Chapter 31 The Ball #3
Despite her heartache, Elisha couldn’t help but be drawn into several fascinating conversations.
Lord Gower proved eager to discuss her latest article on working conditions, while Lady Whitmore shared pointed observations about the government’s response to recent labor unrest. She spoke at length with several gentlemen about reform movements, carefully sidestepping any mention of her own involvement while gathering useful intelligence for her future writings.
The hours slipped by in a blur of music and movement, couples whirling past in brilliant displays of skill and fashion.
Through it all, Elisha remained acutely aware of Edgar’s presence, though she carefully avoided looking in his direction as he performed his duties as host. She noticed, however, that he remained notably distant from Miss Hargrove, speaking with her only when absolutely necessary and dancing with her only once despite several obvious openings.
“Your feet must be aching,” Amelia observed sympathetically as midnight approached, noticing how Elisha shifted her weight. “Perhaps we should find somewhere to rest?”
“Just a little longer,” Elisha heard herself saying, though she couldn’t explain the compulsion to remain.
The announcement everyone expected hadn’t yet materialized, and something stubborn in her refused to leave until it did—whether from hope or the need for final confirmation of her worst fears, she wasn’t entirely certain.
Steven turned to her then, offering his hand with an elegant bow. “Miss Linde, would you honor me with a dance?”
Heat crept up her neck as embarrassment washed over her. “I’m afraid I must decline. I… I don’t know how.”
His eyebrows rose in genuine surprise, but he recovered smoothly.
“Ah, what a pity. Perhaps we might remedy that situation another evening.” He turned to his sister with renewed purpose.
“Amelia, shall we take a turn? I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to approach Mr. Hargrove about certain business matters. ”
As Steven led Amelia onto the dance floor, Elisha found herself alone for the first time all evening, feeling more isolated than ever among the glittering crowd. She took refuge near the refreshment table, her back to the wall as she watched the elegant couples spin past.
“Miss Linde!”
She turned to find Ladies Essie and Eva approaching with barely contained excitement, Edgar following in their wake. The young women bestowed quick kisses on her cheeks before immediately fluttering away toward a group of young gentlemen, leaving her unexpectedly alone with their brother.
He cut a devastating figure in his evening clothes, and she forced herself to remember that he would soon belong to another woman entirely. This was likely nothing more than a duke’s final taste of freedom before his official engagement announcement.
“Your Grace,” she managed, executing a careful curtsy.
“Miss Linde.” He bowed with exquisite formality before extending his hand. “Would you care to dance?”
The irony was almost too much to bear. “I must decline, Your Grace. My dancing skills are wholly inadequate for public display.” And she had no desire to become tomorrow’s gossip—the naive writer who allowed herself to be toyed with by a duke.
His smile turned unexpectedly boyish, transforming his features in a way that made her heart clench painfully.
“Then perhaps you’d allow me to remedy that deficiency?
There’s a small music room just off the ballroom where we might practice without an audience.
My sisters would be happy to provide proper chaperonage. ”
Elisha’s eyes widened in alarm. Had he taken complete leave of his senses? “I’m not certain that would be entirely appropriate, Your Grace.” Especially not with Miss Hargrove somewhere in the ballroom, probably watching their every interaction with those calculating eyes.
“I assure you, Miss Linde, my intentions are completely honorable,” he said with a gleam in his eyes that suggested otherwise. “It would be a great shame for you to attend such a magnificent ball and never experience the pleasure of dancing.”
Against every instinct of self-preservation, Elisha found herself placing her gloved hand on his proffered arm. One brief lesson couldn’t cause any real harm, could it? And perhaps it would help her finally purge these foolish romantic feelings from her foolish heart once and for all.
“Very well,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “I place myself in your capable hands, Your Grace.”
Edgar led her through a side door into an elegant music room appointed with comfortable chairs and a small pianoforte.
The space was intimate without being improper, lit by several branches of candles that cast everything in warm, golden light.
She expected to see his sisters following, but when she turned around, they were entirely alone.
The soft click of the lock engaging made her spine stiffen with alarm. “Your Grace, I would prefer the door remain unlocked,” she said with icy formality, though her heart hammered against her ribs.
His eyes narrowed slightly at her tone before his lips curved in that familiar smile—the one that had once made her knees weak but now only fueled her resentment.
“And I prefer it secured against interruption.” His casual dismissal of her wishes only confirmed her worst suspicions about his character.
How dare he compromise her reputation this way while planning to announce his engagement to another woman?
“Let us begin with the basic waltz steps,” he said, apparently oblivious to her inner turmoil.
Elisha lifted her chin with newfound resolve. If he thought he could toy with her while courting Miss Hargrove, he would soon discover she possessed more backbone than that.
He approached with practiced grace, taking her right hand in his left while placing his other at her waist. The contact sent an unwelcome shiver of awareness through her, and she silently cursed her body’s continued betrayal.
These were the same hands that would soon lead his bride down the aisle, she reminded herself fiercely.
“Place your left hand on my shoulder,” he instructed softly, as if gentling a nervous mare.
She complied with rigid formality, fighting the urge to step away from the heat radiating from his body.
The familiar scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something uniquely masculine—threatened to undermine her carefully constructed defenses.
Did Miss Hargrove find his presence equally intoxicating?
Had she, too, been seduced by his practiced charm?
“Excellent,” he murmured, maintaining that insufferable composure while she struggled with the impropriety of their situation. “Now, follow my lead. Step back with your right foot as I step forward with my left…”
As he guided her through the basic patterns, Elisha found her treacherous body responding despite her emotional turmoil.
His touch was confident yet gentle, his instructions clear and patient.
She hated herself for noticing how perfectly they fit together, how naturally her smaller frame aligned with his larger one.
“You’re a remarkably quick study,” Edgar observed, and she could hear genuine admiration in his voice.
Elisha looked up, meeting his gaze with carefully constructed indifference. She would not let him see how much this masquerade wounded her. “I have an excellent instructor, Your Grace.”
The opening strains of a waltz drifted in from the ballroom beyond, and Edgar’s grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly. “Shall we try it with musical accompaniment?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak as they began to move in earnest. Despite the emotional shield she erected, she found herself caught up in the magic of the moment—the swirl of her crimson skirts, the play of candlelight across the room’s elegant furnishings, the intensity of Edgar’s gaze as he guided her through the steps.
“You’re trembling,” he said softly.
“I’m concentrating,” she replied, though they both knew it was a lie.
As the music swelled around them, Edgar drew her slightly closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes, close enough to count the dark lashes that framed them. “Elisha,” he murmured, her name like a caress on his lips.
She forced herself to maintain eye contact, to project an image of cool sophistication even as her heart shattered anew. “Yes, Your Grace?”
Something flickered across his features—confusion, perhaps, or concern. “You seem… different tonight. Distant.”
“Do I?” She managed a brittle smile as they continued their elegant circuit of the small room. “I cannot imagine why you would say such a thing.”
He studied her face intently, and she saw the exact moment understanding began to dawn. His steps faltered slightly before he recovered, never missing a beat of the music.
“Whatever you think you know—” he began, but she cut him off with a laugh that held no warmth.
“I think I know nothing at all, Your Grace. Which is precisely as it should be, is it not?”
The final notes of the waltz faded into silence, and Elisha gracefully disengaged herself from his embrace. She executed a perfect curtsy, grateful for all those etiquette lessons she’d observed from the servants’ corridors of various grand houses during her impoverished youth.
“I am most grateful for your instruction, Your Grace,” she said with brittle politeness. “Though I confess surprise that you could spare the time from your other… obligations.”
Edgar’s hand shot out to capture hers before she could withdraw completely. “Don’t,” he said urgently, all pretense of casual flirtation abandoned. “Whatever you think you know about my situation, you’re wrong.”
“Am I?” She met his gaze steadily, proud that her voice remained level. “I understand congratulations are in order. Miss Hargrove will make a most suitable duchess.”