What the Duke Wants (26 page)

He bowed to Grace, never once uttering a word aloud, then looked to Cliff, who as expected, kept his horses under tight control. Their silent exchange said they would discuss this later. Tonight.

Crisis momentarily adverted, he returned to his own carriage and the dragon seething within.

Chapter 20

The Russell Ball…

One week later…

Grace tried—with little success—to keep from fidgeting. Her dress was already wrinkled from her fiddling hands. It was the night of the Russell Ball—the first ball of the season and her first ball ever—and she was nervous with anticipation. She tried to turn her anxiety into enthusiasm, for these events with Lady Harriett would be her only chance to experience this side of life, and it would be a relatively short experience—over all too soon. A month from now, she would be home, in Oxford, and her time here would be but a distant memory.

This evening, she was attired in a simple yet elegant ivory dress she'd designed and made herself with the help of Bessie. She was especially thrilled to wear it as the material was of the finest quality silk she had ever beheld, much less owned. The fabric was a gift from Lady Harriett and purchased right here in London on Bond Street. She had never before owned anything so fine.

Her long tresses were drawn up into a particularly nice coif by a maid of Lady Harriett’s who was skilled at dressing hair. The maid had woven a strand of pearls and sapphires into her coiffure—the jewels borrowed from Lady Harriett’s vast collection of gems.

Grace also wore sapphire earrings and a matching necklace—likewise on loan from Lady Harriett—and the blue hue of the gems coordinated perfectly with the simple, blue velvet ribbon tied beneath her breasts, all of which brought out the color of her eyes. A length of ivory tatted lace from Bessie adorned the short sleeves and neckline, completing the ensemble.

She felt like Cinderella on her way to the prince’s ball, and she couldn’t help but imagine what Stonebridge would do when he saw her. Would he seek her out across the crowded ball room and ask her to dance? Would he compliment her on her dress, her beauty? So, perhaps she was being vain, but she couldn’t help it. A part of her soul was desperate to bewitch the duke even though her head knew it was a pointless endeavor.

Dansbury arrived to escort her and Lady Harriett to the ball, promptly on time as usual, and she was satisfied by the dumbfounded look on his face when he saw her. She felt like the proverbial cat who got the cream, and her nerves relaxed in response. Now, if only the duke would be similarly awestruck.

She was a little ashamed of her prideful vanity, but she wanted badly to impress the duke, and knowing she looked fine greatly boosted her confidence and enthusiasm. It also helped ease some of her tension.

The carriage ride from Lady Harriett’s house on Belgrave Square to the Russell mansion on Grosvenor Square was relatively short, and Grace wondered about their early departure. However, as they turned the corner and Grosvenor Square came into view, she saw the reason for it. The carriage line around the square was extensive. Carriages were lined horse to rear wheels on both sides of the street and around all four sides of the square. The sound of horses whinnying, horseshoes striking cobbles, drivers and footman calling out to each other, and guests gossiping as they made their way up the pavement created a cacophony of noise that echoed oddly through the square. This ball was going to be a veritable crush, and her eagerness for attending it made the wait interminable.

She peered out her window and looked about in awe at all the people, especially the ladies with their ostentatious dresses. She was not unfamiliar with the latest fashions, of course, for she was going to be a dressmaker herself, but she only ever really saw the latest evening wear by looking at fashion plates from magazines and her own charcoal drawings. Certainly, she was familiar with the limited society about Oxford, but this was London. Seeing the ladies, the crème de la crème of the ton, in all their glorious colors and sparkling gems, was an altogether different experience from the guild teas and afternoon assemblies in Oxford.

For a moment, she thought she spied a familiar face in the crowd, but then the lady turned, and it was not someone she knew. However, the incident reminded her of the possibility of encountering the Becketts at this ball, and a little of her nervousness returned. She honestly didn’t know how she would react if she were to see them here. The letter from her uncle and her limited knowledge of Dansbury and Stonebridge’s investigation made her edgy about what to expect. In her mind, she imagined all sorts of different scenarios: her quivering in fear from a verbal set-down by the earl to her triumphantly giving them all the cut direct before being swept away into a scandalous waltz with the duke. That particularly pleasant dream currently occupied her thoughts, but was interrupted when the carriage door was opened in front of the Russell mansion by an attending footman. All too soon Dansbury, who had stepped out first, was reaching back in to assist her.

She was surprised to see that the pavement from the street to the door was covered with a red carpet, and that a dozen torches were lined up on either side. There was a slight warm breeze that blew the little tendrils of hair about her neck and carried with it the smell of perfumed water and burning torches. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, and with the light from the numerous torches casting wavering shadows and sparkling lights from the myriad of ladies’ gems, the air had a magical quality to it—which filled her with a hopeful sense of anticipation.

Once inside the main doors, her breath was stolen by the beauty and opulence of the main foyer. A glistening chandelier with hundreds of sparkling crystals and five tiers of candles hung in the two-story room that was larger than her drawing room in Oxford.

Beneath the chandelier was a large and round mahogany table upon which sat a magnificent ice sculpture of two swans intertwined and what seemed like a thousand red candles. The candles were scattered haphazardly about the table’s surface. The entire foyer was black and white marble and paneled mahogany. Expensive and grandiose.

Two grand curved staircases, one on either side of the foyer, were covered with more of the same red carpeting from outside, and at the top was a long balcony that opened to the foyer below. She could see three sets of double doors, all ajar, along the back wall of the balcony that led to the ballroom. She could just make out the occasional swirl of a lady’s dress through the openings. Near the middle set of doors, the hosts for tonight’s fete greeted guests.

Grace could not conceive of what it must be like, living day to day with this sort of luxury, and though it was all brow-raising impressive, it also seemed like such a waste, really. So many people had so little, and yet these people seemed to have so much more than they could ever need in ten lifetimes. It left her feeling thoughtful.

The sounds above and around her were quite loud and distracting, thoroughly halting her inward reflection. Yet above the murmur of voices, she could just make out the sweet sound of a violin, and she could not stop herself from tapping her toes to the music as she waited in the receiving line that was so long it trailed down the stairs to the ground floor. She touched her hand to the brass railing, smooth and warm from the hands of so many guests, as her party made their way up the stairs. She looked everywhere, trying to take it all in while telling herself she was not looking for a certain dark-haired duke.

Twenty minutes later, Grace, Dansbury and Lady Harriett stood just over the threshold of the ballroom, taking in the scene. Several hundred people filled the room. Groups of guests stood clustered amidst dozens and dozens of potted plants around the perimeter of the room, while roughly a third danced in its center. The room was rectangular in size, with Grace and her party standing in the middle of one of the long sides. The opposite side held three sets of French doors leading to the back gardens, all of which were open to allow much needed fresh air into the room. Three chandeliers, double in size to the one in the foyer, hung from a three-storied ceiling painted with cherubs and angels. The walls were paneled, like the foyer, but this time they were painted white with gilded trim.

On the left wall of the room were more double doors leading to what promised to be a sizable buffet. Grace could scarcely take it all in.

“Dansbury, I see the Dowager Duchess of Lyme in the far corner. Take me there and then you may dance with Grace,” said Lady Harriett.

As Dansbury guided them around the room, Grace was amazed at the scene about her, and yet though she looked the part, she couldn’t help but feel separate—as if she didn’t quite belong. This was Stonebridge and Dansbury’s world, and suddenly she felt more apart from the duke than ever.

Their party reached the Dowager and her court of attendants at last.

“Eugenie,” said Lady Harriett as they approached.

“Harry,” said the Dowager, affectionately yet primly, “How are you?”

“I am well. Eugenie, do you recall Miss Grace Radclyffe of the Beckett Family?”

“Indeed, how could I forget?” said the Dowager as she raised her lorgnette and looked Grace over, somewhat suspiciously. She had been a front row witness to the dining disaster at Beckett House last month.

Lady Harriett, having heard about it and guessing the cause of her concern, laughed and said, “Not to worry, Eugenie, Grace does not have any prawns on her person today. Do you, my dear?”

Grace could do nothing but smile and go along with it. “Certainly not. I only toss prawns on Saturdays, Your Grace.”

Lady Harriett laughed good-naturedly, though the Dowager hardly looked satisfied. Further introductions were made, and after, while Dansbury and Lady Harriett talked of the Dansbury estate in Cornwall, Grace removed herself from the conversation and turned to watch the dancing.

“Grace.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the intimacy of the male voice behind her. She was relieved to turn and acknowledge Dansbury standing there with an affable grin on his face. She had known it wasn’t the duke before she turned, but her nerves were stretched thin, and therefore, everything seemed manufactured to make her heart jump.

“Lord Dansbury.”

“Will you honor me with your hand for this dance?”

“Of course. I would like that very much, thank you.” Grace smiled. She was genuinely happy to dance with him, and without another word, she and Dansbury lined up for the cotillion.

After a while, she realized she was not plagued with her usual clumsiness, and it felt good; no, better than that—it felt great. She realized, then, that she was content, and she let her face shine.

Neither noticed the duke’s jealous scowl as he watched from an alcove nearby.

* * * *

During a break in the dancing, Lady Beatrice glanced about her court of admirers and smiled behind her fan. There were a dozen young dandies vying for her attention, all of them worse gossips than any woman she knew.

One particularly young buck leaned near. “The lady dancing the cotillion with Dansbury earlier, I understand she is your cousin?”

Beatryce smiled to herself. This was going to be all too easy. She assumed a somber look before replying, “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

The young fop, noticing her subdued countenance, responded all too predictably, “Is that a bad thing?”

Beatryce sighed dramatically. “No, for we love her dearly and have opened our hearts to her despite her b…” Beatryce blushed convincingly. “Well, I shouldn’t say.”

“Oh please, Lady Beatryce, do tell, we shan’t tell a soul nor hold it against you. Your generosity is well known,” said the love-sick, and lying, fool. They hung on her every word in the hopes of acquiring new gossip.

“Please see that you do then, as many would frown upon what I’m about to tell you…But, well, you see, her family was in trade.” A collective gasp sounded from her circle of admirers. “And I’m afraid she has had little instruction in the art of being a lady. Now, I see you are surprised by this, yet despite how most of the ton feels about people in trade, we have opened our home to her, inviting her in when she was orphaned last year.”

The dandies panted—trade? Oh, the scandal. The horror. They tried to mask their fervor for gossip by nodding solemnly at the Beckett family’s obvious benevolence; however, eager eyes gave them away. Beatryce smiled and continued, “And though we’ve tried to give her some rudimentary instruction in proper decorum, I’m afraid she doesn’t seem to understand that there are certain…things…a lady must never, ever do in order to safeguard her reputation.”

The men around her salivated and leaned forward on their toes as Beatryce lowered her voice scandalously. They couldn’t afford to miss a word. Their faces well-nigh shouted at her to be more specific.

One particularly bold peacock said, “For instance…” his voice trailing off for Beatryce to fill in the blank.

Beatryce wanted to thank him and kiss his feet for the lead-in. “Well, I’m sure it’s because she is so kind and loving, but we cannot seem to make her realize that she cannot go off unescorted with certain…people…Men. Who are not relations, you see.”

The men’s eyes widened at the news, and Beatryce could practically read their wicked thoughts as they wondered who Grace was running off with unescorted, and more to the point, who they should relate the news to first.

Beatryce sighed with feigned exasperation as she looked pointedly across the room.

Right on cue, Middlebury
.

“And there she goes again,” she said with a nod toward the potted palms across the way. “Excuse me, while I attempt to save my cousin from herself.” And before Beatryce could take another breath, the young swains scattered like cockroaches at dawn, gossip ready to slide off their wagging tongues.

Beatryce headed to the ladies’ retiring room rather than make her way across the dance floor. As if she had any intention of saving her cousin. Ha!

* * * *

After her dance with Dansbury, Grace was happy to take a break and simply walk about the public rooms with him. She had yet to see any sign of Stonebridge, and by now, she was no longer looking for him through every break in the crowd. She began to relax. This ball demonstrated a side of life she had not been a part of growing up, and she was glad to be able to experience it before her return home.