CHAPTER FOUR

Colin breathed a sigh of relief as he extricated himself from yet another forgettable brunette. He left the dance floor, finding solace in the corner of the room near a slim column that partially obscured him from view.

The weight of expectation, his title, and everything that he represented in this room felt like a physical anchor around his neck. All he needed was a few moments of peace, and he would be able to rejoin the throng.

From across the room, two pairs of eyes watched the duke with great interest. Lady Victoria Norwell and her daughter Lavinia had barely taken their eyes off him for the entirety of the ball.

Lady Victoria knew that her daughter was pretty enough to ensnare anyone. They both were similar in appearance, with dark hair, matching dark eyes, and olive skin from her Italian heritage. Lavinia was radiant tonight, and Victoria intended for her to be noticed by the duke.

“He will not be alone on many occasions tonight,” she said to her daughter quietly. “You must pick your moment.”

Lavinia glanced back at her, the ruby earrings in her ears perfectly complimenting the detailing in her gown.

“Yes, Mama. Do you think I should make my way to him now?”

“No child. It would look too deliberate. We must wait. There will be time. Come, let us move to a higher point where we can observe who he speaks to. If we can connect with his circle, you are sure to win his attention.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Victoria smiled down at her daughter. She had been bred from a young age to know the value of a good match, and tonight was the night her future would be put in motion. The two women moved away through the crowd like swans on a river of people, their eyes never leaving the duke’s position for more than a few moments together.

Lavinia, not looking where she was going, jostled against Charlotte as she moved through the crowd and Charlotte almost toppled over, caught off balance by the abrupt contact.

Lavinia did not even turn to look at her.

Charlotte stared after her, affronted by her rudeness, but quickly schooled her features as she turned back to the man she was speaking to. She had been caught for an interminable amount of time with a boorish oaf of a man named Clement-Smyth, who enjoyed the sound of his own voice far more than anyone enjoyed listening to it. Her father had joined them a few moments before and rejoiced in finding a fellow conservative to lament the failings of the current Prime Minister.

Distracted by Lavinia’s rudeness, Charlotte looked around the room to see if she could find Malcolm and make her excuses. Instead, she found her attention caught by another man across the room.

He was extremely tall with elegant features and sweeping black hair that made him seem paler than many around him. Her father evidently had caught the direction of her gaze, and to her dismay, insisted upon introducing them immediately.

A new set was just beginning as they reached the newcomer. He was even more handsome at close quarters, but something was subtly wrong with his face. His smile was almost always present, but it did not reach his eyes. Charlotte had an uneasy feeling that he was putting on a front, but she couldn’t explain why.

“Lord Kilby!” her father exclaimed with obvious glee. “I had no idea you would be attending tonight. How are you faring?”

“Very well, my Lord, and what a pleasure it is to be in your company again.”

“Lord Kilby, may I introduce my daughter, Lady Charlotte Wentworth? Charlotte, this is Lord Percy Kilby, an old friend of mine. I had the pleasure of knowing his father at Oxford.”

Lord Kilby’s eyes were alive with interest now, that same odd smile curling over his face, his lips kicking up at one side. “Lady Wentworth, pleased to make your acquaintance. Might I request the honour of the next set?”

Charlotte felt on edge in the man’s company but knew it would be a terrible insult if she refused to dance with him without a reason.

“Thank you, my Lord, I would be delighted.”

Lord Kilby’s smile was a little more genuine now and at least it did reach his eyes when she agreed. Perhaps it is not all a mask, then.

He took her hand, and they walked to the dance floor, Charlotte painfully aware of the many eyes in the room upon them. She prayed that she remembered the steps and did not disgrace herself.

They moved seamlessly among the other couples, and Charlotte felt Lord Kilby’s hand settle lightly against the small of her back.

“I have heard a great deal about you, Lady Wentworth,” he murmured. “It is a pleasure to see you rejoin society.”

Charlotte managed a tight smile. “Thank you, my Lord, it is good to be back in London.” It was an abject lie, but Kilby seemed pleased by it.

“I was most sorry to hear of your mother’s death.”

Charlotte stiffened considerably and had to force her body to relax. “Thank you, my Lord.”

“I have known your father for some time. He visited my estate last year at Christmas for an event my mother was hosting. He is an excellent fellow.”

Perhaps you should be dancing with him then, she thought bitterly, aware she was being unduly unfair to the man but wishing she had never agreed to dance with him.

“Does your father have much business in town? I shall call on him as soon as I am able.”

“I do not know, my Lord, but I am sure you would be most welcome.” The words felt like ash in her mouth, and Charlotte was desperate for the dance to end. There was something probing about the man’s look, as though he saw through her facade and recognized the fear and uncertainty within.

On the other side of the dance floor, Malcolm Preston finished his glass of wine and rubbed his sweating hands against the edge of his tailcoat. Lady Elizabeth Ludlow looked exquisite this evening. He had only danced with her once before at the Addington ball, and even then, he had been too nervous to ask her anything coherent.

Now, five weeks later, he had spent a great deal of time planning what he might say and approached her carefully, hoping her card was not already full.

“Lady Ludlow?”

To his relief, she turned, and her face broke into a happy smile at the sight of him.

“Lord Preston! Good evening to you.”

“Good evening; I wondered whether I might have the pleasure of this dance?”

Elizabeth’s smile widened further. “I would be delighted.”

His body vibrating with excitement, as he took her hand and led her onto the floor where they joined the set. He could see Charlotte dancing with Lord Kilby, although she looked a little uncertain about her partner. Elizabeth’s small frame seemed swamped by the other dancers, and Malcolm, at nearly six feet tall, was worried he might topple her over if they moved too fast.

As they began to dance, however, he felt his nerves ease and looked down at her, trying to calm his thundering heartbeat. She was more beautiful than he remembered, and her long curling hair was fascinating to him. He found himself idly following the line of the ribbons that secured it as they danced.

“Are you fond of ribbons, my Lord?” she asked, a teasing edge to her voice that made his heart hammer against his ribs.

“My apologies, Lady Ludlow, but I was trying to ascertain how your hair remains upright.”

She laughed at that, her blue eyes glinting. “You would have to ask my lady’s maid, but she has her own way with my hair. It is not something that anyone should approach lightly.”

Malcolm gave a bark of laughter in response, making one of the other couples glance back at him.

“You speak as though it were a beast.”

“It can be, my Lord. Do not doubt it.”

“Well then, I am pleased you have tamed it. It looks very pretty.”

A flush flooded her high cheekbones, and she smiled as they turned in a leisurely circle about the floor.

“Thank you, my Lord, you are most kind.”

“And did I see your cousin arrive a short time ago?”

“Yes,” Lady Ludlow replied, her eyes moving past his shoulder. “The duke is here with his mother. Indeed, they are dancing just behind us.” Malcolm glanced back at the rather austere duke and the Dowager Duchess Maria Ludlow. His Grace was a wonderful dancer, poised and precise in every movement, making Malcolm feel rather inadequate in comparison.

In truth, Colin was not enjoying dancing. His mother whispered incessantly in his ear as they passed by various families about the eligible women in their midst and he was very pleased when he could escape to the refreshment table as the set ended.

Hot and sweating into his coat, Colin made for the iced punch just as someone appeared beside him.

“To think of all those ladies you deprived of a dance by standing up with your Mama.”

Colin turned to Elizabeth, who was looking just as flushed. He raised a mocking eyebrow and poured her a glass.

“May I remind you that my mother is just as fond of dancing as all the debutants in the room, and I can hardly deprive her when she asks. I would never hear the end of it.”

Elizabeth took the glass with a mischievous grin. “Still, so many ladies have been disappointed. I wonder that you can bear it.”

Colin rolled his eyes and drank a large quantity of his own glass of punch as they stood with their backs to the table. The ballroom had become stifling and overheated with the number of bodies. Smoke drifted across the company, giving everything a hazy glow.

He smiled at her gratefully. He loved Elizabeth dearly. She had grown into a beautiful and accomplished young woman, more sensible than many others in the crowd. He looked down at her affectionately with a small smile. Perhaps grown was too strong a word. He believed since he saw her last, she had shrunk to an even smaller size than he remembered.

***

As the night wore on, Colin danced one more set before he was about to excuse himself for the evening. He was exhausted, having been on high alert to ensure that nothing in his countenance or actions was amiss.

As he sipped his glass of claret, watching the dancing in a quiet moment of peace, his gut clenched when he noticed Lady Norwell and her daughter approaching him. Lady Lavinia was very pretty with strikingly dark hair to match her mother, but that was where her qualities ended. She was a perpetually unhappy woman, complaining about everything she came across. Lady Lavinia had even slighted Elizabeth at a recent ball, and Colin’s shoulders tightened as they neared him.

Is it too much to ask to be given five minutes of peace?

Pretending he had not seen them, Colin finished his glass and squeezed past a group beside him to get lost in the crowds. He looked frantically for somewhere to escape. The room felt suffocating suddenly, and he longed to have some time by himself without the judgment of two hundred eyes on his back.

Spying a door to the terrace, he made for it, walking at a leisurely enough pace so as not to arouse suspicion but ignoring anyone who tried to speak with him.

A cool breeze hit his face as he slipped into the night, thankful that no one seemed to have noticed his escape and headed quickly across the stone walkway and down the steps away from the merry music and the wild chattering of the guests.

The gardens were shrouded in shadow, cool and quiet. A few shapes moved in the distance as couples walked together amongst the trees, but it was immeasurably preferable to the ballroom. For the first time that evening, Colin felt his shoulders truly relax, his muscles losing their tension as he took a long, deep breath.

He wandered forward, keeping an eye out ahead of him for anyone he might know who would wish to speak to him. As he rounded a corner behind some high hedges, the clouds parted, and a stream of moonlight landed upon the ground, bathing the grass in silver light like fish beneath the surface of a stream.

Colin stopped.

Ahead of him, standing beside the bushes and admiring one of the roses, was a young woman he had not seen before. She wore a long green dress inlaid with gold and was standing with another woman as they conversed quietly. It was a calm and pleasant scene, unpretentious and genuine, as the younger woman laughed at something the other said. Colin recognized the younger woman’s companion from a few years before. He felt a surge of relief as the name Gilmore came to him just as they both looked up in surprise.

He bowed and swiftly approached them. “I am sorry,” he said, bowing again. “I did not wish to disturb you.” Miss Gilmore moved in front of her charge, making it clear that she was her chaperone and looking at Colin rather warily. “Miss Gilmore,” he said softly. “We met a few years ago at a garden party, I believe.”

Miss Gilmore looked extremely relieved and curtsied to him genteelly. “Your Grace, may I introduce Lady Charlotte Wentworth. Lady Wentworth, the Duke of Lindenbrook.”

Lady Wentworth curtsied, bowing her head, her pale neck highlighted by the stark moonlight. “It is good to meet you, your Grace,” she said, glancing up at the windows of the house where the music could be heard across the lawns. “Tell me, have you come to escape, as well?”

Colin stared at her, aware of Miss Gilmore raising her eyes briefly to the heavens in the wake of that statement. Lady Wentworth did not look in the least contrite, however, speaking of escaping society as though it were the most commonplace thing on earth.

“Escape, Lady Wentworth?”

“Forgive me; I merely meant that you may have come to the gardens for some respite from the heat.”

Colin almost groaned inwardly. “Yes, the heat is stifling.”

If one more person tells me of the heat of the room, I shall—

“It is quite the topic of conversation,” Lady Wentworth rolled her eyes. “I have never been so tired of hearing how hot I must be from three separate individuals on the floor. Do people not realise constantly referring to the heat will make it worse for all concerned?”

Miss Gilmore moved a little closer to her companion, and Colin watched, fascinated, as she lightly touched Lady Wentworth’s elbow. This was not a seemly conversation, clearly, and Colin found himself rejoicing in it.

“I believe I must agree, Lady Wentworth. I have, thus far, entertained approximately ten conversations on the subject. If we stay the entire evening, we may reach twenty by the end of the night.”

That brought about a laugh from Lady Wentworth, whose rather sorrowful expression transformed into one of delight, and Colin felt a jolt of something deep within him upon seeing it.

“I suppose it is the nature of society,” Lady Wentworth said.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

“Well, it is the only agreeable thing to speak of, is it not?” she said wearily. “One would not discuss politics or poetry during a dance, so one is confined to the heat of the room, the number of couples, or the weather.”

Her tone was so scathing that Colin found himself smiling. It was unusual, not to say unheard of, for a woman to speak so in society—and certainly not to a man she had only just become acquainted with.

“And how is the weather, my Lady?”

Charlotte gave him a knowing glare, “Quite terrible, your Grace. Were you not made aware of this by your partners?”

“I was,” he said happily. “Several times.”

“I do not understand why I cannot discuss something of interest to me instead of parroting a script that everyone else has learned by heart. It is infuriating.”

Miss Gilmore cleared her throat, and Colin saw the moment Lady Wentworth realized her error. She sucked in a sharp breath and drew out her fan, looking flustered.

“Of—of course, that is not my place to say,” she finished, glancing at her companion in despair, and Colin felt compelled to reassure her.

“I would say it is exactly your place. I have asked, after all. What do you prefer to speak of, Lady Wentworth? I am most interested to know.”

Lady Wentworth’s fluttering stopped, and she fixed him with an assessing stare. It was a brief moment between them, but that stare lit something at the back of Colin’s mind like a beacon in the dark.

She looked at him as though calculating whether she could truly be herself with him—and what a rare thing that would be. Colin could not remember the last time anyone had been their true selves around him since he had inherited the title. Aside from Edward, he was keenly cognizant of how those in his presence trode lightly, their demeanour servile and sycophantic, eager to ingratiate themselves.

Lady Wentworth seemed to look at him, calculate his intent, and then decide to be just the person she was without any scruples at all.

“I would tell them that I find Lord Byron a bore and that I much prefer the work of Samuel Coleridge,” she stated firmly.

Colin blinked at her, and then a laugh bubbled up from within him unbidden, and he chuckled into the night, feeling his face ache from the width of his smile.

“How much more pleasant the night would be if one could discuss poetry. But I am quite appalled, Lady Wentworth. Lord Byron, a bore ? You would be struck from every invitation in the country.”

Lady Wentworth’s hand moved to her reticule, holding it tightly against her even as her eyes sparkled at him in the moonlight.

“I believe it would be a small price to pay.”

Colin was about to reply when voices could be heard approaching them. He recognized that of Lady Norwell and a fresh jolt of panic ran through him that he might be cornered by them in the gardens. He would not put it past the woman to try to ensnare him whilst alone with her daughter.

Feeling regret at leaving his charming new companion, Colin turned to Lady Wentworth and Miss Gilmore and bowed.

“I fear I must return to the ballroom again, my ladies. However, it has been most… educational speaking with you this evening. I wish you a pleasant walk about the gardens.”

He turned swiftly, leaving the little rose garden by another way so as to avoid the Norwells, and made his way back to the ballroom as swiftly as he could.

Lady Wentworth had intrigued him. She did not have the veneer of polished society, and for that, she was all the more pleasant to know. She seemed unguarded, like freshly hewn stone, and he had enjoyed their meeting more than he had enjoyed anything in a very long time.

***

“And what did you mean by speaking to him in such a way?” Sarah asked. It was not quite the scolding tone that Charlotte was used to from her school days, but it was not far off.

“I have spent three hours speaking to simpletons,” Charlotte protested. “I have decided that any man I meet now will be tested, and if he is found wanting, I shall ignore him.”

“Charlotte, you and I both know you do not have that luxury. I would lay down every principle I have to see you happy, but that was the Duke of Lindenbrook; he is not someone who will take kindly to a loss of decorum.”

“I do not believe I was guilty of that. I simply spoke my mind. Or is that the equivalent for a woman these days?”

“You know it is. I do not wish for you to tarnish your reputation before it has even been established; that is all I mean.”

Charlotte sighed. “I know. I did not mean to embarrass you. I have simply reached the end of my tolerance for this charade everyone is playing.”

“We knew tonight would be trying, and you have done very well,” Sarah conceded as they walked back up the steps of the terrace and re-entered the stifling heat of the room.

Charlotte’s eyes sought out the duke without conscious thought. He was standing talking to another man in quiet, measured tones. She had seen him a little that night and had thought him very pompous from a distance. He held himself in a way that appeared arrogant, but the man she had met in the gardens was almost playful—as though they were two different people entirely.

She examined his face now that she could see it more clearly. The duke was not conventionally handsome with a brooding, rather stern exterior, and very dark hair swept back from his face, a long nose, and dark eyebrows above piercing green eyes. But his features were aristocratic, arch, and inviting—it was a face she very much enjoyed looking at.

Sarah tugged on her arm gently. “There is your father. We should join him before we are missed.”

Charlotte swallowed, dragging her gaze back to the crowd around her.

The Duke of Lindenbrook might look severe, but he is by far the most interesting man I met tonight.