Chapter Fifteen
They’d spent most of the day exploring the countryside, swooping and diving and sending the tops of trees rattling as they passed.
She gazed with interest about her. She’d never seen the country, having spent most of her life cloistered in the castle walls.
It was breathtaking in its scope and splendor, gilded as it was by the setting sun.
“Oh, can’t we fly a bit longer? Won’t you take me to my family’s castle?” she begged when the dragon began its way back toward Mount Runemor. “I am filled with a longing to view it, and we are so very close . . .”
—The Dragon and the Blue Star by Analise Crewe
Ana paused at the top of the grand staircase, suddenly terrified. The crowded ballroom below was an intimidating tumult of candlelit crystal, garlands of red roses, ladies in pearlescent silk gowns, and gentlemen in crisp black evening attire.
“His Grace, the Duke of Warburton, Lady Glynis, and Miss Analise Crewe,” a liveried footman announced in a booming voice.
Every head in the room swiveled toward them, as if they were the main attraction at the Theatre Royale on Drury Lane, illuminated by gaslights so that every member of the audience could make out their features.
The duke placed her hand on his arm. “Ready?”
“Why are they all staring at us?” Ana asked in a whisper, her stomach doing flip-flops. She was here to observe society, not the other way around.
“That’s generally the point of being introduced,” said her chaperone.
“Remember our lessons and you’ll bring no shame on yourself or the duke.
Keep conversation to a minimum. No flights of fancy.
Smile demurely, showing no teeth. No slouching.
I don’t expect you to sparkle, only to remain free from scandal. ”
Not reassuring. Wide grins and flights of fancy were second nature to her.
How could she pretend to be someone she was not?
She may be wearing a ballgown, and have pink rosebuds threaded through her upswept hair, but she wasn’t one of them.
They would sense it. Or, worse, they would know it.
If any of the assemblage knew her past—knew where she’d been living when the duke found her—there was sure to be scandal.
“Don’t be frightened.” Warburton gave her one of his rarer-than-diamonds half smiles. “Think what Princess Amsonia would do if she was facing a horde of banshees or basilisks, or what have you?”
“Princess Amsonia would have a magic spell, or an amulet, or at the very least, a sharp dagger.”
“You have me.” His scarred face was unexpectedly gentle.
The space of only a few breaths. Enough time for the towering duke at her side to become something new . . . a sort of armor. The brooding beast promising his protection.
“But what if . . .” She gulped. How could she not have thought of this possibility before now? “What if Lord Claridge should be here?”
“He won’t be here.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“I paid him a visit.”
“What manner of visit?”
“One that extracted a promise from him to stay in Cornwall for the period of at least one year. He will also be writing a hearty endorsement of your Clovercote novel, should it be published.”
“Warburton. What did you do?”
“Never mind. Suffice to know that he won’t be here. Now then. It’s time.”
Halfway down the stairs she nearly tripped on her skirts but he expertly righted her. She leaned into his solid strength, his commanding presence.
The throng parted for them, everyone staring intently, the whispers swelling after they passed: Warburton has a ward? Who is she? Haven’t seen the duke in years. Those scars of his . . . she must be frightened half to death, poor wee thing. He’ll dower her handsomely, no doubt.
“Why is everyone so fascinated by us?” Ana asked the duke in a low voice.
“They’re fascinated by you. Wondering who you are . . . and how you came to be my ward.”
“Or perhaps they’re wondering if you attended the ball not for me, but because you’ve finally decided to take a bride.”
He snorted. “Highly unlikely.”
Lady Glynis poked her in the back with her fan and Ana straightened her shoulders.
“They’re whispering about your beauty,” he said.
“Ha!” The loud cackle exploded from her mouth before she could retrieve it. Lady Glynis rapped her on the shoulder with a disapproving glance. “That’s preposterous,” Ana whispered.
“It’s not. You look beautiful tonight. Your father would have been very proud.”
A lump formed in her throat. Her dear father, adoration beaming from his eyes.
She would have given anything to see his gentle smile again, to feel as special as he always made her feel.
But he was gone, and any illusions she’d held about her own worth had departed with him.
“It’s only a mirage of beauty, created by this obscenely expensive gown and these borrowed emeralds.
They wouldn’t give me a second glance if they’d seen me on the street a mere fortnight ago. ”
He stopped walking abruptly and Lady Glynis nearly bumped into them. He turned to Ana, lifted her hand to his lips, staring into her eyes. “It’s not the gown or the jewels.” His eyes were the color of rain falling on weathered stone. “It’s you, Analise.”
The room went quiet, everything faded away. All she saw were his eyes, the steel of them, the certainty. The heavy, sweet scent of dew-drenched roses filled the air. The music swelled and it sounded like the song had been composed especially for them.
Beautiful, the strings sang, he thinks you’re beautiful.
“Pardon me, Your Grace, Lady Glynis.”
A man’s voice destroyed the intimate moment. Ana turned to find a handsome, fair-haired young lord in an almost overwhelmingly abundant ivory cravat addressing them.
“Lord Darbyshire, is it not?” Warburton asked.
The man bowed. “At your service. I was wondering if I might beg the privilege of adding my name to Miss Crewe’s dance card?”
The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Darbyshire. You’re Cavendish’s firstborn?”
“I am.”
“I hear you frequent the gaming hells.”
“Er . . .” Lord Darbyshire ran a thumb under his tall collar, as if the air in the room had grown too warm. “No more than any young man does, that is I’ve visited the establishments but don’t make a habit of it.”
“If I visited Old Crocky’s right now and asked how often you’re there of an evening, and whether your bets are reckless and your cups deep, what manner of report would they give me?”
“Ah . . .” Another pluck at his collar, his cheeks turning pink now. “I might have made a mistake here or there, but that’s all behind me now.”
The duke’s eyes were cold and hard. “Are you willing to sign a contract stating you will never gamble again?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A contract. No gambling. I won’t have you squandering my ward’s fortune as well as your own.”
“Oh, er, I think I see my cousin. I must greet him. I beg your pardon. Your Grace, Lady Glynis, Miss Crewe.” Lord Darbyshire made a few hasty bows and rushed away.
“Good riddance,” Lady Glynis said. “He’s thoroughly unsuitable.”
“Thank you very much, Your Grace,” Ana said. “You chased away my first, and only, would-be suitor.”
“He’s nothing but a fortune hunter,” growled the duke.
“So what if he is? He’s fair to look upon, and we were only going to dance, not run away to Gretna Green.”
“Miss Crewe!” Lady Glynis exclaimed. “You mustn’t speak of such indelicate things.”
“My ward is not going to dance with a known profligate and gambler.”
“I’m not going to dance with anyone if you scare them away. Why did you buy me this new wardrobe and the etiquette lessons and all of it if you were only going to ruin my prospects?”
“He’s not good enough,” he said vehemently. “Trust me.”
“Don’t all the young lords gamble and drink? Isn’t that their job in life?”
“He’s not right for you.”
“Didn’t you drink and gamble at his age?”
“Enough.” His large right hand raised in an unconsciously commanding gesture, the officer keeping his regiment in line.
“You are frustratingly domineering.”
Lady Glynis cocked her head forbiddingly at Ana, her eyebrows arched emphatically. “He’s your guardian, Miss Crewe. You must abide by his judgment and submit to him in all things.”
Submit to him. Why did those words make her head spin and her palms feel clammy? “At least give me a chance to dance with someone.”
“Only those suitors I deem appropriate.”
“You should have written up a list of approved gentlemen before the ball.”
“I promised your father that I would—”
“I know what you promised. And you’ve fulfilled it. You’ve restored my fortunes, launched me in society, and provided me with the most correct of chaperones. Your duty is done. You may leave now.”
“Don’t speak to him like that,” warned her chaperone.
“Warburton, you remember my son, Lord Chetwynd-Ellerton?”
A woman’s voice destroyed the intimate moment. The duke dropped Ana’s hand. “Lady Chetwynd-Ellerton, of course.”
The dowager countess and her son were a matched set, from their sloping cheeks to their solid ankles. There was nothing stimulating or sharp about them—they were stolid and dull as old doorknobs.
“And Lady Glynis, I haven’t seen you in an age. How are your prize roses?”
“Tolerably well, though it’s been unseasonably cold already.”
“Miss Crewe.” Lord Chetwynd-Ellerton made a bow. “Might I have the privilege of being your first dance partner?”
The duke nodded. “She would be delighted.”
Ana glared at him. She wasn’t allowed to make her own choice, apparently.
“They’re just now beginning to form for the quadrille,” the earl observed.
Lady Glynis pulled her aside briefly to whisper in her ear. “Lord Chetwynd-Ellerton has a large fortune and dozens of properties. He’d be a brilliant match.”
Ana glanced back at the duke as the earl led her to the dance floor. It would be difficult to remember the sequence of steps and make polite conversation with her partner, as well as take mental notes for her novel, but she’d manage.