Chapter 13
The Duke and Duchess of Aston threw the most sumptuous and entertaining parties of the season. It was an accepted fact and so the events were often crushes of the most important people in London. Well, in Europe, really.
Unlike some nobles, the duke and duchess were not determined to keep common folk out of their gathering. They invited artists, writers, political people, and the great thinkers of the day.
It was an interesting mix and tonight was no different.
At one time, Beatrix would have thrilled to be at such a gathering. Now, she stood waiting to be announced with Hyacinth, her hands shaking.
She should not have agreed to attend. She should have insisted on private meetings with all the potential lords. But Hyacinth had convinced her that since all three were to be in attendance, it would be her best opportunity to see if she approved of one more than the others. It was a more natural setting, after all, than an interview. In the morning, she could send out her letters.
So, she had donned a gown that had been meant for her first season. The gold shot pale silk slid over her skin like Adam’s caress.
She blanched at the thought. After his departure, she had struggled to gather herself. It had been next to impossible.
When she considered the getting of an heir with the men on her list, she felt nothing except a satisfaction that her duty would be achieved.
When she thought of Adam as the role of father. . . My God, she could think of nothing else but how that child would be potentially made.
Suddenly, her name and the dowager duchess’ reverberated through the huge ballroom.
They entered to the sound of hundreds of people suddenly growing fairly silent.
As she stood just at the entry, she girded herself. Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she clutched her cane and marched forward.
The room erupted into titters of gossip which set her teeth on edge.
How she wished Adam was beside her to make a jest or, at the very least, an accurate summation of the fools eyeing her.
Instead, Hyacinth touched her white-gloved arm. “You are splendid, my dear. They have nothing to match you.”
The words should have given her comfort. They did the opposite for they only invoked the disparity in how she once was to how she was now.
Still, she followed the dowager into the ornate ballroom. Ignoring those around her, she hoped, instead, to see the Earl of Ellesmere, the Marquis of Huxton or Viscount Rockford somewhere in the mirror-lined, rectangular room.
They were nowhere in immediate sight.
The Duchess of Aston appeared before them, fan fluttering, red hair curled to perfection and a gown that looked like sin fairly painted onto her lithe body. “Dearest Dowager Hyacinth, where are your rapscallion sons? I long to see their wives.”
Hyacinth laughed. “They have grown old and happy to sit by the fire. They’ve gone down to the country.”
“Lucky them,” Duchess Rosamund declared, her beautiful Scottish burr as lovely as spun clouds. “Now, are you dancing this evening?”
“Of course,” Hyacinth said, then gestured to Beatrix. “As is my young charge.”
Beatrix nearly let out a bleat of protest, but she managed to contain it.
“Och, Lady Beatrix. It’s a pleasure.” The words were genuine and kind. “Now, what lucky young man shall we find for you to bewitch.”
“Viscount Rockford?” Beatrix blurted.
The duchess blinked at her specific request but smiled, nonetheless. “I do believe he’s at the gambling tables.
“The Marquis of Huxton?” Beatrix asked, hearing the hint of desperation in her own voice. Blast, she must sound like a loon.
“Alas, he sent his apologies.” The duchess scanned the company. “I can recommend—”
“The Earl of Ellesmere?”
Hyacinth gave her a slight prod with her elbow.
Beatrix paid no mind. She was here for one reason. And dancing wasn’t it.
“I do like a young lady who knows her own mind,” the duchess said, clearly choosing to ignore the oddity of the whole affair. “He is somewhere about. Let us find him.”
To her consternation, the duchess drew her away from Hyacinth and began leading her through the crowded room, taking her time as if she had not noticed Beatrix’s cane at all.
“Ellesmere is a fine fellow and handsome to boot,” the duchess praised. “I don’t wonder at your wish to lead him in a merry dance.”
“I do not require a merry dance,” she said softly, as her nerves began to abandon her.
“Do you not?” Rosamund tapped her arm lightly with the fan. “What a shame. They are the thing to live for.”
She was tempted to reply that she doubted that very much.
“Ah!” Duchess Rosamund bounced on her toes. “There he is.”
Searching the crowd for the sight of the handsome man she had seen on an occasion some time ago at a country house party at her home, she frowned.
There was bright conversation coming from near the punch table.
The sound of a particular voice traveled to her and she nearly stopped. “I think perhaps I should—”
“Nearly there,” the duchess urged, fairly popping her into Ellesmere’s sight.
The earl was beautiful, indeed. Tall, over thirty with a divine head of hair and a set of eyes that would have made any young lady swoon.
Any young lady but herself. That was because beside him was standing the very man who had made her body burn with untold hunger this very afternoon.
The duchess unfolded her fan. “Ellesmere. You must dance with Lady Beatrix. She expressed a curiosity about your part of the country and I knew only you could do it justice.”
The artful fabrication did nothing to stop the sensation that Beatrix was about to fall through the floor in mortification.
Captain Adam Duke stared at her then swung his gaze to Ellesmere. His gaze, which had been hot and rather friendly just a moment before, hardened.
“Him?” Duke growled.
“Him who?” Ellesmere asked, clearly missing the brief recognition between Beatrix and the captain.
She nearly panicked.
“Why, yes,” the duchess said quickly. “Who else might tell Lady Beatrix about Dorset? Are you familiar with it Captain Duke?”
Captain Duke’s gaze narrowed. “No, but I’ve heard it is a beautiful spot for weddings.”
Ellesmere gazed from Duke to Beatrix.
“I won’t deny it,” the earl said. “It is dotted with beautiful churches and the countryside is superb. Since you are inclined, shall we Lady Beatrix?”
Suddenly, she felt furious. How dare Captain Duke mock her and possibly ruin her chance? It wasn’t as if he wished to marry in any case. Not that he’d do, anyway.
So, she cocked a brow at Captain Duke and thrust her cane at him. “Hold this, if you please.”
His brow creased, clearly flabbergasted, but he took the cane.
A riot of mixed emotions flooded her, but she accepted Ellesmere’s hand and turned her back on the man who made her feel like such a different person whenever he was present. She couldn’t look back. She could not.
No, now she could only look ahead.
*
The goodwill that had lifted Adam’s spirits did an abrupt escape as he gawped after Beatrix and Ellesmere. He gripped her cane. Years ago, he might have cracked it down over the table laden with a punch bowl large enough for several small children to frolic.
“You seem put out, Captain,” the Duchess of Aston said, bemused.
He ground his teeth together.
Bloody Ellesmere. Why did it have to be someone he knew? Why him? A good man.
Beatrix held Ellesmere’s strong arm rather tightly as they ventured onto the floor.
If the bloody earl dropped her, Adam was going to kill him.
If he married her, Adam might have to kill him, too.
“Captain?” the duchess ventured, sotto voce. “Please do not suffer an apoplexy. Strong and capable as they are, I’d hate to have to ask one of my footmen to drag you off the polished floor.”
He snorted.
The duchess stood beside him, her red head cocked to the side, eyes dancing.
She was as bad as her husband which, of course, meant that she was exceptionally intelligent with a wicked sense of humor. Just as Aston had said, interesting women were the devil.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Interesting women were a thing beyond compare. And wasn’t there the rub? One couldn’t simply forget an interesting woman. Oh no. She lingered. Taunting one from afar.
“I’m not about to suffer a fit, if that is your concern,” he said through tightly-gritted teeth.
“Do you also promise not to start up a session of fisticuffs?” she petitioned prettily. “Entertaining as it might be, mine is not that sort of establishment.”
His spirits, but not his misplaced outrage, sank. “Is it that obvious?”
A look of pure sympathy softened her elfin face. “I fear for Lady Beatrix’s cane. It looks as if you’re about to snap it in half, mon.”
“Ellesmere wants to marry,” he said abruptly.
“Isn’t that lovely.”
“It is not,” he snarled, trying to keep Beatrix in sight as the couple made their way about the dance floor.
“You think Lady Beatrix wishes to marry him?” The duchess waved her fan slowly, clearly attempting to give an air that he wasn’t a potential volcano about to explode all over her gilded domicile. “It would explain why she was specific when I asked her if she’d like to dance.”
“And she said yes?” he queried, his heart sinking further.
“Indeed.”
“She hates dancing.”
“Does she?”
“Or she did.” He ought to punch himself. It was he, after all, who had showed her she could dance still. Bloody hell, he should be glad she was embracing it, but he could not find it in himself.
“Ellesmere is an excellent match for any lady,” the duchess said brightly, all the while waving her painted fan.
“Wife,” the Duke of Aston proclaimed as he sauntered up beside them. “I hunger for a dance.”
“I am concerned for the health of your guest,” she whispered dramatically. “And my floors. I’m certain he plans mayhem.”
“Captain Duke?” Aston toshed. “Mild as a lamb. Aren’t you, Duke?”
“In wolves’ clothing,” piped the duchess.
“He’s spotted his lady love,” Aston said. “Only thing which could make a man look like that. Whose arms is she in?”
“Ellesmere,” he ground out, wishing that both the duke and duchess would hie off for parts unknown or, at the very least, the dance floor.
“Oh, Duke. You’re in for it.” Aston chortled. “Splendid chap. Absolutely charming.”
“I know,” he confirmed without relish, his hand ever tightening on her cane, tempted to just start braining people. Aston first. “He’s a friend.”
“Perhaps, he’ll ask you to be his best man,” observed Aston with exaggerated seriousness.
“They don’t even know each other,” Adam growled. “Not properly.”
“That sort of thing doesn’t matter in the ton,” Aston stated flatly, his eyes glittering as he played out the facts. “He wants to marry. She wants to marry. They’re both from good stables. No doubt, there will be little lords and ladies popping forth in ten months’ time.
“Aston, for your wife, I shall leave your cravat in place.”
“Thank you, my boy,” the duke drawled, tucking his arm about his wife’s waist in the most scandalous fashion. “I do love this cravat.” Aston’s gaze dropped. “Lovely cane. Why don’t you give it to me?”
“I thought we were going to dance,” protested Rosamund.
“Shh, love,” Aston purred, his face awash with love as he squeezed her gently. “I’ll hold you closer in a moment. But we must do great work here.”
“Matchmaking again?” she sighed.
“I excel at it,” he said proudly.
“I wish I could argue,” she moaned.
“Hush, or I’ll kiss you in public.”
Rosamund batted her lashes up at him, clearly daring him to do just that. “Half our guests would faint on the spot.”
“Very tempting.”
“There are not enough smelling salts in the world,” she laughed.
“True. We mustn’t have a ballroom floor covered in prone lords and ladies, must we?”
She tsked. “I suppose not.”
Aston gazed down adoringly at her. “Now, to the work at hand.”
Adam followed their conversation wondering if all their conversations went like this. He had an alarming feeling that they did.
“You must go into battle, sir,” Aston ordered.
The very idea nearly caused him to shudder. Not out of horror but at how tempting it was. “She’s made up her mind.”
Aston scowled. “She thinks you’re not interested.”
“I’m not,” he replied, the half-heartedness not even convincing himself.
Aston rolled his eyes.
“Not in matrimony,” he added, which would at least give some legitimacy to his argument.
The merriment vanished from Aston’s face. “Then you best depart.”
“What?” he asked, gaping.
“She wants to marry,” Aston stated. “You want her. The solution is obvious, but if you’re not up to it as I thought you were. Well. . .”
“Oh, do be quiet,” Adam growled and he thrust the cane at Aston.
“That’s it, Duke,” Aston laughed, his eyes wicked. “Into the fray!”
“You’re mad,” Adam pronounced. “You’re both barking mad.”
“What fool in love is not?” Rosamund exclaimed, her lips twitching with amusement.
Unable to take it or the sight of Beatrix in Ellesmere’s arms another moment longer, he set off around the dance floor. Determined to head them off, he had no idea what he was going to do. But whatever it was, he knew he had unequivocally lost whatever reason he had.
And it was all because of her.