Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
“Cassian.”
Later that evening, his grandmother sat beside him at the dining table with barely concealed excitement.
Cassian knew that expression too well. It meant trouble.
“Cassian,” she began far too sweetly, “I have been considering something wonderful.” She interlaced her fingers above her plate.
“Dare I ask what it is?” He set down his knife, instantly wary as he set his jaw and looked at her. The parcel in his desk drawer still bothered him, and he greatly regretted his decision to come down to dinner.
“I wish to host a ball on behalf of the Laurel club.” She announced excitedly. “I think it is a splendid way to usher us into society once and for all.”
Cassian’s expression darkened at once. “Absolutely not.”
“My dear boy—” She began, but he cut her short.
“No,” he repeated firmly. “I have allowed you a fencing competition, which nearly caused the ruin of my floors. I have allowed the club to meet repeatedly in my ballroom, not to mention that little show of shirtless males undulating their hips you organized here. But a ball? No. Absolutely not, under any circumstances.”
“It will be perfectly respectable,” she insisted, ignoring his protests. “You may attend or not as you wish. It is not on behalf of the duchy but on behalf of the Laurels.”
“If it is truly on behalf of the Laurels, then there would be no reason why one of your Laurels couldn’t host it. It mustn’t be here, must it? There are plenty of fine young ladies in your little club with respectable families and large homes.”
“Cassian, I want this to come as a surprise for the Laurels,” She added more firmly and unlaced her fingers, placing her hands flat on the table on either side of her plate.
Cassian looked away, considering. “Then it should be a small event with only members of the club present. What need is there to invite the entire ton?” He asked cautiously.
“You’re insufferable,” his grandmother sighed while rolling her eyes.
“Isn’t it just like you to resort to pouting when the odds aren’t in your favor?” His mood brightened a little when he realized that his grandmother was considering his stance rather than outrightly defying him.
It was a breath of fresh air compared to his past behavior. Almost enough to make him reconsider his decision.
“I simply do not understand why hosting a ball is met with this much hostility. It is simply a ball, and you’d see faces you’ve seen before.” Her expression stiffened, wiping away his previous thoughts.
“That is hardly a strong argument, Marguerite. Would you like some time to build your argument?” He reached for his knife and fork again, shoveling a piece of roast beef into his mouth.
His grandmother rolled her eyes, rising from the table, leaving behind her barely touched food. “No, I would like some time away from you,” she retorted.
“At least finish your dinner first.” He sat back, attempting to reason with her.
His grandmother pursed her lips, folding her arms as she stared at him from beside her chair.
“I would rather not, seeing as I’ve lost my appetite.”
Cassian let out a long breath. He knew where this was going. His grandmother was declaring a meal protest. She wouldn’t eat until he agreed to her terms. He leaned back into his chair, ran his finger through his hair, then looked up at her.
“You know that I can see through this manipulation, don’t you?” Cassian glowered, almost losing his appetite.
“I’d call it persuasion, darling,” she corrected with a wink, knowing she may have won.
Cassian let out a long, heavy exhale. He knew her well enough to understand that refusing now meant only postponing the inevitable.
She would return tomorrow morning, then again after luncheon, and by supper, she would wear down his resolve entirely.
But he wasn’t going to let her off the hook so easily.
“Fine, you may host a ball, but only with the Laurels and their families. I would prefer if this house were not overflowing with people like during the fencing competition,” he muttered. “I had intended it to be a small gathering, but you hijacked my plans.”
Her face lit like a lantern. “Splendid!”
Cassian immediately regretted every choice that had led him to this moment. He should have stayed in his workshop and carved something with his new tools.
Preparations for the ball overtook the Everthorne townhouse with speed. Footmen rearranged furniture, maids dusted surfaces that had not been touched in months, and everyone moved about with more urgency than usual.
Cassian avoided the chaos as much as possible, hoping complete avoidance meant the ball would cease to happen, but it did.
He stood in his chambers, adjusting his cuffs with a scowl as he watched streams of guests arriving through the front entrance from the window. He had kicked against the notion of attending, but several well-timed tears from his grandmother had forced him into submission.
He wished, wholeheartedly, that they would all leave.
All except one.
He caught himself. His jaw tensed.
He tore his gaze from the window and forced his attention back to the mirror, dressing quickly to avoid the unsettling hope curling inside him.
He stepped into the corridor when he was done, intending to slip away to one of the leisure rooms for some quiet before the ordeal truly began.
But then a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye, a familiar silhouette gliding past the adjoining corridor.
His pulse leapt.
Isabella.
He followed instinctively, turning the corner to the ballroom, only to stop short when he found it wasn’t Isabella but another lady entirely.
Before he could retreat, two Laurels spotted him and came rushing forward.
“Your Grace!” one gasped, nearly tripping over her own enthusiasm.
“How wonderful to finally meet you alone.” The other gushed while batting her lashes.
At the sound of his title, three mamas descended upon him like hawks sighting prey, and he clenched his teeth.
“My Ladies,” he forced out, attempting to take a step back.
Encounters like these were the exact reason he had not wanted the club to continue in the first place.
“Oh, Your Grace, what an honor—”
“My daughter simply adores the arts—”
“You must allow us to—”
Even more mamas and their even more eager daughters began to gather around him.
Cassian inhaled slowly, fighting the urge to flee. It was one of the longest minutes of his life.
Until, mercifully, Tristan appeared like a man sent by God.
“Ah, there you are, Everthorne!” He slid neatly between Cassian and the encroaching wall of chattering mothers and daughters. “Ladies, if you would excuse us, I must steal the duke away.”
A collective sigh of disappointment rippled through the group.
Before the mamas could protest, Tristan whisked him off toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.
“What miracle convinced you to show your face tonight?” Tristan asked, smirking. “And what ungodly force persuaded you to host this ball willingly? If you say that it was your grandmother and Lady Isabella again, I will be utterly impressed.”
Cassian shot him a glare sharp enough to wound. Tristan only laughed, but Cassian froze as the ballroom doors opened.
And Isabella entered with her family.
She wore a gown of soft blue silk, the color bringing out the delicate warmth of her complexion.
Her dark hair was swept back elegantly, curls framing her face with an effortless grace that made his breath shorten.
She moved with quiet poise, unaware, or perhaps too aware, of the admiring gazes drawn toward her.
“Good God,” Tristan murmured, amused. “Try not to drool publicly.” He scoffed.
“Shut up.” Cassian snapped, tearing his gaze away from her.
“You are staring at her as though she has stolen your very soul,” Tristan chuckled.
Cassian said nothing, but the truth of it carved itself deep in his chest. He could not look away. He did not want to.
He wished, just for a moment, that his life wasn’t so cursedly complicated.
Had he been more like the other men of the ton, more stable, and hadn’t endured the trauma he had endured, then he would have walked up to her and whisked her away.
I want her.
He finally allowed himself to admit. He wanted her for more than just the kiss he had stolen from her and the secret glances they had shared upon every occasion.
Cassian’s thoughts were interrupted when he noticed her parents briefly separate themselves from her to greet acquaintances, and Tristan made no attempt to hide his grin as he observed the way Cassian leaned slightly forward, instinctively tracking the lady’s movement.
“You wish to go to her, do you not?” Tristian teased with a nudge at his side.
Cassian stiffened entirely when he noticed two young gentlemen approach Isabella with earnest smiles and deep bows. Jealousy coiled in him like a slow-burning fuse, his jaw locked, his shoulders tensed, and his hands curled in a quiet, controlled fury he barely contained.
And Cassian wished he had never agreed to host the damned ball in the first place.
“I can’t say I’ve ever attended a ball with this many people,” the young lord who’d just walked up to Isabella said to her, peering down at her with a wide smile playing on his lips.
He had a boyish air about him with his curly hair and freckled face. He seemed to be at least a year or two younger than Isabella.
Actually, the Everthorne townhouse ballroom was scarcely packed, unlike the fencing competition a month ago, which was so packed with guests that there was barely any space to move without bumping into another guest.
She’d been just as surprised as her father when the invitation had come in.
She could hardly believe that Lady Kendrick was hosting a ball on behalf of the club, but it was only when she’d arrived and seen the number of guests present that she realized that must have been the compromise Lady Kendrick made with the duke.
Isabella focused her attention on the young lord and nodded. “Indeed.”
He had not been the first young man to approach her, and she had been hoping to catch her breath, but it did seem unavoidable with at a ball with so few guests.
“I don’t despise it, though, because it has awarded me this opportunity to ask for a dance.
Lord Woolridge, at your disposal. It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance, and it would bring me even greater pleasure should you accept my request for a dance.
” He bowed low once again, dipping his gaze before coming back up.
Isabella found herself reluctant to hand over her card to him for reasons unknown to her. Her actions further confused her when she found herself looking around the ballroom as though in search of something.
Or perhaps someone.
Is he here?
She found herself wondering if Cassian would even attend the ball, or if he would hide away in his workshop again.
As if sensing her reluctance, the Lord stepped forward.
“You would find me very entertaining, My Lady,” the young lord assured.
“I have taken note of you at every event you’ve graced, and I am strongly confident I am what you need, My Lady.
I am not like all of the other lords who would bore you with talk of hunting and horses.
I believe that conversations should at least warrant a slight amount of… indecency. Should you not agree?”
Isabella’s eyes widened at the directness and absurdity of his words.
Was this what men thought of her now that she had co-founded the Laurel club?
The gossip had certainly spread across London faster than a brush fire, but to have someone be so bold as to assume that she would entertain indecent, and possibly even immoral topics of conversation…
His smile broadened slightly as he smirked at her.
“I was only teasing, of course, Lady Isabella. You will find me nothing but pleasant and proper, should you accept my invitation to dance. I am afraid that I do like teasing a little too much. My mama tells me that it shall be my undoing one of these days.” His cheeks dimpled slightly as he smiled and placed his hands behind his back.
Isabella allowed herself to relax again. Lord Woolridge was quite charming, if not entertaining. “Very well then, Lord Woolridge.”
Lord Woolridge nodded and reached out to sign his name on her card, but before he could, a hand reached out and stopped him.
“I beg your pardon?” He said incredulously, and Isabella’s heart skipped a beat as soon as she looked up.