Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Candles flickered in their holders, casting a warm, yellow glow in the crowded ballroom. A murmur of several dozens of voices could be heard above the jovial music playing and the dancers lightly stomping their feet as they followed the energetic steps of the current set.

A sharp burst of laughter pierced through the contending noises, briefly drawing several mildly interested onlookers before they returned to their conversations, which likely consisted of gossip and people sharing stories about their lives.

William didn't really pay attention to any of this. His eyes were solely on the beautiful, fair-haired young woman dancing with his friend. Charlotte was light of foot and a wonderful dancer, something he had learned moments earlier when he had the pleasure of dancing with her. She enjoyed the activity much more than he did, so he didn't mind his friend taking his place while he watched from the side.

Unlike Henry, William could trust Gregory to never have fancies about his wife. His brother was a slithering, camouflaged snake that only struck when one least expected it. Henry was a master manipulator and always coveted what others had.

William recalled how Henry had relished taking things he held dear, like his collection of wooden birds his maternal grandfather had carved for him. He had created one every year for William's birthday without fail, so it was something special and unique.

When William was fifteen, Henry decided he liked birds and demanded the wooden creations. Henry put up such a fuss until he made himself ill with horrible, earsplitting tantrums. William was forced to give all fifteen birds to his brother, which broke his young heart. It was the last time he allowed himself to grow attached to something.

Even growing attached to people was difficult. The one person who loved him unconditionally died when he was young, and his father withheld affection until his dying day—these were not precisely encouragements to seek companionship with others. William would either be too afraid to lose someone he loved or that the person he adored would one day hate him. Gregory was the only one who managed to get past William's insecurities with his jovial manner and persistent chatter. He proved over and over again that he was loyal and only had the best intentions toward William.

His affection toward his friend was only eclipsed by his growing feelings for Charlotte. Yet, in the very pit of his stomach sat a fear that his wife might decide he wasn't good enough and seek affection elsewhere. William didn't know if it would ever go away, but he hoped it would.

William tilted his head to the side as he watched his wife prance around like a faerie. No one else came close to her beauty—at least in his eyes. He could be biased, but he didn't believe so. William had noticed others staring the moment they stepped out of their carriage over an hour ago. Men and women couldn't resist observing Charlotte, some doing so openly while others were far more covert.

None of them went unnoticed by William, but what really astonished him was his wife's lack of awareness that many watched her. Many women with any reasonable amount of beauty tended to enjoy the attention and did their best to hold it, but Charlotte didn't appear to care. Her actions rang true with what he had learned about her these past weeks.

Despite her stubborn ways and feisty nature, her heart was pure gold, and her mind was a lovely mixture of intelligence, imagination, and curiosity. It made him look forward to every interaction with her.

"Your Grace," a portly man called from his left.

William's thoughts about his wife briefly stopped as he turned to the man. It was the gentleman he had met earlier—Lord Finney. Apparently, he had known William's mother because his sister was a childhood friend. William couldn't recall any of his mother's friends, but the man had no reason to lie about such a thing, so he had taken his words as truth.

"Lord Finney," he responded, turning to the mustachioed man. "Are you enjoying the ball?"

The man nodded. "Very much so, Your Grace," he replied. "I was about to ask you the same thing. It is wonderful seeing you at these events. Your mother enjoyed balls and dancing very much. It seems your wife is the same. You are indeed a fortunate man—she is lovely."

Lord Finney only held admiration in his voice, not the lewd, lustful covetousness of other men.

"She is," William agreed. "And I am fortunate."

"I hear you got married very recently," Lord Finney continued. "A belated congratulations to you."

"Thank you, my lord."

"We should have dinner together one day," said Lord Finney. "My eldest daughter is near Her Grace's age. Perhaps they can become friends."

This was the part of socializing William preferred to ignore. He recalled how his father had stressed making connections with the right people and that every interaction was a chance to further one's influence. William had disliked turning every relationship into his own selfish agenda.

It just seemed so self-serving and shallow, so he preferred to keep to himself where possible. However, being a married man with a wife who loved speaking with others and making friends, he couldn't altogether avoid the matter.

"I believe my wife would like that," he replied.

He turned back to the dancing couples and frowned when he could no longer see Charlotte or Gregory. He looked around and eventually found his friend talking to Louise and a few others, but Charlotte was still nowhere to be found.

"I wish I had Her Grace's energy," Lord Finney commented.

William looked at him and noticed he was staring somewhere. He had said Her Grace , which could only mean he was looking at Charlotte. William followed the man's line of vision and immediately grew still. She was dancing with Henry, who was grinning with the self-satisfied smile of a man accustomed to getting everything he wanted. William wanted to go over there and pull his brother away from his wife and throw him outside, but instead, he excused himself from Lord Finney and walked over to Gregory.

"There you are," said Gregory when he saw William. His friend raised his eyebrows when he saw his thunderous expression. "Ah, so you've seen your wife and brother." He drew closer. "Before you jump to conclusions, Lord Henry took Her Grace by surprise and asked for a dance. She couldn't refuse, not without drawing attention."

Gregory knew him too well. William didn't even have to open his mouth to know precisely what the matter was.

"He never stops, does he?" William growled. "He's always looking for a way to get closer to her."

Just for a moment, he believed his brother had given up his unacceptable interest in Charlotte. He had mostly ignored her from the night they all had dinner together several days ago. Perhaps he had merely pulled back for a moment to give William a false sense of security before striking again. William would be a fool to think otherwise.

"Charlotte is a wise young woman," Gregory said. "I'm certain she will keep him at arm's length for as much as she is able. Henry is never subtle about his intentions."

"I cannot leave her to his intentions," said William. "Excuse me for a moment."

He moved past the throng of guests between him and the dance floor, gently shouldering his way through. William's eyes never wavered from his wife and brother. He felt he couldn't take his eyes off them for even a second for fear of what Henry might do. It seemed ridiculous, considering there supposedly wasn't much his brother could do with so many eyes on him, but one couldn't underestimate him. William certainly didn't. One specific look, gesture, or word was enough to set fire to London with whispers that perhaps Charlotte and Henry were a better match or that something was brewing between them. William wanted to ensure nothing like that could happen.

His anger burned hot in his veins whenever he thought about his brother's sly ways, but he kept the heat of ire from rising to the surface through sheer will. One already lost the battle if one couldn't keep their emotions controlled. William had lost many fights growing up, but he intended to win the final war for his happiness.

"Do you mind if I take my wife's hand?" he said, sidling up to his brother.

Henry turned his head. He didn't appear surprised to see him. "Dear brother," he said. "You wish to cut in before the dance is through? Why?"

Henry raised his voice. He sounded defensive, but his eyes remained cold with chilling purpose. William knew this look well.

"I simply wish to dance with my wife," William replied. "Is that so odd? Why do you seem so resistant?"

One side of Henry's mouth lifted. "Not resistant at all, dear brother," he said. "Only surprised you would deny me one dance with my lovely sister-in-law. Why?"

People continued dancing around them, but their eyes were more on the scene before them than their partners. William hated drawing attention to himself, but at that moment, he was more concerned about removing his wife from his brother's gaze.

"Perhaps we can all get refreshment," said Charlotte, drawing their gazes. "I feel rather tired. I danced three sets without rest. Surely you understand, Lord Henry?"

William stepped closer to his wife, placing a hand around her waist. It was uncharacteristic of him, but Henry had done so moments ago during their dance. He wanted to remove all traces of his brother from his wife's body. Even the briefest of touches was unacceptable. This level of possessiveness should have been alarming, but rather, it felt invigorating. Charlotte belonged to him alone—Henry had no right to even think about stealing her away.

"Well, if the lady desires a drink, far be it from me to keep her from it," Henry replied with an exaggerated bow. "I await our next dance, dear sister-in-law."

William's upper lip curled with a sharp retort, but Charlotte wrapped her small hand around his wrist. Her cool touch pushed away the haze of anger clouding his judgment and stilled his response. Arguing with his brother in clear view of others would not give him the satisfaction he wanted. Instead, it would make people question his relationship with his wife and brother.

Henry sauntered away as though he had done nothing at all to earn William's anger. It was amazing how his brother could simply absolve himself of all guilt and go about his life with a clear mind.

"Come," said Charlotte, wrapping her arm around his. "I would really like something to drink." She leaned against him. "And thank you for coming to save me from more dancing. I didn't want to seem rude by refusing him. He is your brother, after all."

William nodded and led her off the dance floor, but as they approached the refreshment table, he couldn't help the niggling doubt that always lurked in the shadows of his mind. Charlotte was an outspoken woman who wasn't one to allow others to push her into a corner. She could have devised an excuse to avoid Henry, but perhaps she hadn't wanted that.