Chapter 18
Margaret had attended balls before. Poppy had not, and that alone transformed the evening.
Poppy could not remain still in the carriage. She leaned toward the window, then back again, adjusting her gloves, then smoothing a curl that had already been arranged twice.
“Do you suppose they will announce us loudly?” she whispered.
“They always do,” Margaret replied.
“Even me?”
“Especially you. It is your first, after all.”
Poppy pressed her lips together, attempting composure. It lasted a full three seconds before she broke into a grin.
“I shall try not to trip.”
“You will not trip.”
“You sound certain.”
“I have watched you practice for a week.”
Poppy laughed softly.
“I did stumble twice.”
“Once,” Margaret corrected. “The other time you were distracted.”
“By what?”
“By imagining the admiration of several suitors.”
“Margaret!”
Poppy gasped in mock offense. Margaret smiled in spite of herself.
The excitement was infectious. Poppy had been waiting for this evening since her name first appeared on the invitation list. A new gown had arrived only days ago, pale blue with delicate embroidery at the hem.
She had stood before the mirror as though studying a stranger.
The carriage slowed, and Margaret felt her own pulse shift. She told herself it was the occasion.
The footman opened the door. Music drifted from within the house, and light spilled from the tall windows onto the pavement.
Poppy descended first, accepting assistance with a sudden seriousness that Margaret did not know she had.
Lady Fairleigh followed, composed as ever, followed by Emily. Margaret stepped down last.
Their names were announced. Poppy’s fingers brushed Margaret’s sleeve as they entered the ballroom.
The room glittered with candlelight reflected in polished floors and mirrored panels.
Silk and satin moved in slow currents. Conversation rose and fell like distant surf.
It was as normal for Margaret, but it was all new to her sister.
“Oh,” Poppy breathed.
Margaret watched her sister’s face soften into wonder. She felt a quiet fondness at the sight. Poppy had always loved stories. Tonight, she believed herself inside one.
“Remain with us until the first set,” Lady Fairleigh murmured.
“Yes, Mama,” Margaret nodded, though her gaze had already begun its search.
He was not near the entrance. She scanned the far side of the room where the more established gentlemen tended to gather. She saw Lord Bramwell and Mr. Huxley, two members of Parliament in earnest discussion, and a group of other gentlemen that she did not recognize, but no Duke of Ravensmere.
“You are looking for someone,” Poppy said under her breath.
“I am surveying the room.”
“You are searching for him.”
Margaret allowed herself a small smile.
“And if I am?”
“Then I hope you find him soon.”
Lady Fairleigh steered them toward a group of acquaintances. Margaret offered the required greetings, answered polite inquiries about the garden party, and endured a knowing look from the kindly Mrs. Ellsworth that suggested the rain had been widely discussed.
“You were seen beneath the oak,” Mrs. Ellsworth said with gentle implication.
“It was the nearest shelter,” Margaret replied.
“Of course.”
The woman’s smile lingered longer than necessary. Margaret excused herself at the first natural pause and guided Poppy toward the refreshment table.
“You are flushed,” Poppy observed.
“It is warm.”
“It is not.”
Margaret took a glass of lemonade and placed one into Poppy’s hand.
“You must pace yourself. There will be many dances.”
Poppy nodded solemnly.
“I shall reserve the first for someone respectable.”
“You sound as though you have made a list.”
“I have criteria.”
Margaret laughed softly.
“You have been out officially for but half an hour.”
“That is ample time to know what I do and do not want, I rather think.”
A gentleman approached then, bowing with eager politeness.
He addressed Poppy first. Margaret stepped slightly aside, watching her sister accept the invitation with careful dignity.
Poppy glanced once at Margaret before being led away, her smile impossible to contain. Margaret felt a swell of affection.
Then she looked toward the entrance again. Still nothing. She told herself he would arrive when it suited him. A duke was rarely punctual in the manner of lesser men, after all. The thought did not comfort her as much as it should have. Emily appeared at her side without announcement.
“You are scanning the doorway still,” Emily said quietly. “It is evident.”
“I am observing arrivals.”
“You have been observing arrivals for several minutes.”
Margaret did not deny it.
“He will come,” Emily said.
“I did not suggest he would not.”
Emily’s expression shifted, something restrained beneath it. A new set began, and couples arranged themselves along the floor. Margaret watched without registering the figures. She was supposed to be among them, and yet there she was on the outskirts as though nothing had changed at all.
“He is delayed,” Emily said. “That is all.”
“Possibly.”
Suddenly, Margaret’s attention shifted as the entrance stirred with fresh arrivals. A ripple of recognition passed through the nearest guests, and conversation altered in tone. She did not need to be told.
He had entered.
His Grace stood just within the threshold, dressed in deep evening black that rendered him almost severe against the candlelight. He paused long enough to exchange greetings with their host before his gaze lifted. It found her with unsettling ease. Emily followed the direction of her stare.
“There,” she said. “You need never have worried.”
“I did not!”
“You appear relieved.”
“I am not.”
Emily did not respond to that, but she did laugh softly at it. She watched as the Duke began his slow progress across the room, intercepted twice before he could advance further.
“He moves as though he owns the floor,” Emily murmured.
“He does,” Margaret replied before she could stop herself.
Emily’s brow lifted slightly. Margaret steadied her posture. She could not look eager. At last, His Grace freed himself from the last interruption and approached. He bowed first to Emily, then to Margaret.
“Miss Emily. Miss Fairleigh.”
“Your Grace,” Margaret replied.
“You are late,” Emily said plainly.
“I am aware.”
Emily’s gaze lingered a fraction longer than politeness required before she excused herself, leaving them alone within the shifting crowd.
“You have been searching for me,” he said quietly. “I noticed.”
“I have been watching the door.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
The honesty felt deliberate. His expression altered slightly at that, as though he had been expecting her to deny it.
She would have, if not for the fact that she had been caught so off guard by his presence.
He commanded it in a way she had never anticipated, and it left her with quite the lack of intelligent speech.
“Forgive the delay,” he said. “An obligation detained me.”
“You are here now,” she said.
“I am.”
The music swelled again.
“May I claim the next set?” he asked.
“You may.”
As he led her toward the forming lines, she became aware of eyes upon them. Poppy stood at the edge of the floor with her partner, preparing to join them. Margaret offered her a small smile before turning back to the Duke.
The dance began. Their hands met, then separated, then met again. Conversation around them faded as their focus turned to their steps, but Margaret had little interest in that.
“Your sister seems content.”
“She has found a suitor before the first dance has even begun. She has reason to be pleased with herself.”
“Of course. And what of your other sister?”
Margaret looked for Emily and found her on the outskirts alone. Her heart ached for her, hoping that her sister did not feel left out, but there was also a certain comfort in it. Thanks to what Margaret was doing, she would be able to wait until she found what she was looking for.
She held his gaze as they turned.
“She will find a gentleman that she likes,” she explained. “Eventually, I hope.”
“As do I. She is a young lady that I admire, and I hope that she does not lose that attitude of hers in an attempt to find a husband. I would like her to be like you in that respect.”
The words carried more weight than she assumed he had intended. He did not look away. The set continued, measured and precise, yet beneath the pattern something had shifted. He had arrived at the ball and asked her to dance with him, and she had cared whether he would.
The final note faded and applause scattered lightly across the room. Margaret felt warmth in her cheeks that had nothing to do with exertion. Nathaniel bowed, though his eyes did not leave her face.
“Walk with me,” he said, low enough that only she heard. “I should like to speak with you without all these eyes upon us.”
He did not wait for an answer, and his hand remained steady at her side as he guided her toward the open terrace doors. The night air met them gently, cooler than the crowded ballroom. Music drifted outward, softened by distance.
Once outside, he did not release her. He studied her instead. There was an intensity in his eyes that she was not entirely accustomed to.
“There is something troubling you,” he said gently. “I can see it.”
“It is difficult,” she replied. “That is all.”
“What is?”
“This is.”
His hand shifted slightly at her waist, though he did not step back. She lifted her eyes to his, gesturing to the both of them in an attempt to tell him what she meant.
“Say what you mean,” he requested. “I do not quite understand.”
“I stand beside you in crowded rooms, and I hear my name spoken differently now. I feel the weight of expectation, and so much of my life has changed, and though you know everything about my situation, there are still parts of your life that remain closed to me.”
His expression did not harden.