last time.

Then, out of the gathering crowd, a tall figure appeared, and Charlotte’s heart soared. The duke looked magnificent, every bit the peer he represented, his stoic mask utterly done away with. All she saw were his kind eyes as he stepped forward, bowing to her father.

“Lady Wentworth, welcome to our little soiree. I would welcome the honour of the first dance of the evening with you.”

Charlotte looked at her father, wondering whether he might refuse, but the marquess’s attention was elsewhere, looking about the room—no doubt for Kilby.

Charlotte cast off her father’s arm and took the duke’s, every part of her rejoicing that he would make such an obvious advance in a place where he was under the tightest scrutiny.

He led her to the dance floor, and there was something very different about him tonight. Nothing about the duke was soft or uncertain. Although their interactions had always been cordial and filled with shared interests, he had never seemed as forthright or certain as he did now.

Once they reached the dance floor, the duke didn’t hesitate in taking her into his arms, one hand on her waist and the other taking her hand. Charlotte looked up at him, his face open and happy, and it was in that moment that despair, and joy were warring within her in equal measure.

It seemed impossible that this man might hold her in his arms forever, yet that was all she wished him to do.

The spectre of Lord Kilby loomed large behind her as though waiting to pounce on any type of happiness she might construct. Charlotte gripped the duke’s hand more tightly, and his gaze met hers. A connection unlike any she had ever experienced transpired between them in that glance, as if he comprehended precisely what lay within her thoughts, and for the duration of his presence, he would safeguard her from it.

They moved a single step closer to one another as the waltz began, and Charlotte’s feet felt as though they were floating across the floor as he supported her—body and soul.

Other couples whisked around them, the swirl of dresses and petticoats, the merry chatter of those who had stood up for the set, a low murmur at the edge of hearing. Slowly, everything faded away. Charlotte was alone with the duke on an endless dance floor, their arms entwined, their movements as one body.

Colin held Lady Wentworth close as she relaxed further against him. He swallowed around the lump forming in his throat as his chest tightened at the thought of what might be written in their future. As he moved her slowly around the floor, loving the feel of her hand in his, he kept a close watch on the crowd to see if Kilby was observing them.

I feel dishonest even dancing with her, but I would not give this chance up for anything.

Colin knew the Marquess of Wensingdale intended for Lord Kilby to marry his daughter, but there had been a spark of hope within Colin’s mind ever since his discussion with Lady Wentworth in the park.

Lady Wentworth did not seem to admire Lord Kilby at all. If anything, she had conveyed her unhappiness at his attentions.

Colin had watched Kilby throughout the picnic, noting the snide way he spoke to people. Kilby was good at keeping his facade in place in public. His cruelty never dipped into dangerous waters, always on the good side of propriety, but Colin had decided in those long hours spent alongside him that he disliked the man intensely.

Lady Wentworth would be miserable with him.

A jolt of sadness ran through him then, something all-encompassing about it that caught his breath. When they first met, he would not have expected to find so much joy in her company, and now, to think that it might be stripped from him forever was a blow he had not expected. He clutched her to him all the tighter, relishing their dance, and wishing it would never end.

Elizabeth followed behind them as Malcolm guided her around the floor, and her concern for her cousin grew. It was common knowledge that Lord Kilby had set his sights on Lady Wentworth—for better or worse—but Colin’s behaviour tonight seemed unlike him.

“Is everything alright?” Lord Preston asked, but his eyes were on the duke and Lady Wentworth too.

“I am concerned for them both,” Elizabeth said honestly. “Nothing can come of this but disaster, surely.”

Lord Preston’s face was set in a deep frown. “Lord Wentworth seems certain of her match with Lord Kilby.”

“Kilby,” Elizabeth hissed. “He is a terrible choice for Lady Wentworth; even I can see that, and I barely know the man.”

“You are right,” Malcolm said softly, his heart aching for his cousin. “I do not understand the urgency for them to wed.”

“She has only just returned from three years away. Surely, she should be given more time to make her own choice?”

Malcolm sighed. “I do not believe my uncle wishes to wait. He has been hounding her on the topic for some weeks.”

Elizabeth looked close to tears as she watched the duke and Charlotte dancing.

“But look at them. I cannot be the only person in the room who sees how much they care for one another?”

“Indeed, you are not. But what is to be done?” Lord Preston’s fingers tightened around her hand. “We must focus on our own happiness and pray they find a way to theirs.”

Elizabeth smiled up at him, her own feelings fluttering through her once more at the future she might build with this man. Lord Preston was right; there was nothing she could do to influence her cousin’s path in life, but it was a frustrating truth that they should be so divided when their regard for one another was so clear.

Meanwhile, two pairs of eyes watched the duke keenly as the Norwells observed his persistent attachment to the Wentworth chit. Lady Norwell kept close to her daughter, calculating her next move to ensure that the duke’s attentions were diverted.

“Whatever does he see in her?” Lavinia muttered for her mother’s ears alone. “I have spent much time in her company, and all she speaks of is books and poetry. It is beyond reason that he should choose her.”

“He has done nothing of the sort,” Lady Norwell said emphatically. “A dance is a polite exchange based on obligation. Everyone knows Kilby is her match, and it will not be long before she is removed from the picture altogether. Do not despair, my love; your time will come.”

Lavinia’s back straightened at her words, and she watched the duke with renewed determination. Her eyes shifted to Lord Kilby, who was standing across the floor beside Lady Wentworth’s father. He had a jovial smile on his face and looked utterly oblivious to the rising tension between the duke and Lady Wentworth. But no matter, Lavinia intended to make her intentions very clear once their marriage had been agreed—and it could only be a matter of time.

Slowly, the dance came to an end, and with it, a murmuring began.

Colin released Lady Wentworth, noticing several eyes were upon them. He stood taller, unwilling to apologize merely for dancing with the lady. He had every right to do so; Kilby had no claim on her yet, and if Colin could prevent it, he would.

He frowned. The whispers did not seem to be in that vein now he came to listen to them. Taking Lady Wentworth’s hand, he led her out of the crowd, and as he heard one of the conversations beside him, his blood ran cold in his veins.

“It is said the late duke was compromised, that his fortune is in doubt…”

“It is grave news indeed, we have heard he lost hundreds of pounds from his investors, perhaps thousands…”

Colin kept his head held high even as his heart thundered in his chest. He felt too hot suddenly as the whispers continued on all sides. The ghosts of his past and the scandal he had tried so hard to hide were finally coming back to haunt him.

Lady Wentworth looked up at him, her gaze questioning.

“What is happening?” she asked quietly, and Colin realized belatedly that they were standing motionless in the centre of a crowd, her hand still held in his. Reluctantly, he pulled away, looking about him.

“I do not know,” he said softly, hoping that she believed him and allowing the mask to fall firmly back in place. He could not afford to show any weakness, not here.

Many of his guests were investors who had worked with his father. As he looked about him, several of them were notably absent. Colin’s jaw clenched at the possibility that someone had spread the rumours deliberately at the gathering his mother was holding.

Mama.

He turned on the spot to locate the dowager duchess, but she was conversing with several older ladies at the other side of the room and seemed oblivious to the storm slowly building around him.

He turned to Lady Wentworth grimly. Her beautiful face was all confusion, and for the second time in so many days, Colin held back the urge to pull her into his arms and never let her go.

“I spoke of duty and responsibility, Lady Wentworth. We are slaves to both, are we not?”

She frowned, her eyes flitting about uncertainly, but there was understanding in them, too. “Indeed, your Grace.”

He bowed to her and moved away through the room, leaving Charlotte alone. She glanced about her to see Malcolm and Lady Elizabeth returning from the dance floor. Elizabeth smiled warmly at her, and she went to join them, still uncertain what had been communicated and what was troubling the duke.

***

By the end of the night, Charlotte was even more confused. Whispers were spreading around the room to some degree, but mainly among the men. She had asked Malcolm to try and ascertain what was being spoken of, but all he could tell her was that some rumour had erupted about the late duke’s financial situation.

Charlotte paid little mind to it until her father came to retrieve her. She had managed to avoid Kilby for much of the night. Indeed, the man seemed to have disappeared altogether, which had been a rare blessing.

“I am ready to leave,” Lord Wentworth said stiffly. “Let us depart.”

His cold manner disturbed her, but she bid farewell to Malcolm and Elizabeth all the same and followed her father out of the ballroom. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of the duke standing beside his mother at the side of the room. He looked pale, his face blank, speaking to an acquaintance. She could hear the whispers even now. When she arrived, the ball had boasted a happy and excitable atmosphere, but now it seemed tense and filled with speculation.

As they climbed into the carriage, her father rapped angrily on the roof, and they rolled away without so much as a backward glance.

“You are a fool,” he spat, shocking her so entirely that she recoiled from him.

“Papa?”

“You realise that after you danced with the duke, Lord Kilby quit the ball entirely? You are a headstrong, stubborn girl. No matter your feelings on the matter, he is the best match you could ever hope for. Do you truly believe a man like the duke would pursue you? He has shown no interest until now, and given what was being spoken of tonight, he will make no claim upon any woman in the future.”

Charlotte stared at him. “What was being spoken of?”

“Never you mind. It is not for a lady’s ears. You will reconcile with Kilby, and hopefully, he will give you a second chance.”

Frustrated beyond bearing, Charlotte scoffed loudly. “It was a dance , Papa. Many women dance with more than one eligible man when they have a suitor. If Kilby is so sensitive to such things—”

“You will make amends,” he snapped. “Is that understood?”

Charlotte did not answer turning to stare out of the window, furious at the injustice and unfairness of it all. She did not care how Kilby felt or what her father wanted. All she could think about was how pale the duke had seemed.

What has been said about him? And is any of it true?