Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
That evening, the footman had scarcely pulled back her chair before Matilda felt the weight of her company. To her right sat Grayson Thornhill, the Duke of Callbury.
She had already com to the conclusion that he carried himself with a weight that seemed to press upon everyone at the table.
His shoulders were squared with military precision and though he spoke politely enough, his every word was measured and deliberate, as though he weighed speech in the same manner he might weigh strategy on a battlefield.
“Lady Matilda,” he said as soon as she was settled. “It is an honor.”
She inclined her head with practiced poise. “You are kind, Your Grace.”
The hall shimmered with candlelight, their silver gleaming against white linen, while the voices weaved together in a pleasant hum. To anyone watching, she appeared serene. But inwardly, Matilda braced herself.
For across the table, directly opposite, sat Jasper Everleigh.
Already he leaned close to the young lady beside him, who was a pretty creature with golden curls and a tinkling laugh. Jasper said something in a low, teasing drawl, and the girl covered her mouth as she giggled, with her eyes bright with delight.
Matilda turned back to her soup, determined not to look again. Yet her pulse had quickened all the same.
“Lady Matilda,” she heard the Duke of Callbury speal , “I have heard you are fond of reading history. A rare pleasure, in a lady.”
She inclined her head, smiling faintly. “I do read a lot, Your Grace. I find it preferable to idleness.”
“Good. Idleness breeds folly.” His eyes lingered on her a moment longer before turning back to his plate.
It was not flirtation, nor even gallantry. It was something else, akin to practical interest, she thought. As though he examined her suitability for a role rather than her person. Matilda kept answering him with steady civility, all the while aware of the presence across the table.
“Have you family in town, Lady Matilda?” Callbury asked again.
“My sister resides in London, yes. I visit when I may.”
“Good. Family is the foundation of stability. A wife without strong ties is… unreliable.”
Matilda raised her brows but smiled still, her spoon poised with elegance. She made some polite reply, though the words slipped past her lips without thought. For her attention had strayed again to the other side of the table.
Jasper’s hand rested carelessly near his companion’s wine glass. The girl’s cheeks glowed with delight at every word.
Matilda’s stomach twisted, though she told herself it was nothing but irritation. What business was it of hers to mind how he spent his evening? He could charm every lady in the kingdom if he pleased. It made no difference to her.
And yet, for all her practiced indifference, she found her fingers tightening around her napkin.
“Are you quite well, Lady Matilda?” Callbury’s voice broke through her thoughts.
She forced her composure, meeting his stern gaze with a calm she did not feel. “Perfectly well, Your Grace. Perfectly well.”
The Duke of Callbury dabbed at his lips with a linen napkin. “And you are not one of those ladies who fritter away her time with endless frivolities, Lady Matilda? Cards, shopping, gossip?”
Matilda arched a brow. “I confess I have played at whist, purchased a bonnet or two, and spoken with friends. I hope that does not render me a hopeless case, Your Grace.”
His expression scarcely shifted. “Not hopeless. But I have always thought women waste a great deal of energy on trifles when they might lend more sense to matters of consequence.”
Matilda let her spoon rest in her bowl, her voice cool but edged with mischief. “Perhaps we do so because gentlemen guard those consequential matters so jealously. If we are not allowed into the lists, Your Grace, we must at least find amusement in ribbons.”
Across the table, a bright trill of laughter reached her ears. Jasper Everleigh’s laughter joined it, as he leaned closer to the young lady at his side. Matilda’s heart gave an unwanted jolt. She fixed her gaze upon Callbury at once, determined not to let her eyes wander again.
The duke inclined his head as if weighing her words. “A fair point. And yet a wife’s true strength lies in order and management. A household well governed is the mark of a capable mind. Do you not agree?”
Her lips curved. “You make it sound as though marriage is a military campaign, Your Grace. Are we to draw up maps and ration supplies?”
He looked at her without humor. “In a sense, yes. Discipline is the root of success. I should value a wife who understands that.”
Matilda blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. What an extraordinary man: so cold, so practical, and so utterly unromantic. And yet, even as she opened her mouth to frame some witty reply, her gaze betrayed her once more.
Matilda’s stomach twisted, though she told herself it was nothing more than annoyance at his predictability. Of course Jasper would charm the prettiest girl in the room. It was his way.
Callbury’s voice pulled her back. “You seem distracted, Lady Matilda. Am I so poor a conversationalist?”
She recovered herself at once, giving him a smile sharp enough to cut. “Not poor, Your Grace. Simply… precise. I am not accustomed to being spoken to as though I were already in training for my duties.”
The man almost smiled. “And yet you spar well. I admire that.”
Matilda inclined her head, but her pulse was still unsteady. Admiration from the Duke of Callbury should have pleased her. It was practical, respectable, everything her mother would have wished.
But it was not Jasper Everleigh’s laugh drifting across the table, needling her heart like a thorn.
When dinner ended, the company rose in cheerful clamor, with chairs scraping and laughter echoing against the high ceilings.
Servants moved swiftly to open the doors to the music room, where lamplight already glowed warmly and a small ensemble of musicians from the village had arranged themselves at the far end.
The sound of strings and flute filled the air. It was lively, bright, carrying with it a charm that eased even the most solemn faces. Ladies fanned themselves as they entered, gentlemen bowed with courtly flourish, and soon the hum of conversation blended with the sweet strains of melody.
Matilda lingered near the doorway, thinking she might slip quietly into a corner to watch. But before she could make any retreat, a shadow fell at her side.
“Lady Matilda,” came that low, commanding voice. She turned to find the Duke of Callbury bowing before her, his bearing as steady and immovable as stone. “May I have the honor of this dance?”
Her breath caught. For the briefest moment, she glanced across the room.
Jasper was there, of course, leaning one shoulder lazily against the mantel.
His blue eyes were glinting as he spoke to Robert.
She remembered the golden-haired companion from dinner and her heart gave a sharp and unbidden jolt.
She willed herself still, schooling her features into calm.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said, inclining her head. “It would be my honor.”
He offered his arm with formality, and she placed her hand upon it. Together they stepped into the line of couples forming for the quadrille, the rustle of gowns and the tapping of shoes marking the rhythm before the first notes struck.
The dance began. Callbury’s movements were precise and almost military in their accuracy. His hand clasped hers firmly, no more and no less than propriety demanded. As she turned around, she noticed that Jasper had taken Cordelia’s hand and was leading her toward the dancers.
The figures shifted and partners started to step forward, only to part and then cross again in a precise pattern.
Matilda lifted her skirts lightly, stepping into her next figure, only to find herself face-to-face with Jasper.
His hand caught hers, drawing her through the arch of the dance with infuriating ease.
He leaned closer, his voice pitched low enough for her alone. “My word, Lady Matilda, you and Callbury seem very friendly tonight.”
Her chin lifted. “As do you and the golden-haired young lady,” she returned sweetly, glancing toward the girl he had so charmed at dinner.
His grin was instant, and his dimples flashed. “Ah, you noticed.”
“Hardly. She laughed so loudly the village dogs must have heard.”
He chuckled in a sound that was both rich and maddening. “And yet, it was you watching.”
She nearly missed the step, but recovered swiftly, giving him a glare that should have cut him in two. “Do not flatter yourself. I was merely astonished that anyone could find you amusing for so long.”
They turned, separated, and she was swept back to Callbury’s side, as his steady hand reclaimed hers. His gaze seemed not to notice her flush. But the figure changed again, and once more she found herself with Jasper.
“Tell me,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “does Callbury speak of crops and rents even while dancing?”
Her sharp laugh escaped before she could stop it. “And what do you speak of, Your Grace? Conquests? Your own reflection?”
His hand tightened ever so slightly at her waist as he turned her beneath his arm. His gaze burned into hers. “Of you, apparently, against my better judgment.”
The music pulled them apart before she could answer, her breath caught and heart racing. She was back with Callbury, who guided her with flawless precision, never missing a step. And yet, her thoughts were in tatters.
For all the duke’s steadiness, it was Jasper’s voice that lingered, Jasper’s hand that burned against hers, Jasper’s eyes that left her shaken.
The music carried on, figures weaving and crossing, hands brushing, skirts sweeping in time.
Matilda moved as though on instinct alone, with her mind far from Callbury’s careful precision.
She told herself to focus, to remember her steps and to match her partner’s rhythm, but her heart thudded with anticipation each time the line shifted.
And then, there he was again.
Jasper’s hand found hers, infuriatingly warm. They circled with their gazes locked, and a current was sparking between them with every turn.
“You’re flushed, Lady Matilda,” he murmured. “Is it the dance or your partner?”
Her eyes flashed. “If you must know, Your Grace, it is the heat of the room. Though I’m certain you’ll take credit for that as well.”
He leaned in, and she could feel his breath warm against her ear as he guided her through the figure. “Always. You make it too easy.”
She laughed, unwilling to yield. “I could say the same. I have never seen a man so desperate for attention as you.”
“Desperate?” His eyes glinted. “If I wanted attention, I would not seek yours. You are far too dangerous.”
The words stole her breath, though she refused to show it. She gave him her most scathing smile. “And yet here you are, again and again.”
Before he could reply, the dance swept them apart one final time. Callbury reclaimed her with the same solemn steadiness as before, guiding her through the closing steps. Matilda forced herself to match his pace, though her pulse raced wildly, as though the music itself had taken root in her veins.
At last the quadrille ended. Couples bowed and curtsied in perfect unison, while the final chords were ringing brightly. Jasper stood across from her, with his blue eyes fixed on hers with infuriating intensity. His smile was maddeningly faint, as though he knew every thought she had tried to bury.
Matilda sank into her curtsy, praying the fall of her hair would hide the heat that still burned in her cheeks.