Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The following evening, the townhouse was a whirlwind of silk and hairpins.
The girls were gathered in Anne’s dressing room, their faces alight with vicarious excitement for the upcoming ball. It was as if they had their own living, breathing doll to dress up and adorn.
“Oh, Anne! The emerald-green silk makes your eyes look like forest pools,” Felicity breathed, circling her as the maid adjusted the lace in Anne’s bodice. “And the pearls in your hair! They are exquisite!”
“Thank you, Felicity,” Anne replied warmly.
“You must remember every single detail.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh, yes! Who danced with whom? Was the punch passable? Did anyone trip during the quadrille? I need to know everything for my own debut. You will help me, won’t you?”
“Of course!”
Celia, perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, swung her legs. “I do not care about the punch. I just want you to have the most fun in the whole world, Anne. You should dance until your shoes break.”
Anne laughed, though her heart felt heavy. “I shall try my best, Sister.”
She looked in the mirror as the maid stepped aside. She had to admit that she looked divine. The green fabric did wonders for her complexion, making it look more alabaster than ghostly, as some shades did. Her hair was pulled back perfectly, accentuating her high cheekbones and bright smile.
Although a part of her felt fake for all that she was adorned, as her marriage was not as bright. She had barely seen William all day.
When she finally descended the grand staircase, the rustle of her silk skirts preceded her.
William was waiting in the foyer, toying with his signet ring. He looked up, and for a heartbeat, Anne watched the stiff facade shatter. His breath caught audibly in his throat.
As much as they tried to hide it, they were tethered, and not just in name. The moment in the garden had proved as much.
I must remain strong. I cannot allow myself to give in to my feelings, no matter how strong they grow.
“Duke,” she murmured, stopping on the bottom step.
William didn’t—no, couldn’t—speak for a long moment. He simply extended his arm, his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly as she rested her hand on his sleeve.
He escorted her to the carriage in a silence so heavy it felt like a cloud had followed them. The short ride to the Mayhaven ball was also spent in utter silence.
The ball was a glittering gauntlet. They moved through the receiving line with practiced ease, their coldness unified as if it were the only thing that linked them.
When they encountered Lord Kirklow near the refreshments table, the man tried to offer his usual, oily smile. Still, William’s icy, lethal stare silenced him before a single word of feigned affection could escape. Then, the orchestra began the sweeping, rhythmic strains of a waltz.
William turned to Anne almost without thinking, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. “Will you do me the honor?”
“I will,” she replied.
He did not know what he would have done had she refused, yet a part of him had known she would not.
As they moved across the dance floor, the rest of the room seemed to blur into a smear of candlelight and color.
This was their first dance as husband and wife.
William’s hand was firm on her waist, the exact right firmness, and Anne felt the heat of his proximity.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. In the rise and fall of the triple-meter, their bodies found a harmony their words lacked.
The world might have watched the “Beauty and the Beast” of the ton, but Anne only saw the pulse thrumming in William’s neck as he almost imperceptibly drew her closer.
She noted the fierce, protective way he held her and leaned into it.
After the dance ended and the orchestra took a short break, William was pulled aside by a business partner to discuss a shipping venture.
“If you will excuse me,” he said gruffly, following a Lord Something-or-other Anne could not name. She was too intoxicated by her smoldering desire for her husband.
To distract herself, she grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray and drifted toward a group of pleasant matrons she had met previously. They fell into easy conversation.
“Anne? Is that you? I mean… Your Grace!”
She turned to see a familiar, boyish face. “Oh my stars. It cannot be! Is that you, Lord Edward? It has been years.”
Edward, a childhood friend from the neighboring estate of her youth, grinned back. He still had the same brown eyes that were warm as honey, and the small gap between his two front teeth. He was a comforting presence, and they quickly fell into step.
“It is grand to see you, Your Grace.”
“And you! My husband has just stepped away. Are you… Are you married?”
“God, no, but I hope to be,” he replied, before telling her of his recent engagement to a lovely debutante. “Her name is Lady Mary, a quiet girl from a modest country estate.”
“Well, that sounds most lovely,” Anne said, before their conversation drifted back to their childhood. “Do you remember climbing trees in the orchard between our homes? Or the smell of the hayfields in the tenant farms?”
“What of the way your father used to laugh at the dinner table? That high and most genuine squeak?” Edward laughed.
“I miss him terribly,” Anne said softly.
“Your mother would have been so proud to see you today, Anne,” Edward murmured. “She always said you were the jewel of the county.”
The mention of her parents hit her hard. The grief, usually tucked behind her duties to Celia, surged up, hot and stinging.
“Excuse me, Edward,” she choked out, her vision blurring. “I… I find I need some fresh air.”
“I am sorry, Anne! I did not mean to—”
But she did not hear the rest as she turned on her heel, and the ballroom, which only moments ago had been a warm tapestry of candlelight and silk, seemed to close in around her like a tight fist. Her vision blurred at the edges, and the chatter and music came as though through water, distant and meaningless.
I need William.
The thought arrived with the simplicity of instinct, before she could think to question it.
She needed the steadying weight of his hand at her back, the low rumble of his voice, which was becoming too familiar.
She craved the quiet that gathered around him in any crowded room, like a salve for her weary nerve. She needed him, and she needed him now.
He is tall, which ought to make this easy.
Her eyes swept the ballroom in search of his dark hair, his bright blue eyes. The dancers had reformed for the next set, and the floor was a kaleidoscope of silks and turning shoulders that obscured everything beyond it.
She caught a glimpse of broad shoulders in a black coat near the orchestra, and her breath quickened, but the man turned, and his face was a stranger’s.
Another dark head, but too short. A third, but the wrong cut of jaw entirely, and no beard. She moved between the clusters of guests, murmuring apologies she barely heard herself give, the champagne flute trembling in her hand until she abandoned it on a passing footman’s tray.
A matron caught at her elbow with some pleasantry, and Anne smiled. Surely, she must have smiled; she felt her mouth move, then slipped past with a murmured excuse.
Where is he? Which corner has Lord Something-or-other dragged him to, and how long does it take men of business to settle the fate of a shipping venture?
She caught sight of the tall doors that led to the balcony and made for them like a vessel for harbor in a storm. A footman in livery saw her face and opened the door without comment, and then the cool, blessed dark of the spring night closed around her.
The balcony was mercifully empty. She crossed to the stone balustrade and gripped it with gloved hands, the chill of the marble sinking through the silk, anchoring her. Below, the garden was a hush of shadow and lantern light.
She looked up; the stars were faint, washed pale by the lit windows behind her.
She drew one breath, and another, and felt the first hot tear slide down her cheek before she could stop it.
Across the room, William watched her. He saw her smiling at the young man, saw the easy, familiar way they leaned toward one another.
Toxic, ugly jealousy flared in his gut. He was ready to storm over there and do what he could not imagine when Rafe put a hand on his shoulder.
“Careful, William,” he murmured, appearing with a smirk and a glass of sherry. “You look like you might actually bite someone. He’s just a friend, I’m sure. You do not need to worry about a woman like Her Grace.”
“She looks happy,” William ground out, watching his wife suddenly turn around and hurry toward the balcony. “Wait, something is wrong,” he barked, pushing Rafe aside.
He followed her, his long strides eating up the distance. He found her in a secluded stone alcove on the balcony, the moonlight catching the tear tracks on her cheeks.
She was trembling, her hands pressed to her eyes. It made his chest ache to see her in such a state. His hands balled into tight fists by his sides.
“Did he upset you?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “That man. If he insulted you, I assure you that I will—”
“No! No,” Anne sobbed, her voice breaking. “No, William, he was perfectly kind. That was a childhood friend. He lived near us growing up.”
“Then what is it?” He stepped into her space, his shadow falling over her. “Anne, look at me. You can trust me.”
“I cannot… I am afraid that if I let one more tear fall, I will never stop crying.”
“You can trust me, Anne. I am your husband. I will set this right. Tell me,” he whispered, handing her his handkerchief.
She couldn’t hold back any longer. She turned and buried her face in the crisp linen of his evening shirt, her small hands clutching at his lapels, and burst into ragged, heaving sobs.
“I miss them. I miss my parents so much. It hurts… it hurts to be here without them. For them not to see me, for them not to be here for Celia. I can wall up my feelings well enough, but when someone from our past mentions them, no matter how well-intentioned, I cannot hold them in.”
William froze for a split second, then his arms came around her, tentative at first, then squeezing tight. He rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles, letting her weep against him.
He was familiar with this burden. He knew the exhaustion of being the only pillar for someone else to lean on.
“I know,” he whispered into her hair, his voice raw. “I know what it feels like to keep a brave face for the world while you’re crumbling inside. You’ve been so strong for Celia, Anne. So very strong. You are a marvel.”
Slowly, her sobs subsided into soft hiccups.
Anne pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes red and her face damp. “I am so sorry. I’ve ruined your evening. I’ve ruined the work we are meant to be doing.”
William reached up, his thumb catching a stray tear on her cheek. His touch was unexpectedly tender. “The girls are tucked in bed, Anne. They aren’t here to see our socializing, and their opinions, aside from our own, are the only ones I care about.”
“But we must stay,” she whispered, though she looked exhausted. “For their future. For their reputations. For our… our marriage.”
“Our marriage?” William hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up so she had no choice but to see the sincerity in his eyes.
“Let us go back. I am fine—”
“To hell with reputations and propriety. We make up our own rules,” he said softly. “Look at me, Anne. Forget the girls for a moment. Forget the Duke and the Duchess. What do you want?”
“What do you mean?” Anne asked. She thought she heard something hungry beneath his soft words, yet feared she was misreading the situation entirely. “I do not understand.”
“You are always thinking of others, but seldom of yourself.”
“There is little room for such things, William.”
“I seek to correct that, even if just for tonight.”
“Do you mean…?” Her breath hitched, and she grew impossibly nervous and excited at the same time. “We cannot. I cannot—”
“Yes, I think you can. We do not have to do all of that.”
“Perhaps I can…” she whispered.
“Can you be a little…”
“A little what?”
“Selfish?” he whispered back, his lips brushing her earlobe.
“Heavens no,” Anne said quickly, her cheeks turning pink. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
“Surely you know what I mean…” he said, his lips brushing her other earlobe now and pulling. “Forget duty, propriety, everything. Tonight, I want you thinking of nothing but pleasure—and who is giving it to you.”
“Oh,” she cried out as her eyes rolled back.
“Can you sit back and let me ravish you like the good girl you are? Treat you the way you deserve, until you cry out my name?”
“William!” She cried as he flicked her earlobe with his tongue, and she breathed him in, her head growing light as she considered his words.
“I’ll take that as a yes then?”
“Oh, yes. Please.”