Chapter 14
“Iam glad we have this settled,” Sebastian told Harold, the aging baron, as they enjoyed their glass in the half-empty dining room. “Fortunate to have this out of the way before the new year.”
“Indeed. I’ve had issues with those acres for years. Taking them off my hands is the best gift I could receive this year,” the man added cheerfully. “I almost feel as though I should pay you to take them.”
Deep in his cups, the man chortled and glanced around the room.
Sebastian didn’t usually steal so much time from a host. But he had come here with an intention and was determined to sort it out, which he had done. And now he had one more.
“There is no need, but I would appreciate a different sort of favor,” he added in a low voice.
“Anything for a duke!”
He leaned forward and looked Harold in the eye so the man knew he was serious. Maybe too serious judging by the way the host immediately froze and stared with wide eyes up at him.
“I would appreciate your ear on any mention of myself and my wife, and your vote of confidence. After all, we were a love match. A hurried one, yes, but… a love match all the same.” Sebastian spoke slowly.
It always seemed to help if he spoke slowly.
“Any mention of reputation or scandal is not welcome and will be seen as a personal affront to me. Do you understand?”
At first Sebastian worried he might have gone too far. Men, even titled, could be intimidated extremely easily. And the baron was hardly half his size and twice his age. Harold swayed, tipping his drink lightly over his hands without noticing for a long moment.
“Oh. Yes, erm… I shall endeavor… Yes, of course, Your Grace,” he stammered at last. His nod was so deep it appeared a bow. “Yes, of course!”
Trying to force a smile, Sebastian said, “Thank you. I would appreciate it. Now, shall we go in to see the ladies?”
“What could they be doing without us but sitting around waiting?” Chimed in one of them who had been walking over to them. “What a fine vintage, my lord!”
Leopold Warner, the heir to a viscounty should his uncle ever die, was beaming at them with a wide smile as he played with his cravat.
When he opened his mouth to greet Sebastian, however, it had to be stopped.
Sebastian hadn’t heard enough of what the conversation might have been down the line of the table.
But it had upset Isabel, and that was enough.
He was working off assumptions and wasn’t interested in hearing from the likes of Warner.
“I’ll lead the way,” Sebastian said while carefully slamming his shoulder into the lad who had much to learn. Warner stumbled back, sputtering, but said nothing.
The men followed behind him out the door and back toward the drawing room where the women would be gathered. Although Harold came to walk beside him down the hall, he did nothing but motion for a servant to open the doors for them.
Sebastian spotted his wife at once.
He had seen the drawing room earlier that evening and just as then, hardly paid mind to the dark oak panels and equally dark blue wallpaper. Candles were set everywhere to offer light for the evening, highlighting the corners and shadows around them.
Three assorted sofas around the room and four chairs near the fireplace claimed most of the space, except for a pianoforte set beside the closed window. A cozy room, perhaps, but hardly a focal point when he could again enjoy setting his gaze on his wife.
One of the women were tinkling away on the pianoforte. It wasn’t much of a tune, but he recognized the beat and, upon reaching his wife, put out his hand.
Isabel opened her mouth in confusion.
He beat her to it. “My dear duchess, might I have this dance?”
A hesitant chuckle escaped her lips; her gaze darted away from him only a second to the pianoforte. It could hardly be heard with the men entering and finding their own party members.
“No one else is dancing,” Isabel pointed out to him.
“Not yet. But they don’t matter. Do they?”
She understood him at once, clever lady that she was. Her gloved hand slowly slipped into his before tightening her grip. “I suppose they don’t.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” the vicar’s sister muttered when he swept Isabel past her toward the center of the room. “Whatever is…?”
He set her into position with one hand touching hers. It was awfully limited contact, but it would do. It would be enough. Meeting her gaze, he gave her a short nod and then took his first step.
“Goodness!” Someone whispered and then sighed.
“Dancing!” The baroness gasped. “I never thought of dancing for tonight.”
Her husband shuffled up beside her. “You know I’m not a dancer. I would never have approved. Ah, but look at them. A love match,” he added rather loudly in an exaggerated whisper.
Restraining the urge to roll his eyes, Sebastian refocused on the dance. He knew how to dance. He danced all the time at balls. But never had he cared about it before, getting it right with his dance partner. Usually he only had to focus on not stepping on dainty dancing slippers.
When he looked back up at his wife, he caught Isabel flitting anxious glances around the room.
“Stop worrying about them,” he murmured.
She gave a tight nod. “And you need to relax?”
“Relax?”
“Yes. Can you do that?”
Sebastian thought of his years in training for boxing. When he took a deep breath, he managed a more fluid step. But Isabel couldn’t seem to settle on looking at any one thing for more than a heartbeat.
“Isabel?”
“Yes?”
He let out a deep breath in the hopes it would calm her. “You really to look beautiful tonight.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. It was enough that his heart skipped a beat. He tried not to think about that.
Isabel softly whispered to him, “You already told me that.”
“It doesn’t mean I can’t tell you again.” Sebastian pointed out as calmly as he could manage. Why there was a thunderstorm heavy in his chest, he couldn’t explain. “Your dress suits you. The yellow does too, but this one more.”
Isabel blinked rapidly when she gazed back up at him in surprise. “You pay attention.”
“I do. To your dresses, to your smile… to your laugh.”
“My laugh?”
“It unsettles me in ways I cannot explain.” He nearly winced when that escaped his mouth.
What is that supposed to mean? Sebastian, think! I practiced this on the carriage ride over and feel as though I have forgotten how to speak the King’s English.
It was not his intention to sound strange. Uneducated. Sebastian was trying to charm her. But then, he’d never really tried to charm anyone before. “That is… Your courage, it outshines the candles. This room.”
A small laugh of surprise escaped Isabel, and she almost stepped away. He saw the way her balance rocked back before moving right back into him, that sweet floral scent of hers feeling like a warm breeze on his cheek.
“You are…” She gave a gentle shake of her head as she gazed up at him. Their eyes met and she trailed off. His heart raced, feeling like he was back in the boxing ring, ready for another match. But it was just him and her.
Until the music ended.
The two of them stopped as well, and Sebastian wanted to keep gazing at Isabel.
He liked studying the shades of brown and gold in her soft hair.
And those amber eyes of hers were more gold tonight, perhaps because of her dress’s coloring.
He wanted to spend hour studying the color of her eyes, he decided.
But not with an audience.
“Thank you.” Isabel darted another glance around. She managed a sheepish smile before pulling her hand free, offering a flourish of a curtsy. “How lovely it was to have a proper dance with you, Your Grace.”
“Yes, of course, I…”
Two others had joined them, he realized. The baron had been talked into a few turns and Warner had brought another young lady there. Those four, along with a few others who had watched and whispered, politely clapped.
“If we are all sharing our talents this evening,” the young lady remarked cheerfully, “then I must share the sweetest song I have learned. Mrs. Worthy, won’t you play the pianoforte for me?”
Off she went to eagerly perform for everyone.
It wasn’t unusual to have everyone line up and share some talent for all to see or hear, but Sebastian had never quite understood it. He didn’t always care to be in the audience, though no one here would be interested in a boxing match.
“Perhaps,” Isabel started to murmur but paused when Warner was caught muttering under his breath near them.
He said something about talent, before going on with, “and as fallen ladies have no place in polite society––”
Not another word was necessary for Sebastian. Anger flooded through him. He felt Isabel begin to tense up. Enough was enough. Hands balling into fists, he knew dimly how he needed to behave himself in polite company.
But there to be a middle line and he was more than glad to walk it.
The young and brash could only be so young and brash. Circling around his wife, Sebastian put himself between her and Warner. The man was tall but thin. He had bragged earlier that evening about his fencing capabilities, but it was clear Warner was still nothing more than a dandy.
“Mind your tongue,” Sebastian charged, barely containing the urge to give the young man a hard shake. “I would be careful opening that mouth again if I were you. Words said cannot be taken back.”
“Oh. Ah. I, I, uh… I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t…” Warner paled and backed up a few steps, still angling his neck up to gape at him in dismay. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
While the young man hastily took his leave of this corner of the room, still stammering his apologies, Sebastian forced himself to relax.
One deep breath and then another. He was out of the ring now, and everything was right. No one would say another word.
“Sebastian?” Isabel whispered.
The hesitation in her voice stung and he realized he might have gone too far. Had he scared her? Scolding himself, Sebastian sought a distraction.
He turned and immediately offered his arm to his wife. Ignoring her stare, Sebastian spoke calmly. “I think there’s some port to be poured. Shall we?”