The days were winding down for the merry party at Bexley Manor. As one of the premier hostesses of the ton, Lady Bexley was all a flurry in making the last day in her grandiose home one to be remembered.

The ball for that night was to be spectacular. The ballroom was lit with hundreds of beeswax candles, their light shimmering over the white, blue, and golden silken draperies softening the windows.

In the refreshment room, delicate glass sculptures procured specially for this event, reflected the twinkling light from the many wall sconces. A stunning gilded tea service, bespoke for Lady Bexley, made its debut in a place on honor on the central table.

Admiring matrons surreptitiously turned the cups over, looking for the maker’s mark, then gently, reverently, set them back down. Side tables were filled with such delectables as smoked salmon, cherry and strawberry preserves, crisp crackers, and chutneys to pair with the many types of meat and various cheeses.

Emmeline, dressed in a deep-green satin gown, so dark its graceful folds appeared black, with white gloves and black satin dancing slippers, was standing on the staircase landing, looking on. Her hair was coiffed beautifully with a single small white rose in her golden-brown locks.

Despite all the gaiety around her, she was unsurprisingly melancholy. This night was the last time she could be near Noah, as the moment the dance was over at dawn, she would sleep and wake to find him gone–back to his home at Newberry Manor, and she to Leverton. This night was all she was going to have with the man who had captured her heart.

“Are you all right, Lady Emmeline?” Lady Bexley asked with a frown on her face. The Countess was garbed in a stunning gown with an overlay of white lace that had an all-over pattern of embroidered white flowers, with a silk underskirt of blossom pink, with a matching pink, wide ribbon crossing under the softly-gathered bodice. Her arms were gloved in white while she carried a folded fan in her left hand.

“I am,” Emmeline managed to reply with a forced smile, “I am just marveling at your wonderful display, Lady Bexley.”

“Oh, it is, isn’t it!” the lady nodded while fluttering her fan. “I have arranged for the best as it was our last night. The band is already situated and just waiting for me to sanction it. I’d be delighted if you would accompany me to the ballroom.”

“Of course, Madam,” Emmeline said, as she gently lifted her skirts and descended the staircase with the Lady of the Manor in step. They entered the antechamber where the guests were mingling. Ladies, dressed in their best gowns, holding elaborate fans, and wearing striking jewels, were chatting with the dapper gentlemen assembled.

Trying not to be too obvious, Emmeline searched for Noah but couldn’t find him in the throng of black-clad men with luxurious dress coats and sterling white cravats. The foyer was as luxuriously decorated as the ballroom. Passing the refreshment room, Emmeline eyed the sumptuous display of delicate buttery biscuits, beautifully-decorated cakes, colorful bonbons, spiced shortbread, and endless variety of fragrant morsels to nibble.

Inside the ballroom, Emmeline bade goodbye to the Lady Bexley and sought out her aunt, Lady Alford, who was standing to one side. Silently, Emmeline made her way over while skirting the chalked ground of the dancefloor.

“Aunt,” Emmeline greeted softly.

“Oh dear,” Lady Alford smiled, “I was just looking for you. Here is your card, Emmeline. I’ve approved all your partners, but I am a bit perplexed as to why the Duke of Newberry hasn’t petitioned a dance with you.”

Glancing at the card, Emmeline confirmed that her aunt was right–Noah’s name was not on it.

The call for the ladies and gentlemen to take places for the first dance was issued through the room, and Emmeline kissed her aunt on the cheek and moved to the floor. As the daughter of a Duke, she was near the top of the line but several of the older ladies outranked her.

When everyone was lined up, and only then, the musicians, seated on the balcony above and the stair landings, began to play. Emmeline noted the Duchess of Newberry at the edge of the dining hall, in a bronze gown and black gloves, before the music started. Lady Bexley, as the hostess, led the dance, with a middle-aged Duke, who Emmeline vaguely remembered hearing might be related to the Bexley’s by marriage, while her son, Lord Bexley, was next in the line with his partner.

Lord Bexley danced down the line, and eventually became Lady Emmeline’s partner. He was a good dancer, but the moment their hands touched, Emmeline found herself wishing it was Noah.

“You have a graceful step, My Lady,” Lord Bexley said quietly, as they turned, “though I ascertain that your mind is somewhere else.”

Emmeline tried to smile, but her expression was strained at the edges. There was no point in lying to him as he was right, “Your perception is not wrong, My Lord. I find myself double minded at this hour.”

“And I think I know what is the cause of your uncertainty. I have told him that this enmity between your family and his is an extinct one,” Lord Bexley replied soberly. “It has its place in the annals of history, My Lady, and one would be foolish to continue it.”

“I am grateful you think so, My Lord,” Emmeline sighed, “but if I could change it, I would have the power to rule the weather.”

“Nothing is impossible, My Lady,” the Earl replied. “The Devil may roll dice, but God is the author of destiny.”

Their turn together came to an end and then Lord Bexley ducked his head to whisper quickly in her ear, “I am tasked to tell you that he will meet you this night. Go to the powder room at the end of the hall.”

When the dance finally ended, Emmeline, after curtseying, stood there with soft trembling under her skin. The dances were staged several minutes apart to allow the servants to circulate among the dancers with trays of punch or champagne, and for the gentlemen to find their next dancing partners. Ladies would hasten to the retiring room to have loose hems fixed, or to tame escaped wisps of hair set free by the energetic dancing.

Emmeline was so nervous that she couldn’t swallow a mouthful of the punch, fortified with brandy, rum, and wine. The second dance, a cotillion, took place. She was partnered with Viscount Connelly, a bachelor who owned large wineries in the south of the country. His conversation was easy, commenting on the extent of the Countess’ preparations, to produce such an elegant ball.

When the quadrille came about, Emmeline was nervous to the point she found herself biting her lip in an unladylike fashion. Seeing it, Lady Alford slapped her with her fan in a wordless rebuke.

Come on Emmeline, she chided herself as she took the square formation, nothing untoward will happen tonight. Noah knows more than to be a scoundrel.

The dance started, and for the love of God, Emmeline could not remember her partner’s name. It was possibly Pettigrew or Pierre or Poindexter–all she knew was that the man’s name started with P.

When the dance finished, she graciously thanked him, and with a courtesy went to the refreshment room. An attendant poured her a goblet of water and Emmeline stood, in almost crippling anxiety, for what was coming next.

Other couples came in and drank punch or nibbled on a treat, speaking mostly to the ones they came with. Emmeline was grateful that she was ignored. A bit fortified, Emmeline slipped out of the room and, using Lord Bexley’s instructions, went to the powder room at the end of the hallway.

She stood at the doorway of the room, looking all around for Noah but did not see anyone. Had Noah played a trick on her? Where was he? She did not doubt that Lord Bexley's words were true, so what was happening?

Then the door opened, and Emmeline jumped a little. Inside was the Duchess of Newberry, who reached out and tugged Emmeline inside. The door was closed tightly, and the young lady’s heart was pounding so loudly her ears were ringing.

“Your Gr–”

“Lady Emmeline,” the Duchess cut in brusquely, “do you love my son?”

Emmeline grabbed at the door behind her as her heart raced even more. Where was this coming from? Hadn’t the Duchess already told her that their union was doomed from the start? Wasn’t she supposed to be ignored? What was this?

“Answer me, Lady Emmeline,” the older lady ordered, “do you or do you not love my son?”

Finding some strength within her, Emmeline nodded before she cleared her throat and spoke, “I do, Your Grace.”

The lady’s stare was hard, “What would you do to be with him, Lady Emmeline? Would you forsake your family and position? Would you do away with pomp and pageantry for a chance to be with whom you love?”

The questions hit her hard and though Emmeline was confused she answered, “Yes, Madam, I would give all in my power for his love.”

The Duchess stared her in her eyes. “You’d give everything?”

Now Emmeline was getting scared, but she knew the Duchess would never hurt her, “Yes, Madam.”

The lady did not relax. “If you are determined to be with my son, you must listen to every word I say…”

Emmeline left the powder room with her head spinning in circles. The Duchess had left just moments before, and Emmeline was still digesting the words the lady had spoken.

She stepped further down the hallway, still in a daze, when a deep voice called her name. Spinning around, Emmeline spotted Noah coming towards her. The light seemed to be sucked in his dark dress coat, fitted pants, and low waistcoat. His cravat was a shining white, throwing his ruddy complexion off in a drastic contrast.

“Noah,” Emmeline said, “You’re here.”

The Duke sighed lightly, “I am. I apologize for making you wait. A conversation with Lord Williams delayed me, and though I tried to escape him without being rude, he brushed my excuses off, until, suddenly he glanced at his pocket watch and relieved me of his monotone drivel.”

Impeccable timing, isn’t it? Emmeline thought wryly.

“Lord Bexley told me that you needed to speak with me,” Emmeline hedged, for in truth she did not know why Noah had requested to see her.

Noah reached out and grasped her hand–one that Emmeline hated to admit was so clammy under her white glove. “I do, but not here. Come with me.”

The Duke led them up the stairs, across the landing, and onto a balcony. The ledge was just above the ballroom and soft strains of the music from below wafted up to them.

Noah grasped her softly, pulled her into his arms, and started dancing with her slowly. Emmeline forced herself to fix this night with Noah in her mind, and not focus on what the Duchess of Newberry had spoken to her about.

Resting her head on his chest, Emmeline breathed in the fresh scent of his clothes, and the tiny hint of perfume coming from the handkerchief in his inner pocket. Noah’s body was solid, and he held her with such surety that Emmeline prayed that she could feel his touch for the rest of her life.

The dance stopped, and Noah plucked the rose from her hair. She tilted her head to see the Duke’s long fingers twirl the flower.

“A rose,” Noah remarked, “A fitting flower for someone as pure as you are. Your thorns, My Lady, are also present, but after being pierced with them, I have found that I am a glutton for the pain they bring, and I would have it no other way.”

The words he was saying only enhanced the anxiety inside her and her stomach felt in turmoil. She felt the next words he was going to speak would test her.

“I plan to challenge your brother to a duel for your hand,” Noah said stately.

The turmoil inside her erupted, “A duel! Noah, you are already in question for St. Maur’s death, how can you be thinking of challenging another that might succumb to the same fate? Are you mad, Noah?”

The man grabbed her shoulders and looked her straight in her eyes. Emmeline grimly noted that Noah’s gray eyes were a striking duplication of his mother’s, and both were unnerving.

“I love you, Lady Emmeline Grant.” Noah professed, “Night after night I have turned in my bed, with precious sleep eluding me, as I kept thinking of any way to have you be mine. Every peaceful plan I had met roadblocks, and I was forced to come to that conclusion. I cannot see any other way of winning you.”

The words came out before she knew them, “I love you too, Noah, but I cannot stand by and let you put yourself and my brother in danger for me. I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than see you dead.”

Tugging away, Emmeline ran, with the burn of tears under her eyelids. She hurried down the corridors and dashed to her room and secured the lock behind her as the tears came trickling down her cheeks.

“This stupid feud,” Emmeline cried while striking the wooden door with a closed fist, “I’m doomed to die alone all because of an old grudge!”

Sinking to the floor with her gown crumbling under her, the Duchess’ words were coming back to her in spades. At first, she had thought the woman was ludicrous, but now her words were making sense.

“Your brother George is going to refuse my son’s petition to marry you and will do any and everything to spite him, despite knowing that he has the power to banish this petty grievance,” the Duchess of Newberry had stated. “My mother-in-law is hell bent on continuing this feud, but I for one, think it is an old nuisance, stopping two profitable Duchies from an even more gainful connection.”

Emmeline was hesitant, “Then what do you propose we do?”

“After the next assembly, there will be situations where the two will have to be in each other’s presence. Do whatever is in your power to turn your brother’s mind to us, while I do the same on my son…hopefully we can get them to make peace before a drastic step is taken,” the Duchess replied.

“And how severe would that be?” Emmeline asked.

The Duchess’ smile was a bit unsettling.

Breathing slowly, Emmeline hoped and prayed that the situation would not get that far, but knowing how stubborn her brother was, and how tenacious Noah tended to be, it was a far-fetched hope.