Chapter Three #3
With such men, she knew she was never given a chance to display any dancing skills she might possess, but in the Duke’s arms she felt poised and elegant as they moved in perfect harmony with each other and the music.
‘You are an exquisite dancer, Miss Whitmore,’ he said as he spun her around.
‘You sound surprised. Did you think because I spend most of my time sitting in the wallflowers’ corner that I’d have two left feet and the lightness of an elephant?’
He laughed, and she knew she was being ungracious.
‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I did have an excellent dance instructor and I do enjoy dancing. It’s just I don’t often get the opportunity.’ Especially to dance with a man as accomplished as you, she could add, but saw no need to add to his already high opinion of himself.
‘Then we must dance together often during our courtship.’
Margaret had decidedly mixed opinions about that.
Yes, he was a fabulous dancer, but when her mutinous body was forgetting she was in the arms of a man who held no attraction for her whatsoever she wasn’t entirely sure dancing together often would be such a good idea, particularly when her mind was becoming clouded by the warmth of his body, his sandalwood cologne and that underlying, infuriatingly attractive masculine scent.
‘Do I take it you had all the requisite training of a debutante?’ he asked.
‘Again, you sound surprised,’ she said, pleased that her voice betrayed none of her inner turmoil.
‘Yes, I learnt all the correct etiquette, how to flirt, how to flatter a man, even what I was supposed to do with my fan to send men supposedly secret messages. As you have probably already gathered, I paid those instructions little heed.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it and do not feel any obligation to flatter me. Feel free to be as rude as you wish and insult me as often as you choose.’
She knew he was teasing her, but she did have rather an unfortunate reputation for doing both those things when in men’s company. Although usually that was because the men were just so exasperating she felt she had no option.
‘You may live to regret saying that.’
‘I doubt it. I have very thick skin.’
She looked up at his flawless skin with the hint of dark stubble on the angular jawline. For one second, she imagined running her finger along his cheekbone, discovering for herself whether his skin really was thick or soft to the touch. She blinked rapidly to force that image out of her mind.
‘And believe me, it is refreshing to meet a woman who does speak her mind,’ he said, as he once again spun her around.
‘I’ve lost count of the number of debutantes who have complimented me on my engaging conversation when I’ve done nothing more than wonder aloud whether it might rain, or those who have declared me most enterprising because I’m able to light a candle without setting fire to my cuffs. ’
The edges of Margaret’s lips curled at his description of the inane conversations that took place throughout the Season, before she mentally chastised herself.
‘Debutantes are under enormous pressure to marry. That’s why they compliment you instead of saying what they really think.’
‘I am aware of that. Painfully aware. But it doesn’t make it any easier to be treated as if you have the wit of Oscar Wilde, the intelligence of a philosopher, the charm of Sir Lancelot and the looks of a Greek god. Especially as you know none of it is true.’
Margaret bit her lip, remembering how she had intended to draw him and was once again relieved she had instead depicted him as a peacock. ‘All right, I admit that might be tedious so I promise I will never flatter you.’
‘What we should do is agree to never indulge in false flattery.’
‘Agreed,’ she said with a quick nod.
‘So, in light of that contract, I should say you look lovely tonight. You’ve done something different with your hair and it suits you.’
Heat exploded on Margaret’s cheeks. Damn. She did not want him to think she cared about such things, or wanted his approval.
‘It was all Molly’s doing,’ she blurted out, tripping over her words. ‘And my mother, who said I should try and look more like a duchess.’ And Gertrude’s strong hands.
‘Well, this Molly person and your mother were right. You look positively majestic.’
Did his eyes briefly stray to her decolletage?
She hoped not. And hoped even more that he did not think she was putting on a display for him.
It would be beyond mortifying if he thought she’d chosen to wear a low-cut gown in an attempt to gain his attention, not least because given all the reputed beauties he had been linked with, such behaviour would be doomed to failure.
The music came to an end and she was still feeling somewhat flustered as he led her off the dancefloor towards her mother.
‘I can see the Duke has managed to put some colour in your cheeks,’ her mother said, doing nothing to help cool her burning face. ‘I was just saying to Lady Tilsbury what an attractive couple you make.’
Her mother swept her hand towards a woman who was looking at Margaret’s mother with barely concealed contempt.
Margaret’s heart went out to her mother.
She’d had to endure so much snobbery and even mockery from the other mamas throughout the last three Seasons.
They’d never let her forget for a moment that her daughter was failing at the one thing expected of a young lady.
As annoying as she could be at times, Margaret knew this had not been easy for her mother.
She now had a chance to shine, and perhaps Margaret should give her this moment in the sun.
To that end she placed her arm through the Duke’s and leant in towards him, letting it be known they were indeed a couple, while ignoring the way being so close to him was causing her skittering heart to behave.
Her mother’s smile grew even wider and she turned towards the group of watching mamas. ‘Ladies, in case you have not already heard, the Duke of Rosedale is to marry my daughter.’
The mamas all nodded with matching expressions of pique, while Margaret’s mother delighted in them getting their comeuppance.
‘This is all rather sudden, is it not, Your Grace?’ Lady Tilsbury said. ‘Haven’t the two of you just met?’
‘Well, when Cupid’s arrow strikes, we mortals are powerless to resist,’ the Duke said. ‘It was love at first sight and I knew immediately I had found my Duchess.’
Margaret gritted her teeth so she would not grimace at such a blatant lie, especially as the dubious expressions on the assembled mamas’ faces proved he was fooling no one, apart from her mother.
‘When will you be marrying?’ Lady Chedmore asked with a disbelieving frown.
‘We plan a long engagement,’ Margaret answered before the Duke made any other outrageous statements. ‘Even though it was…’ she paused to clear her throat ‘…love at first sight, we thought it would be good to have a proper courtship before we marry and not rush into something so important.’
‘They’re to wed at the beginning of next Season,’ her mother announced.
‘It will be simply wonderful and so romantic to start the Season with a grand society wedding. And I’m sure once my daughter is a duchess she will become one of the leading lights of London society, hosting balls, soirees, salons. Oh, it is the life she was born to.’
Margaret struggled not to look pained as these lies continued to swirl around her.
She had not been born to such a life, nor was she the type to fall in love at first sight.
She could see trouble ahead when the life her mother hoped for her did not come to fruition, but she’d deal with that when the time came.
First, she had to get through that expected long courtship with the Duke.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I would like to dance with my future mother-in-law,’ the Duke said, and reached out his hand towards Margaret’s mother, who instantly blushed and adopted the behaviour of a coy debutante.
Margaret sent him a silent thank you. Most men would do anything to avoid her mother’s incessant chatter, even, she suspected, those who really had been struck by Cupid’s arrow, and dancing with the Duke would please her mother immensely.
The moment they left, the other ladies crowded around her and Margaret knew she was about to be on the receiving end of a barrage of questions, questions for which she would have no honest answers, so she quickly excused herself to make a hasty retreat towards her usual place in the corner of the ballroom.
Baron Edgeware halted her progress and bowed in front of her. ‘Miss Whitmore, may I have this dance?’
For a moment she stared at the young man, certain she had not heard correctly, but his hand was extended, so she placed hers on top of his and still in a state of bafflement allowed him to lead her onto the floor for the polka.
Two dances in one night, this was all but unprecedented.
Was this the result of her being betrothed to a duke? It had to be. Nothing else about her had changed. They moved off to the lively tune and, despite herself, Margaret realised she was enjoying herself. She loved dancing but rarely got the opportunity.
Once the dance was over, Baron Edgware led her back to her mother, who was twittering away to the Duke, while he listened with commendable patience.
When her mother paused to get her breath, the Duke turned to Margaret. ‘May I have the next dance?’ he asked with a bow.
Dancing twice with the same man would not usually be acceptable, but as the guests believed they were engaged there was no harm. That was, no harm to her reputation; her nervous system was another matter.
‘Thank you,’ she said as they took their places for the galop.
‘No, thank you. Dancing with you is a pleasure,’ he replied.
‘I mean thank you for dancing with my mother. I know she can be a bit, well…’
‘Not at all, and it gave me a chance to find out all about you.’