Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Matteo wound his way through the crowd. It proved more difficult than he had anticipated, for he was detained by acquaintances, members of the peerage, and mamas presenting to him with their daughters.
“It is a most pleasant surprise to see you attending, Your Grace…”
“Have you met my daughter…”
“Your Grace, we had despaired of seeing you grace our debutante balls again…”
Amidst it all, Matteo had smiled and bowed, complimented young ladies where compliments were expected.
He thought of every possible skill that a young lady might have, places they would enjoy visiting, and indeed, the good weather that London was currently enjoying, and inserted them all in conversation.
He must, after all, maintain his image of the charming duke.
“Peter, where are you?” He muttered in between smiles, promising himself that he would murder his friend as soon as he arrived.
He should have known better than to agree to attend Lady Chapman’s ball, but Peter had practically threatened him with the loss of their friendship if he did not come.
Cursing his best friend under his breath, Matteo finally managed to extract himself from the two society matrons who held him in conversation. Lady Wright and Lady Smith-Brown, both dowager viscountesses, could rattle on for hours if one let them.
Peter, Dahlia, and their party were late.
Had he known that he would arrive before them—a good half hour at that—he would have tarried longer in his townhouse.
He was not much for staying at home and passing his time there, but he was more not the type to spend an entire evening in this type of ball.
He preferred the more sophisticated set, the more experienced set.
Where his efforts were not as pronounced, for there was less pretense and fewer expectations.
In short, debutante balls were not his ideal social event to attend. Neither were they Peter’s, not so long ago.
Just when he considered leaving and then returning at a later time, he heard them being announced.
“The Duke and Duchess of Icedale.”
“Lady Mary Thornscroft.”
“Lady Claire Thornscroft.”
“The Marquess and Marchioness of Bolton.”
“The Dowager Marchioness of Bolton.”
“Ah, the whole cavalry.” Matteo smiled as he shook his head.
It was funny how only a year ago, Peter had been seen as a cold and forbidding bachelor, the Duke of Ice.
Now he stood surrounded by his wife, his sisters, his parents-in-law, even by his wife’s grandmother, looking very much the devoted male.
In marrying Dahlia Hill, he had suddenly acquired a whole clan.
And his friend could not look any happier for it.
He made his way towards their party.
“Might I say that you look very lovely tonight, ladies.”
All the ladies of the group, including Dahlia’s mother, Teresa Hill, the Marchioness, and Dahlia’s grandmother, Wilhelmina Hill, the Dowager Marchioness, all turned at the sound of his voice.
“Matteo!”
“Your Grace.”
He bowed to the ladies.
“You really attended! Peter said you would, but I did not quite believe him.” Dahlia chuckled.
“I am very glad to be here. And if I might take this time to secure a dance from all four of you ladies? Mary? Claire? Lady Teresa? Lady Wilhelmina?” He raised his eyebrows at Dahlia. “Not you, I know.”
“In my youth, I would have given you a run for your money, Your Grace.” Lady Wilhelmina said with a wide grin. “But, alas, I would much rather watch these young people make a fool of themselves now.”
“Ah, that is a pity, indeed, I am sure I would have been a slave to that smile, my lady.”
“You are much too smooth for your own good, young man.” Lady Wilhelmina chuckled. “One day, you will find your match, and then you shall see that tongue of yours will be utterly speechless.”
“That shall be the day, grandmama,” Peter said, laughing.
“I will be glad to dance with you, Matteo,” Mary replied, smiling.
“You shall be my second dance, for my first is already promised to another.” Claire grinned.
“And who, pray tell, is this gentleman?”
The marquess bowed.
“The pleasure of dancing with Lady Claire is all mine, Your Grace.”
“He lost a bet.” The marchioness replied, chuckling.
They all laughed at this.
“I shall tell you about it later,” Dahlia said.
Matteo gestured to the swell of her stomach.
“And how is our little baby faring?”
“Very well, thank you. We have been eating quite often!”
“She will eat blueberry scones all day if you let her.” Peter chuckled, looking lovingly at Dahlia.
“Would you like something to drink? We must get you some refreshments.” Matteo said to the others.
They all thanked him, and he and Peter walked towards the refreshment table.
“I am glad that you are still a man of your word,” Peter said in an amused voice. “I had half expected you not to be here.”
“Good god, Peter, I have not been to a debutante’s ball in years.”
“If I am to suffer a debutante’s ball, then so must you,” Peter said, hiding his laughter.
“Why must we suffer at all?” Matteo asked almost wildly. “We have always managed to avoid these types of social events, why must we start attending now?”
“Dahlia will not appreciate my absence during the first ball of Mary and Claire’s second season. She must see me actually attending.”
“Is that right? I had thought that it was you who did not want to lose sight of your lovely wife for even just a moment.” Matteo smirked.
Instead of his customary frown, Peter grinned.
Matteo shook his head; he still had not gotten used to this frequently smiling Peter.
“In any case, I have secured my three dances with your sisters and with Lady Teresa. Those three will have to suffice.”
“Out of your element, are you?”
“You know very well, Duke, that we have always avoided balls such as this. The looks of the scheming mamas alone are enough to raise my hackles.”
During their first year in Oxford, the older boys attempted to turn Matteo and Peter into rivals since both were set to inherit dukedoms. The scheme failed miserably, for it made them allies against the older students instead. The alliance, however, did not always secure them victory.
In truth, it was more often than not that they were bested, earning them the title of “The Poor Dukes”. The moniker was eventually forgotten, but the two friends retained the name for each other well after their Oxford years.
“Well, Duke,” Peter chuckled, “I am very happy to say that I have now passed all that. Not one scheming mama has looked at me with a gleam in her eye tonight.” Peter looked around and noticed at once the ladies observing Matteo.
“You, on the other hand, are looking like prey.”
“The things I must do for friendship.” Matteo looked heavenward. “If that baby is a boy, you must name him after me.”
They returned to their group with refreshments, and soon the promised dances were fulfilled.
Matteo, considering his duty for the night completed, escorted Lady Wilhelmina as she made a tour of the ballroom.
They moved slowly and were stopped frequently by a number of people; quite a good number were mothers with their daughters, subtly seeking to be introduced to him.
From the first moment that he had met Dahlia’s grandmother, Matteo had been genuinely fond of her.
Perhaps it was because he had never known his own grandparents, or perhaps it was because he found her unapologetic wisdom utterly refreshing.
Whichever reason it was, he enjoyed her company.
Thus, escorting her had given him not just an enjoyable time but also a very good excuse not to dance.
“Your Grace, if you will bring me back to the family.” Lady Wilhelmina said after almost an hour of mingling. “I find that I have reached my limit for the night.”
Matteo frowned.
“Are you unwell, my lady?”
“No, merely tired. I think I shall ask to be taken home now.”
They found Peter and Dahlia. Soon, arrangements to bring the Dowager Marchioness home were made. Dahlia’s parents were to go home with her.
With the reduction in size of their group, Matteo considered making his leave as well. He would wait for Dahlia and Peter to return from seeing their family off, and then he would bid them a good night as well.
Peter cannot object to my leaving now, I am sure.
Matteo swept his glance across the ballroom, watching for his friends’ return. He was feeling restless, as if all the activity around him suddenly felt meaningless. He thought again of heading home, but the image of his quiet townhouse somehow held no appeal to him now as well.
He could go to his club. He exhaled.
Why does that seem even less appealing?
Perhaps it was the company of Peter and Dahlia’s family that had Matteo looking for something familiar, a connection of his own.
In his two and thirty years of existence, he rarely got tired of his own company. And even more rarely did he find being in the middle of a social gathering a tedious thing.
Perhaps I am getting old.
That was when he saw her. Someone familiar—not quite a friend, but definitely someone he shared some form of connection with. From across the room, Matteo watched her. A face which he had not seen in almost a year.
He caught her eye and held her gaze; he smiled at her. She frowned and quickly looked away. Of course, he must go to her; they did spend a winter together after all—well, that is, a few days in each other’s company during a visit with Peter and Dahlia at Icedale Castle, their country seat.
Matteo was accustomed to people fawning over him—ladies in particular, but this lady had always displayed barely concealed irritation towards him. He had found it quite amusing then, and however tempted he was to change her mind about him, he had, in deference to Peter, not done anything.
But now, there was nothing holding Matteo back. He mentally rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
Of course, he must go to her; it was but the civil thing to do.
“Lady Helena.”
“Your Grace.”