Chapter Seventeen
T he titters of gossip greeted Boudicca and her sisters upon being announced at Countess Linsgate’s ball. The garden party news was widespread. The handsome, powerful Duke of Baskim, the ton ’s most selective bachelor, had set his sights on someone. Her.
And though her heart was swarming with feelings, she maintained her composure and led her sisters to the dance floor. It seemed scandalous to be sans chaperone now, when only a few days ago, no one had batted an eyelash at the spinster.
Hundreds of eyes followed her every movement. Watching for what? Something incriminating? Some piece of evidence as to why—why on God’s green earth—he had chosen her? What was so special about her? Everyone wanted to know. Hell, she wanted to know, too. But she was having a bit of trouble suppressing the grin vying for purchase on her face.
Maybe she had found someone who liked her for her full self. As her sisters had said, he knew more about her than any man, and he made the most effort with her.
She thought back to her early demands of flowers, chocolate, and a gift. A woman had to have standards, even if they were outrageous. And how she had pushed him by ordering an exorbitant number of ices…well, she hadn’t backed down and neither had he. It had led to their bouts on the piste, and she couldn’t be happier.
Except she could be.
Suddenly, the manly source of all her current vexation was at her side. “Before the dance requests start flooding in, I must insist that you save a waltz for me. The first one is my preference.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” She took the dance card dangling on her wrist, something she hadn’t had any use for of late, and she wrote his name down. “I dare say it’s a wise act to reserve your dance. With all my suitors, you might have missed your chance otherwise.”
“You jest, but I’m sure more than a few eyes have been opened this evening. I saw the crowds observing your entrance. And before you say it could have been your sisters, I must interject. I was studying them while they studied you. So in this case, I know my evaluation is correct.”
With that, he kissed her hand and left.
And true to his prediction, her card filled up, and thankfully before Lord Tamely was able to snare her into a dance. He had backed down over the years, but with all the attention she was receiving tonight, she had no doubt he would toss his hat in the ring. Apparently, all a spinster needed was the attention of a duke to bring her into light. The dances were a delight. She twirled, and smiled. Laughed and curtsied. It was the perfect evening. Even some of the conversations hadn’t been altogether tedious.
But tedious did not compare to elation. Wesley was beside her again, arm extended, inviting her to dance. A waltz with him. Their relationship (if she was brave enough to call it that) was public. Everyone would see. Everyone would know. The whisper of gossip from the garden party would surely be reignited after this dance.
None of that was on her mind though. All that she perceived was the warmth of his fingers through her gloves. The heat from his eyes on her lips. And then the light pressure of his hand along her back as he swirled her onto the dance floor. Nothing existed outside of the dance. Beyond the depth of his gaze, there were no other eyes. The music enveloped them in a cloud of bliss.
He was strong. He was sure of himself. He knew what he wanted in life, and he went after it. No matter what she threw at him. No matter how she lunged at him, he had taken the hit. Lost the point. Failed to win. Yet was determined to persevere. And how a man did one thing was often how he did many things. Perhaps even everything.
She had seen his weakness, and he was not a man to reveal that kind of defect. He wanted to win, and he wanted everyone to see that. It was pride, to be sure, but it was dignity. It was self-respect. And she wanted that for him. And she wanted it even more for herself. Her dreams to open a fencing academy would be possible with him. She could share her future with him tonight, and if he agreed to it, then she would marry him.
Because in her heart, she knew. This was the man she wanted. This was the man she could allow herself to envision a future with.
He liked her. He was attentive. And as her sisters had encouraged, it could turn to love. She would be a fool to outright reject his proposal when a very bright and happy future could await them both.
There was no exchange of words. Only his soft eyes languidly perusing her face. It was the zenith of intimacy. To be content in silence. More than content, absolutely filled. She had only ever felt this way with him. With that knowledge and acceptance of her feelings, she was set on her answer.
The waltz was ending, so she rushed to whisper, “I’ll tell you my answer tonight.”
His smile melted her heart. And somehow she knew that she hadn’t been alone in her feelings during the waltz.
Her next dance was with Samuel, Duke of Cadmore. When he approached, Wesley was loathe to give her up.
“On your best behavior, Cadmore.”
Samuel only laughed. He had a coy smile on his face and a light but unyielding grip on her fingers. And she couldn’t help the prickling sensation all along her neck. Wesley was watching them more closely than his casual observations of her other partners. Intriguing.
“You have a bevy of fine partners this evening, Lady Boudicca.”
“Yes, it’s quite irregular.” There was no point in claiming otherwise. Everyone had known of her spinster status prior to the garden party.
“You have your pick it would seem.”
“So it would seem.” She answered trepidatiously.
“Ah…but then nothing is as it seems, is it?”
“Quite.”
He laughed. “You have nothing to say to that? Come now. I’ve heard that you like to spar.”
Wesley wouldn’t have told people about her secret, would he?
“Verbally,” Samuel added in a dry tone.
“Perhaps I do, with the right opponent.”
“I’m wounded.”
There was no maliciousness that she could detect, but there was something askew in his questions. Almost as if he were hinting at a secret.
“I hadn’t intended to wound you, Your Grace,” Boudicca said, wanting to tread carefully, but also keep the conversation open.
“Those are sometimes the deepest cuts. The unintentional ones.”
“I rather doubt this is one of those times,” she said wryly.
“Perhaps you are right. I do suppose it has to be with the right opponent.” He smiled.
“Touche.” His jest seemed to be made in good faith, not in any way mocking.
“Our time is coming to a close soon, so I shall just leave you with a single word.”
He did have a secret. It was clear now. But leaving her with a word? For what purpose? To what end? And what was the word going to be? How would she know if she interpreted it correctly?
A million questions flew through her mind, none of them landing, all of them in a flock, banding together.
And then he dropped a single word. It was the one word she had been plagued with since her time with the duke began. It was, perhaps, the only word the Duke of Cadmore could have voiced that would have thrown her for such a loop as it did.
“Motive.”
*
“I saw your dance with Samuel, Duke of Cadmore.” Wesley caught up to her just before it was time to go in for dinner.
“Yes.”
“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Did I? That’s good to hear because I don’t like him, and I wasn’t sure I was disguising it very well.”
“Nobody likes him.”
“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
“We put up with him.” He shrugged.
A dance ago, she was absolutely sure of her decision. Now observing him with a cagey expression, she had regressed. She wanted to shrug it off similarly to how he had just done. Perhaps the best approach was the direct one. That was her modus operandi, why change it?
“Samuel mentioned something.”
“Oh?” Wesley’s eye flickered across the crowd, neglecting to give her his full attention.
“Yes, it was quite off-putting.”
His eyes kept scanning, as discreetly as he could.
“Surreptitious, one might say.”
The furtive glances ceased, and his eyes narrowed in reaction to her. “He was being cryptic? About what?”
“Isn’t that the point in a secret? One party doesn’t know what the other does.”
He nodded. “So what did he say?”
“He said—”
“Oh there you are, Your Grace.” Countess Linsgate cooed. “I believe you’re escorting me in for dinner this evening.” She wrapped her tentacles around his arm and pulled him toward the doors.
It would have to wait, but she would tell him. There was nothing worse than secrets in a relationship. She would have to make a point to bring that up before accepting his proposal.
It took a few moments for everyone to find their seats. In the commotion, Joan found her and whispered. “What’s going on?”
“Botheration. Has everyone noticed?” Momentarily she forgot that her actions were now under fastidious scrutiny, being the duke’s object of affection.
“Put a smile on. No, not that big. Tone it down a touch. Yes, that’s perfect.” Joan patted her arm. “I doubt anyone else would recognize your disquiet, but I’m your sister. I know your facial expressions.”
“Thank you.”
“Is everything all right?”
“It will be. I hope.”
“You are a strong, capable woman, Boudicca. Whatever it is, you can handle it. And if for any reason you can’t, we’re all here for you.” Joan, the quiet one, the most reserved of all four daughters, was soft-spoken but poignant, and Boudicca couldn’t have been happier to have her.
Zenobia was quickly at her side with Artemisia, a flash of consternation on their faces, swiftly replaced with plastered smiles.
“What did he do?” Nobi ground out through clenched teeth. Her soft demeanor was a facade. She was likely the fiercest of them all. The makings of her ferocity were that of a mother bear with her cubs, and if anyone were to hurt the one she loved, there would be a bloody price to pay.
Boudicca’s eyes misted, but it was not the time or place for displays of emotion.
“He didn’t do anything. I don’t think. Or maybe, not yet.” It was a confuffled mess in her mind as to whether or not he had done anything. She didn’t want to presume guilt without knowing the facts.
“That sounds like he did something,” Mimi’s smile was less plasterful than the others. She was not one to easily hide herself.
“It’s all right.”
“Bodi—”
“Mimi, it’s all right. I’ll rally the troops if I need to. I know you’re here for me.”
“We are,” the three chorused.
“I know. And I love you all for it. Now let’s eat before someone asks where the four Wells sisters are.”
She quickly squeezed her sisters’ hands and then they found their seats. She knew she was blessed to have such a caring and supportive family, and that knowledge bolstered her confidence.
Soon conversation was flowing and Boudicca was almost diverted enough to forget her current plight. Until a subtle trill of a laugh caused her to catch sight of Lady Simone’s hand on Wesley’s forearm.
What the deuce was she laughing at? And didn’t she know women weren’t supposed to laugh that loudly in public? Especially in mixed company.
Then she saw Lady Simone flutter her long eyelashes at Wesley and moue her lips, feigning admonishment.
The duke flirting at dinner. The duke’s seemingly impulsive decision to attend the garden party. The duke’s peculiar behavior on Rotten Row. All three instances involved Lady Simone. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? He didn’t seem to have a tendre for her, for he had labeled her a gossip. Almost disdainfully so. But the way he was saying things to make her laugh…and the way she was laughing at everything…He wasn’t that funny.
Oh Lord, if there hadn’t been all these people around she would have thrown her potatoes at the woman. However, if there hadn’t been all these people around, perhaps Lady Simone wouldn’t be acting so flirtatiously. Food for thought, it was.
All the same, did Wesley have to leave his arm on the table for all and sundry to fondle? Or was he the type of man to dally with other women when in a relationship? That would not do. Another point to bring up before she gave him her answer. The list of stipulations was growing.
If she waited any longer to give her answer, she would have to start writing the list down.