Chapter 6
Something felt different in the air. Even here, in the Duke of Rivers’ ballroom. Maybe especially in the Duke of Rivers’ ballroom.
His house was one of the grandest in all of London and was continually host to the most powerful people, not just from England, but from all around the world.
Why, this very night, there were princes and princesses and French dukes and their wives. There were even politicians from the United States of America.
And it was rumored that the infamous Duke of Windbourne would make an appearance.
So, the ballroom was near frantic with excitement. And yet, the air had a certain danger to it. As if everyone was collectively holding their breath.
Ruby couldn’t put her finger on why. After all, she hadn’t had a Season, but she had been no stranger to parties.
All her life, she had attended or watched them. Her father and her mother—when she was in England—were renowned for the house parties they gave.
They had been bigger and better and more exciting than any others. There was something about her father that knew how to make any experience larger than life. Her mother too, which was why she was always running to the next thing, unable to stand still or feel at peace.
Life could be cruel.
Ruby had learned that a long time ago, but it wasn’t singular to her.
It was cruel to almost everyone. It was a series of deep valleys and high summits, and she’d watched her mother go through one after another, her father as well, and she was determined to be able to take those summits and those valleys with the sort of grace that her parents had never quite found.
She did not begrudge them their difficulties or the harsh ways in which they sometimes acted.
Life was harsh.
It was no surprise that people were too when they had experienced it. But Ruby was determined to be above all that. And so, in her bright cream-colored confection of a dress shot through with pink silk and gold, she was ready to have a good time.
Yet, there was something in the air that felt almost chaotic, as if they were about to dance to such a fever pitch that everyone would fall down dead.
They were on the brink of something, and she had a terrible feeling it had to do with the stories that her mother had been telling her were coming out of France and out of Paris.
The world was teetering on a rope, like a trapeze artist who had lost their balance. And once they plunged over, the world would never go back to how it had been again. She knew she was going to live through the fall and its consequences.
It was terrifying. It was thrilling. It was also paralyzing for some she knew.
Half the world was looking away, their eyes closed.
They didn’t want to admit what was about to happen in Paris, but she understood.
She’d seen the politics. She’d read the pamphlets.
She understood the philosophy, and she could see the way in which French people were dying.
The harvests were a disaster because the weather had been the worst it had been in recent memory. The poor people had nothing to eat, and it was only going to get worse because the way the French monarchy conducted itself meant it didn’t care if it ran the people into the ground.
Oh, they might care a bit, but not enough to actually do something about it.
And so, as Ruby looked around the ballroom and saw people dancing as fast as they could, drinking as swiftly as they may, consuming cakes and sweets and other delicacies, she wondered if she was witnessing the last moments of a dying age.
It was a rather serious thought for a young woman, but she’d never felt young. She’d always felt slightly out of touch with the rest of the world, slightly out of touch with her peers. They’d never quite liked her, but she never really cared because she liked herself, and that was enough.
And she’d been friends with lots of young men. Her father and her mother had encouraged that. She didn’t need to be like her poor female counterparts who were hidden away from their male peers.
Some might have sent her away to a convent. Her mother? Her mother had not involved herself. Just earlier this year, when Ruby had felt the first stirrings of desire and flirted with the shepherd’s oldest son? No one had stopped her. No one ever stopped her from doing anything.
And she had learned the pleasures of life. Just like all the young men who went to Oxford. And she was glad.
Why be a prude when none of the ton was? At least she wouldn’t go into things blindly like so many other girls did. She wouldn’t be told that she had to be the perfect little miss, the perfect bride.
No. She knew the truth even if other girls did not.
That there would likely be no happy marriage for her, that there would be no happy family, that she would have to seize what she could get and give it to as many people as she could before society tried to make her burn out like a cinder.
Because that was not how she was going to live her life.
Women always burned out like cinders. One way or another. And Ruby was going to make sure she didn’t burn out in the service of a husband.
So, girding her loins and determined to make the most of all that life had given her, when so many had so little, she danced with gentleman after gentleman.
And because of the money and power she would inherit, she was asked time and time again.
By men who had incredible audacity and by men who somehow managed to still think themselves superior to her.
She spotted Viscount Skyburn standing in the corner of the ballroom watching her. He did not seem like a man who usually watched or stood still, and she could almost feel his tension.
It was delicious, and so she grinned at each new dancing partner, taking their hands lightly and flitting about the room. She couldn’t stop herself from tossing looks at Skyburn. She tossed her curled hair too, which, as fashion dictated, was big and decorated with bejeweled flowers.
How she loved her big curling hair and the jewels she could put in it. It made her feel saucy and happy, and as she skipped and danced, she wanted to laugh.
How could she not? For surely, if she did not laugh, she would cry!
And when Lord Blandington bowed over her hand and began to ask her for a dance, she felt him behind her, and she took in his scent. She didn’t even need to turn to know he was there.
At long last, he had answered all the little calls that she had sent him, unable to resist. Slowly, she turned, looked back over her shoulder, and lifted her eyes the considerable distance to Viscount Skyburn’s extremely handsome visage.
“I think you’re going to dance with me, aren’t you?” he asked softly.
“Am I?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Well, I suppose I must,” she said. “You do look as if you’ve been longing for it all evening.”
Lord Blandington sputtered, his rather fishy lips wobbling at the outrage that she wouldn’t immediately say yes to him. “But Lady Ruby,” he protested. “My father—”
“Will you please come and find me later in the evening for a jig?” she cut in swiftly, not interested in his father and why the man made it important for her to dance with Blandington. “You do look like a jiggy sort of fellow.”
Blandington whipped around, clearly in search of another lady to inform her how important his father was.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked.
“Oh, of course I am, but not for lemonade at present. I could go for hours without a single refreshment.”
Good heavens, Skyburn was handsome. She’d thought she recalled how handsome. But in person? He made every man look like but a bit of cut paper. A mere silhouette of a lord.
Skyburn all but hummed with life. His eyes flashed with promise. His body was raw power. And the way his black and white evening kit clung to him? She suddenly she wished she was his shirt, wrapped about him.
“Oh, I see,” he said. “A great deal of endurance in you.”
“Indeed,” she said. “I am like the racehorses we spoke of. I love to run and run and run. Like you,” she said. “Now, let’s go.”
She didn’t hesitate as she grabbed his hand and all but pulled him to the center of the room.
The allemande started—her favorite dance.
Some people liked the waltz, though it was still quite scandalous and only famous in certain parts of Austria.
Here? Oh, here she loved to whirl and twirl and skip about and entwine herself in her partner’s arms, and his looked like very good arms to entwine herself in.
They were.
Viscount Skyburn was as nimble on his feet as she had a feeling he would be upon a horse or anywhere else in the world.
She didn’t think any particularly scandalous thoughts. She wouldn’t.
She didn’t wish herself to look as if she was blushing. Instead, she parted her lips and said, “Where did you learn to dance thus?”
“Surprising teachers,” he said as he turned her quickly one way and then the next, without missing a beat.
“Did you have an excellent dancing master?” she asked. “No doubt,” she teased, “he pounded the floor with his cane and cried aloud the steps in grand fashion.”
Now, he twirled her under his arm, then back again, then picked her up by the waist and moved her to the other side of him.
It was sheer heaven, for she was like a feather in his arms. Sometimes, when racing, it felt like flying. But much to her shock? Dancing in his arms felt much the same. It was like being consumed and being a part of raw, undiluted power.
And she loved it.
“I had a lady teacher,” he replied.
“You did?” she asked. “How marvelous, and how very forward-thinking of your parents.”
“My parents didn’t hire her,” he said, giving very little information.
“What?” she asked. “You hired a lady dancing master?”
“Though it is most unusual to speak of hirings and firings in such a setting, I did,” he said. “Sort of.”
“How very vague,” she said.
“Ah,” he teased. “I like to be vague. I have secrets, and you are not allowed to know them.”
“Don’t say such a thing,” she exclaimed, loving the feel of his strong gloved hands at her waist, if only for the briefest of moments. “You’re only going to prevaricate with me, and you know if you tell me that you have secrets, I will not rest until I find out what they are.”
“Then you shall be on the hunt until you are positively exhausted.”
She smiled at him. “How thrilling does that sound?”
“What?” he asked, his gaze growing hooded, as if he enjoyed the idea of her being in pursuit of him a great deal.
“The exhaustion. That’s how we should live,” she declared. “Going at full pace until we are utterly spent.”
He stared at her. “I’ve never spoken to anyone who feels the same as I do about such a thing.”
“Well, that’s because there aren’t many of us,” she said. “Most people can’t keep up, don’t you find?”
He ground his teeth. “I think there’s one more,” he said.
“Oh, the Duke of Windbourne,” she said.
“How did you know I was thinking of him?” he exclaimed.
“He came to call upon me today,” she said simply. It had been the oddest and most interesting of meetings. She had felt as if she was being assessed for purchase. Not his Arabians. But she hadn’t been intimidated.
“He didn’t,” he growled.
“Yes, he did. He’s quite handsome.”
“Bloody hell.”
“He’s also insufferable,” she added. “Do you know him?”
He looked quite pleased that she thought the man insufferable.
“I do know him,” he said. “I had the fortune, or misfortune, of boxing with him this morning”
“You’re the reason he has a black eye? How delightful,” she crowed. “He did say it was a lord, and he said he’d had the most marvelous time. It seems as if you are good at giving marvelous times. Is that true?” she asked, leaning in every so slightly, adoring his scent of juniper and lemon.
He smiled slowly at her. “Yes, but not for a long time,” he said.
“How disappointing. Are you one of those who, unlike myself, has no stamina?”
He laughed. “No,” he said, “but I don’t keep partners for long.”
“Ah,” she said. “Yes, boredom, our mutual problem.”
“A mutual problem,” he said, “but it does seem like we both might embrace a bit of excitement.”
Her heart began to all but skip beats, and her skin tingled with anticipation as she began to contemplate the things that excitement might entail. “Why, yes, it does.”