Chapter 3 #2
After a few dances had passed, Evelyn rose. “Come, Frances. I think it is time we introduced you to a few gentlemen. The quadrille is next, and it is one of the easier dances.”
Frances stood up, smoothing her gown nervously. She followed her cousins across the room and soon found herself being introduced to a pleasant young man named Mr. Tinseling, who seemed quite eager to dance with her.
The quadrille went better than she had expected. Mr. Tinseling was patient and helped guide her through the steps when she faltered. By the end, she was almost enjoying herself.
“You did wonderfully,” Marianne praised when she returned. “See? It is not so frightening.”
Frances smiled, feeling a small swell of pride. Perhaps she could do this, after all.
“I think I need some air,” she said after another dance. “Is there a terrace or a gallery where I might catch my breath?”
“Of course,” Charlotte replied. “Just through those doors there. We shall wait for you here.”
Frances made her way through the crowd, slipping out of the ballroom and into a quieter corridor.
She found herself in a gallery lined with portraits and lit by softer candlelight.
The cool air was a relief after the stuffiness of the ballroom, and she took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves.
She was examining one of the portraits when she heard footsteps behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw an impeccably dressed gentleman walking over to the banister overlooking the ballroom. A second man joined him, and the two stood together, chuckling.
Curious, she took a step closer but hid herself behind a column.
“I see the ladies are playing at sophistication as usual?” a deep voice remarked. It was the first man. He was tall, dark-haired, and carried an air of arrogance she was accustomed to from nobles.
“Most of them, yes. I’m surprised to see you here, Your Grace. You do not usually mingle with this crowd.” The other man, blond and a little shorter, turned to him.
“I do not, but I am not here of my own volition. I was forced. I am playing the part I must. I already danced with the terribly vapid and common girls.”
“Common girls? Here? I hardly think so. Lady Farside would never.”
The Duke chuckled. “Perhaps not common as in untitled, but their behavior sure leaves something to be desired. It is so vexing the way these women throw themselves at any bachelor who looks their way. It is provincial, the sort of thing one expects in Bedfordshire, not London.”
At the sound of her home being disparaged, Frances inhaled sharply.
“I assure you, women from Bedfordshire are just as educated and sophisticated as those from London. However, I must say the gentlemen in Bedfordshire are far less rude. You will never hear one mistake cynicism for wit or insult ladies.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, but it was not embarrassment. It was anger. How dare this insufferable man make such assumptions?
He spun around and stared at her. “I do beg your pardon if I insulted your home, as clearly you are born and bred in Bedfordshire.”
“Meaning what?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
The blond man patted the Duke on the shoulder and departed with a cheery “I shall leave you to this.”
The Duke ignored him. “Meaning that it is provincial to address a man one does not know at a ball or on any occasion. We have not been introduced, after all. Are you new to town?”
“That is of no consequence. What is of consequence is that lofty dukes ought not to speak so out of turn. It is wrong. Only fools make assumptions about people they do not know.”
“Are you calling me a fool?” he scoffed, crossing his arms.
“If the shoe fits,” she replied, mirroring his stance.
His eyebrows rose, clearly not expecting the retort.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the air between them crackling with tension. Then, without another word, he gave her a curt nod and walked past her, disappearing down the corridor.
Frances stood there, her heart pounding. She had never spoken to anyone like that before. Certainly not to a gentleman, and most certainly not to a duke. What had possessed her?
But even as she chastised herself, she could not help but feel a small thrill of satisfaction. He had been insufferably rude, and she had put him in his place.
She took a moment to compose herself before returning to the ballroom, where her cousins were waiting.
“Are you quite all right?” Marianne asked, noticing her flushed cheeks. “You look rather flustered.”
“I am fine,” Frances replied, forcing a smile. “Just a bit warm, that is all.”
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. She danced a few more times, made polite conversation with various members of the ton, and tried to put the encounter in the gallery out of her mind. But she could not quite shake the memory of those dark eyes and that infuriating smirk.
When they finally returned home well past midnight, she was exhausted. Her feet ached, her head throbbed, and all she wanted was to collapse into bed.
But she had to admit, despite everything, there had been something exhilarating about the evening. And her strange encounter with the arrogant Duke had left her feeling oddly rattled and, if she were honest with herself, intrigued.
The next morning, Frances woke up late, her body protesting the late night. She dressed slowly, still thinking about the ball, about her cousins, about the dancing, and yes, about the insufferable man in the gallery.
She made her way downstairs to the breakfast room, where Aunt Eugenia was already seated, looking quite pleased with herself.
“Good morning, my dear,” she said brightly. “I trust you enjoyed yourself last night?”
“I did,” Frances admitted, taking her seat. “My cousins were very kind.”
“Capital!” Aunt Eugenia clapped her hands together. “Simply capital! Now, I have some news. My godson has arrived. In fact, he arrived yesterday just after you left. Then, business called him away again, and he did not return until after you had retired. Come, allow me to introduce you.”
Frances’s stomach fluttered nervously. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to be around any more dukes for a while.
Alas, her aunt walked her across the room to where the parlor door sat closed and knocked. “James, come. I want to make introductions.”
The door opened, and a tall figure entered.
“Frances, my dear, allow me to introduce my godson, James Ellery, the Duke of Somerset. James, this is my niece, Miss Frances Langley.”
Frances looked up, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Standing before her, with that same infuriating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, was the man from the gallery.
Her lips parted, and she staggered back, knocking her hip into the side table. Aunt Eugenia raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing.
The Duke’s dark eyes met hers, and she saw the exact moment recognition dawned on him. His smirk widened ever so slightly.
“Miss Langley,” he greeted, his voice smooth as silk. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Your Grace,” she managed, curtsying on shaky legs.
Aunt Eugenia looked between them, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. “Wonderful! I do hope you two will be good friends during James’s stay. . ”
The Duke took closed the parlor door behind him and walked into the breakfast room, taking his seat across from her, and judging by the glint in his eyes, he remembered their exchange all too well.
A fortnight, Frances thought desperately. A fortnight under the same roof as this odious, vexing man.
It was going to be the longest fortnight of her life.