6. Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
T he world tilted precariously as Alice placed her hand in the duke’s. She searched for some spark or flutter at his touch, but found only the growing void in her stomach—threatening to consume her whole. His grip was warm and steady, yet it failed to ignite anything other than panic in her breast. This was supposed to set her heart aflame, and the fact that it did not was another piece of evidence that she was fundamentally broken.
She felt the weight of countless eyes boring into her from every direction. Her mother’s gaze burned from where she had left her, no doubt still seething about her lackluster introduction. But her mother was not the only displeased guest in attendance. From his position against one of the marble pillars, Captain Lacey watched from the shadows with crossed arms and a sour expression, as though he had attempted and failed to dissuade Elias from this dance. And above them all, the dowager watched from her flowered throne with such profound disinterest that it made Alice’s face pale—the most important moment of her life apparently nothing more than a passing amusement to the powerful woman. The dowager leaned close to Lady Fairfax, whispering something to her daughter-in-law. Alice’s skin prickled with anxiety.
She forced herself to breathe through her nose and focus on Elias. He was everything a duke should be—charming, graceful, possessed of a calm confidence that seemed to wrap around him like a warm quilt on a winter’s day. When he caught her watching, he turned his brilliant smile upon her, and she responded with what she hoped was the perfect expression of pleasure. Her efforts appeared to please him, for he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.
“Please forgive me if my dancing is lackluster,” he murmured. “It has been quite a while since I have danced a waltz.”
A waltz.
Her stomach made a nauseating flip, and she swallowed hard to maintain her composure. She had been so distracted by everything else that she hadn’t examined her dance card. The duke had chosen one of the most intimate dances possible—a modern and slightly scandalous choice for an unmarried couple. Though she had practiced the steps with her mother, she had not devoted nearly as much time to it as the quadrille, thinking it unlikely a gentleman would ask her to dance something so salacious.
And now—with the wine churning in her stomach and the room already spinning around her—she wasn’t entirely certain she could manage it.
Alice cleared her throat.
“I am certain you will be a lovely dance partner.”
Her words brightened his countenance as they took their positions among the other couples who were brave enough to attempt the scandalous dance. She couldn’t help but notice that most of the women were older, with salt and pepper in their hair, wearing flower pins upon their breasts. They stood close to their husbands with the serene confidence of high society ladies who had everything they ever wanted. Envy coursed through her. She was the only one without a flower, making her feel like an imposter.
Outsider.
You do not belong.
She shook her head, attempting to dislodge the dark thoughts before they could take root. She would not allow them to poison this moment with the duke. As the orchestra began their waltz, Elias placed one hand at her waist, the other clasping her gloved fingers. Again, she searched for some spark, some flutter of any happy feeling, but her mind was too consumed by the darkness within to notice anything but the growing unease in her stomach.
The duke must have sensed something amiss, for his head tilted slightly, a question forming on his lips. But before he could say anything, the music swelled and the surrounding couples moved, giving them no choice but to follow.
Elias proved to be as accomplished in dance as he was in conversation, the same energy that had animated his storytelling now flowing through him. His every movement was perfect, his physical presence so commanding that Alice suspected that even a complete novice would have no issue following his lead. She allowed herself to be swept along, grateful that at least one of them seemed to know what they were doing.
As the dance continued, however, Alice knew she must speak—her mother had drilled into her that silence during a dance was improper. She gathered her courage, despite feeling incredibly light-headed.
“Your Grace, for someone who claimed to be out of practice, you dance remarkably well,” she said, flushing at her own forwardness.
“I beg your pardon?” Elias leaned closer to hear over the orchestra. “Did you say I smell?”
“Well!” she squeaked, mortification flooding her. “I said you dance well, though now I fear I’ve made a mess of the compliment entirely.”
A laugh escaped him.
“Ah, then I must confess my earlier modesty was perhaps a touch theatrical.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ve always believed that, in order to have a good party, everyone must take it upon themselves to be educated in the art of dancing. One can hardly expect to keep the merriment alive if one trips over his own feet.”
He executed a particularly graceful turn as if to demonstrate, and Alice clutched at him, her stomach lurching at the sudden movement. His hand tightened over hers in response—a silent reassurance that he was in control.
Seizing upon this thread of conversation, Alice pressed on.
“You move with such …” she searched for a word that wouldn’t sound improper, “... certainty . But what do you do when you are not practicing?”
This seemed to please him, for his face lit up as he guided her through another turn.
“Apart from practicing my steps, I find myself drawn to any gathering where people come together. Balls, assemblies, musical evenings—there’s nothing quite like the energy of a celebration.” His smile grew warmer. “The music, the laughter, sharing a conversation with a beautiful lady ...”
Alice felt heat rise in her cheeks at his words, and he quickly guided her through another turn, as though to give her a moment to compose herself, but it did the opposite as the wine sloshed precariously in her stomach. She struggled to keep her face carefully neutral.
“I feel as though I’ve spoken so much about myself,” he continued, his voice low. “I wish to know more about you, Miss Montrose. How do you spend your leisure time?”
The simple question sent her mind spinning. Leisure time? The very concept seemed strange to her—her every waking moment filled with endless practice, repetition, correction, and criticism. Replies floated through her mind. She could say pianoforte, drawing, languages. But before she could grasp any of them, they were overrun by the jeering of her inner demons.
A flash of red hair at the edge of her vision made her stomach lurch—Captain Lacey was still watching, and she could feel his judgment viscerally. The room seemed to spin twice as fast as it should, the couples around them becoming no more than colored blurs.
“I ... erm ...”
The world tilted dangerously. Everything was too loud—the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the pounding rhythm that she slowly realized was not the orchestra’s drums—but rather her own heart thundering in her ears.
Louder, and louder, and louder.
“Miss Montrose?” Elias’s voice seemed far away. “Are you quite alright? You look as pale as a sheet.”
His words jolted through her like a bolt of lightning, and suddenly she felt as though she had fallen from a great height. They came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dance floor, drawing gasps from the crowd and grumbles from the surrounding couples, who were forced to sweep around them.
Elias’s hands flew to her shoulders, steadying her as though he feared she might swoon at any moment. The motion brought him closer than propriety allowed, and the scent of his citrus cologne—which she had found so pleasant earlier—now pushed her over the precipice she had been teetering upon all day.
To her absolute horror—and that of every person in attendance—Alice became violently ill, her sick splattering unceremoniously across the duke’s pristine white cravat and evening coat. The terrible Italian wine that her mother had insisted she drink now stained the fabric a horrifying shade of red, as though she had inflicted a mortal wound upon him.
The orchestra screeched to a halt.
For one terrible moment, complete silence fell over the ballroom. Elias remained frozen, his hands still gripping her shoulders, looking as though lightning had struck him. Then the whispers began, spreading through the crowd like wildfire, accompanied by gasps of shock and barely suppressed laughter.
Alice clapped a hand over her mouth, praying desperately that this was nothing more than a terrible nightmare from which she would soon awaken. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, she wrenched herself from Elias’s grasp. Her gaze darted wildly around the room, taking in the reactions of all those watching.
Her mother’s face had gone chalk white, her expression cycling through shock, mortification, and fury in rapid succession. But it was Captain Lacey’s reaction that caught her attention—gone was his usual sardonic pose, replaced by rigid attention. Rather than the smug satisfaction she had expected at her humiliation, his expression was strange, almost alarmed, as though a shattering revelation had suddenly dawned upon him.
She had no time to decipher his reaction, her eyes drawn inexorably to the platform where the hostess of this gathering sat. The crowd around the dowager had rushed to the balustrade for a better view of the catastrophe, Lady Fairfax’s hand pressed to her mouth in shock. But through the press of bodies, Alice could see the dowager herself—and the change in her countenance made Alice’s blood run cold.
Gone was the haughty boredom—the dismissive air that had cut Alice to the quick earlier. Instead, the dowager leaned forward in her chair like a cat spotting a particularly interesting mouse. Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight as she reached for one of the elaborate flower arrangements beside her throne. With deliberate grace, she plucked a single bloom and raised it to her nose.
A pink rose.
It was the last thing Alice registered before hands seized her arms from behind—her mother’s fingers digging into her flesh as she hissed words that Alice couldn’t quite make out. She allowed herself to be dragged away from the still-stunned and silent Elias—away from the scene of her complete social ruin—the image of the dowager’s satisfied smile burned deeply into her mind.