CHAPTER FOUR #2
How had she gone from the edges of the ballroom to being favored by the duke’s own sister and mother?
***
In the family carriage, Amelia’s thoughts had still not settled.
They swirled and fluttered around her, a blizzard of confusion that she couldn’t quite see through.
She swore she could feel His Grace’s hand on her waist, his strong arm wrapped around her as he’d steadied her when she stumbled.
She could feel how the intensity of his eyes had burned into her, grounding her to the spot in a way nothing ever had before.
“I think we can secure this match.” Her father’s voice cut through the din. “I will be the first to say I did not expect such an outcome but it is not hard to see how advantageous this match would be. Imagine it, my daughter, catching the eye of the Duke of Blackthorn.”
Amelia’s mother smiled at her kindly, yet there was something lingering in her eyes, a worry of sorts.
“I spoke with the Dowager Duchess Felicity. She is very happy, and feels rather positive. Did you know her son has not danced in many years? Yet he chose you, Amelia.” She turned to Amelia’s father.
“However… there is the matter of his reputation. It concerns me somewhat. I did not dare dishonour Her Grace by bringing up that ill-fated night that is rumoured about, but I imagine she knows I have considered it.”
Amelia remained silent, biting her lip. Her excitement was there, of course, but it suddenly felt as though it was no longer only hers. She felt as though everybody was taking her own excitement for themselves, leaving her with only the confusion.
“Amelia has been lucky,” her father insisted. “We must celebrate that. It may be His Grace’s first dance in years but it is also Amelia’s this Season. If anything, the duke’s attention tonight will make her more appealing to other suitors.”
“It is not luck,” Amelia protested. “I merely fell and he was there. I imagine the dance was one of pity.”
“Dukes do not pity barons’ daughters enough to offer them a dance, Amelia,” her mother reminded her.
But even as they continued the likelihood of a match, and what it would do to heighten their own status, Amelia remained quiet, her head turned towards London passing by outside.
She could not understand how they could speak about her like she was something on display.
How her dance with one man heightened her appeal—why she even needed appeal.
It all swirled in her heart until she struggled to breathe.
***
Alone in his study, Graham watched his brandy as it caught the low candlelight, turning the liquid a brandished copper. His head was heavy with thoughts and turmoil, and his stomach was knotted. He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.
The door opened slowly with a creak, and his mother’s face appeared, that careful smile on her lips that he had long grown used to.
“You are alone,” she noted.
He nodded. “Owen returned to his own home after he talked of Lady Eleanor all the way home.”
Felicity laughed softly as she entered the room further.
The door closed behind her, and Graham had the odd sense that he was trapped.
Yet he was, even without his mother there, for he could not stop thinking about his dance with Miss Hawthorne and how she had stirred feelings in him he thought himself incapable of having.
“You appear troubled,” Felicity said, eyeing him knowingly. “Does it have anything to do with your dance tonight with Miss Hawthorne?”
“No,” he answered too quickly to even fool his mother.
She only smiled a little kinder and sat down on the other side of his desk. “You only come in here to brood when you are deep in thought or working, and I see no papers out.”
“I am not brooding,” he said sharply. But his walls were high, and yet Miss Hawthorne had peeked over them, found a weak part and nudged a hole in it even if she did not realize it. Yet… he carried tragedy in his bones, brought a curse with him that he could not shed.
Silence settled around them for a moment before Felicity spoke again. “Graham, I saw how you danced with her. I have never seen you move so naturally, so at ease. The stiffness and tension you often carry… it all disappeared. Why does that scare you?”
“It does not,” he sighed.
“I believe it does, for you carry that tension now. Something about tonight has bothered you so why will you not confide in your mother about it?”
His defenses only rose as he toyed with his brandy glass.
“Graham.” His mother’s voice was soft, imploring. “Do you not believe that it is time you settled down? You have a dukedom—have had one for many years now—and that requires an heir. Do you not wish to be happy, to know the Blackthorn dukedom is secure within our family?”
“I am happy,” he curtly told his mother. “I do not need you to meddle. One dance with one lady of the ton does not mean anything. I do not have intentions to pursue Miss Hawthorne—or any other lady for that matter.”
“And yet you asked her to dance,” Felicity answered gently. “That means something. Not the dance itself, or how you looked, but that you had the thought to ask, that you did. Something about her loosened that question in you when, for five years, others have not.”
“Mother.” His voice was sharp, a warning, and she nodded as if knowing she was pushing him to a limit. Standing up, she smoothed her dress down.
“I only implore you to think of your responsibilities. Daphne shall marry well one day, but I wish for my eldest son to be happy and dutiful.”
Graham did not answer her, only staring at his drink.
“Goodnight, Graham,” she murmured, leaving his study quietly.
Once she had gone, he exhaled, his tight frown loosening into something softer.
He did not know what to do—how to even begin untangling this new feeling he had not let even plant a seed within his heart before.
And yet despite his harsh response to his mother, there was the warmth of Miss Hawthorne’s hand in his, the gentle smile she had given him, even as she herself had looked confused, and no matter how much he tried to distract himself from that, her smile remained.
And deep within him, Graham felt a pulse of longing.
He chased it away by finally drinking his brandy.