Chapter 6
Maria had done as she was told.
Blue. The gown’s neckline was modest, but it was enough to make a statement. She was trying her hardest to remember all of the lessons that Stephen had taught her, as if she feared disappointing him in some way.
There was a festive spirit in the air. The ballroom had been decorated with green garlands and red ribbons. In the corner, there was a large Christmas tree.
Maria could get herself used to the festive spirit, as it was one of her favorite times of the year.
She touched the sides of her gown again, fixing what needed not to be fixed. But then she chided herself internally. If she were to project confidence, then she should not be picking at her clothes so frequently.
Blue, she reminded herself. It was the color that Stephen had asked her to wear, and it was fast growing on her.
“Miss Havenford,” a voice called out to her. Owen Rondell, introduced that morning, bowed.
“Mr. Rondell,” Maria said, arranging politeness on her posture, “Good evening.”
“Better now,” he said, smirking just slightly.
She tucked one curl behind her ear; it fell forward. She was once again reminded of Stephen.
Oh, this is not the time to be thinking of him. You must focus on the gentleman in front of you.
“I am glad to hear that,” she said. She then reminded her that she must keep her gaze soft and tried to smile.
Owen was simply looking at her, and she realized that he was indeed waiting for her to say something more.
She raked her brain for something interesting to say, as Stephen had instructed, but fell horribly short.
“What is your favorite book, Mr. Rondell?” she settled on finally.
“Whichever is new,” he replied promptly. “Tomorrow’s is likely to be infinite in its pleasures. Do you read novels, Miss Havenford?”
“I read people,” she said gently. “Poorly, but I am improving.”
“An answer with teeth. And if you could go anywhere tomorrow, where would you go, and what would you hope not to find there?”
She did not blink. He seemed to be mirroring her in his questioning. Surely, that was a good sign in itself.
“To the sea. I should hope to find no one trying to name its colors as if that would keep it obedient.”
“Ah,” he said softly, intrigued. “You are dangerous.”
“No,” she said. “Only learning to be heard. In crowded rooms, I imagine where people think they are instead of where they stand. It makes them less confusing.”
“Then you must tell me where you think I am imagining,” he said.
“You are on a balcony,” she said before she could stop herself. “You think other people are looking at the view when they are looking at you.”
“I am very taken with you, Miss Havenford.”
“You are very taken with the balcony,” she murmured, and enjoyed the way his eyes narrowed in play.
She was doing it: she was present and not apologizing for it. Pride moved through her cautiously.
It was working, whatever Stephen had taught her. It really was.
Across the room, the Duke of Verwood stood with Peter Morton and pretended to take an interest in the arrangement of chairs. He had claimed he was not wicked; the devil had the grace to keep quiet when he lied to himself.
But he could only focus his attention on one person tonight.
Maria is in blue.
She had listened. It felt delightfully fun to have that as a confirmation. He had not known the lady for too long, and nor did he know how to fully define her yet. But there was something about her that seemed to interest him greatly.
Perhaps it was the honest manner in which she carried herself. He had met a great deal of ladies in his lifetime, but none had captured his attention as she had.
It was in an annoying manner, sure. But he would be lying to himself if he said that he did not felt invested in how her story was going to turn out.
Stephen watched Owen Rondell angle himself into her attention.
Good, he thought, like a tutor watching a student. Keep your gaze. There. One, two. Ask the second question. Yes.
Peter followed his glance.
“Miss Havenford looks very well,” he said. “That blue is restful.”
“Dangerously so,” Stephen murmured. “To men unaccustomed to thinking clearly.”
“Do you include yourself?”
“I include myself especially,” Stephen said. “Has your balcony friend been introduced to you?”
“Owen Rondell,” Peter said. “He believes himself charming and is often correct.”
“Mm.” Stephen watched Owen bend a fraction nearer. “He is the sort who imagines the room a stage.”
“Many are,” Peter said mildly.
“Few should be.”
He could have left them to their exchange. Instead, he heard himself say, “Cover me,” and before Peter’s baffled “with what” could shape itself into air, Stephen had crossed the room.
The pair both looked startled at his sudden appearance.
“Miss Havenford,” Stephen said, “Would you grant me the next?”
Maria did not know how to say no to the duke, it appeared. Even when he was stealing her away mid-conversation.
“Um, well,” she replied. And then watched as he gave her a look. More enthusiasm.
She registered that Owen looked pleased and irritated in equal measure, which should have amused her and did, a little.
“But you have interrupted a conversation,” she said.
“A poor one if it cannot survive a quadrille,” Stephen returned.
“It was not poor,” Owen inserted, smiling. “It was merely interrupted.”
“Then I have done you a favor,” Stephen said perfectly pleasantly. “You may resume it renewed.”
Maria’s cheeks heated; she hated that he could make them do that.
“Your Grace, I…”
“Should dance with me,” he said, “It will serve your suitor admirably.”
“I beg your pardon,” she managed. “My…what?”
“Your suitor,” he repeated, and let his glance flick briefly to Owen as if acknowledging an actor who had remembered his cue.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, then.
“He ought to feel that he pursues someone others will happily pursue as well. Scarcity improves the appetite, you see. Being the woman a duke wants is to your advantage, and you must realize that.”
There were so many things wrong with that sentence that she could not choose a place to begin. She stared at him.
“You make no secret of your arrogance.”
“Yes, but I prefer to see it as confidence,” he agreed. “And right. Say yes.”
She should have said no.
“Very well,” Maria said.
Stephen offered his arm, and she took it because not taking it would cause a scene she did not wish to belong to her. They walked the little distance to where couples were forming.
“If you glare at me, you will convince the room you resent being desired,” he murmured, “We are performing usefulness, Miss Havenford. Enjoy it.”
“I do not enjoy being made into a signboard.”
“You are not.” He angled so they faced one another. “Do not look at your feet.”
She jerked her gaze up because she had been doing exactly that, checking that her slippers were on the earth.
“Keep your eyes,” he said. “Count two.”
She did.
One. Two.
His hand found her through the silk and bone of her bodice, and came to rest on her waist.
“If you destroy my toes,” he added, “I shall be obliged to limp for sympathy and my enemies will dine on it for a week.”
“Then you should have chosen a partner less likely to do so,” she muttered, and promptly managed the first figure without maiming him.
“Choose your arrogance carefully,” he said. “Yours looks best on the turns.”
She would have laughed if she had not been busy not failing. He guided with the smallest suggestions of his palm and shoulder, and she only followed.
“You are counting the floorboards,” he observed as they moved through a chain.
“Are you criticizing my dancing?”
“That is exactly what I am doing,” he laughed. “But you should think of it as constructive. From now on, you will let the music do it. Set your jaw to the melody and let it pull you. One-two-three, one-two-three. The three is for breathing.”
“That is not how numbers…”
“Do as you are told,” he said.
She did.
Her shoulders settled down, away from her ears; he nodded once in approval without breaking the rhythm, and she had the ridiculous sense of being a pupil praised by the schoolmaster for remembering the alphabet.
“You are staring at my mouth,” he said conversationally in the next figure.
“I am not.”
He shot her a look, as if to call her out on her own bluff.
“I was only… You have a line…there…” The words tangled in her throat.
“Men are not mysteries. We are furniture until we move. Do not waste your attention on our edges. Look where you mean to go.”
They continued to dance on, and she did not step on him once. The way he smiled told her he had expected her to, which made her want to kick him simply to be contrary.
“Better,” he murmured, and she rolled her eyes.
“Do you ever say anything else?”
“Not when there is no need.”
They came to the end of the set with a modicum of grace, and she saw Owen across the way. Recalibrating, perhaps?
“Thank you,” Maria said when courtesy demanded it, and found she grudgingly meant it. “You interrupted, but you did not ruin.”
“We aim for efficiency,” he winked at her.
“I aim for kindness.”
“Kindness without efficiency is embroidery on a rag,” he said. “Pretty, but still a rag.”
“Who taught you metaphor?” she demanded. “You should seek redress immediately.”
He laughed, but then quickly sobered. “You should be very thankful that I asked you for this dance.”
“But it feels as though you wish for me to be thankful for everything,” she replied. “So, this does not feel out of the norm.”
“You need to understand that because I have danced with you,” he replied. “Your value in the eyes of your suitors has just gone up.”
“Because of another man giving me attention?” she replied, raising an eyebrow.
“It seems that you understand very little about how men work,” he said, smiling at her now.
“I am learning,” she sighed. And realized that it was true. She did not understand much at all. They were confusing creatures. “So, he values me more now?”
“He should,” Stephen nodded. “It gives him the incentive to do better now, to impress you. So that he is the one that you end up choosing.”
“Is it really that simple?” she asked, befuddled.
“It can be,” he shrugged his shoulders. “Men can be simple creatures, really.”
“I would like to argue the opposite.”
“Then once again,” he smirked. “You do not understand men enough.”
“Can I trust you to be the one who teaches me?” she asked.
“Well, you have trusted me thus far. And it seems to be working well for you,” he gestured to the blue of her dress, making her blush.
“Yes, well. I took your advice.”
“You look splendid in it,” he replied. She almost wanted to ask him if he was in his senses.
In what world does a duke, any duke, give her a compliment?
“Well, then,” she cleared her throat, feeling flustered all at once. “I listened to the other things as well. I tried to be interesting in my conversation with him.”
“Mr. Rondell, you mean?”
“Who else?” she replied. “And well, it felt like it worked. I am not sure, though.”
“Yet you still doubt yourself,” Stephen shook his head. “Perhaps my lessons have not been working as well as I thought. We shall have another one tonight.”
“So that you can get me to work on my self-esteem?” she questioned.
“Yes, and also your dancing skills,” he chuckled to himself. “Those require some work as well.”
“Yes, you mentioned already,” she frowned.
“Six more days,” he replied. “I believe it will lead to some great improvement.”
They noticed as Owen began to approach them.
“Perhaps this is my cue to leave?” Maria asked, glancing over to him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Stephen scoffed. “Let him approach you. Why should you do the labor of walking towards him?”
“Because what if he changes his mind partway?” Maria replied. It was her insecurity talking, and it felt refreshing to let herself be honest about it for a change.
“Then, you shall hope that he reconsiders. But you shall never do the chasing. That is a man’s job.”
“I see,” she considered his words again. “Does it work for you in a similar way?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, amused.
“With the women… well, the women that you are interested in. Do you chase them?”
She had asked the question, but she did not know if she wanted to know the answer. A strange feeling arranged itself in her throat.
“Oh, please,” he laughed. “I do not chase.”
“So your own advice does not apply to you?”
“I am perhaps the exception,” he grinned, seeming pleased with himself. “But I do charm, and in doing so, I attract.”
She wanted to tell him that he sounded rather insufferable, but her words were cut short when Owen finally approached them. He passed her a look, as if to say, ‘I told you’.
“Miss Havenford,” Owen said to her, and then a bit more stiffly. “Your Grace.”
“I shall leave you both to it,” Stephen said, and slipped away.
“Was it a fine dance?” Owen asked her, and she could sense his curiosity bubbling up. It was as though he wished to know if there was something brewing between her and the duke.
It dawned on her that, again, Stephen had been correct in his assessment of men and their behaviors.
Huh. Who knew they could be so predictable? Never could she have learned this on her own, and if anything, she would have done everything in her power to win over Owen’s affection. Which, in turn, might have just bored him.
“Well, yes,” she replied, without giving much away. “But we may continue our conversation.”
“Yes, I am quite eager to,” Owen replied.
And so they walked off together. But all Maria could think of was how Stephen had been right about everything.
And more surprisingly, how she actually looked forward to their lessons later.