Chapter 28 #2
The group snapped their attention away, looking in opposite directions. Noelle fought the urge to laugh. While she knew that her sister was singular, it somehow always surprised her the way that Moria commanded or commandeered a crowd.
“I believe that’s the Duke of Andover, Lady Moria,” Victoria said in a stage whisper.
“Ah, yes. He was hunting with my father recently, I believe you’re right,” Lady Claire added with a wave of her fan for emphasis.
The ladies looked at Moria as though they were awaiting a reaction, instead she looked…
bored. As though Dukes were commonplace and one might have to watch one’s footing to avoid stepping on a Duke.
Noelle felt the tightening grip of Moria’s hand on her own elbow and fought back a smile. Moria was delighted. Excited. To the untrained observer, she was filled with ennui.
“Would you like an introduction?” one of the ladies asked. Noelle had given up on trying to remember all of their names.
Moria looked at her like she was the simpleton of the group. Before Moria could answer, Sir Edward Clarksdale appeared. He leaned over Noelle’s hand to kiss her gloved fingers.
“Congratulations, my lady. I do hope that Viscount Ludlowe appreciates his good fortune.”
She gave him a nod, but was saved from speaking by Moria. “Sir Edward, I have this dance free if you’d be gracious enough to escort me?”
Several of the other ladies in her group were claimed for dances as well.
A voice called over Noelle’s shoulder, “What are you ladies doing on the edge of the ballroom?”
It was Fitz, who stood behind her and slid an arm about her waist and planted a kiss on her neck. He’d no doubt seen Clarksdale in her vicinity and this display showed off a possessive side of her fiance that gave Noelle a shameful thrill.
“Fitz!” she exclaimed, “People are turning to look at us.”
He whispered near her ear, “And you love it, admit it.”
Beside her, Margot and the other two remaining ladies stared, then departed.
Fitz added: “I do hope Mr. Clarksdale can pick his jaw up off the floor so that your sister doesn’t trip over it.”
Noelle bit her lip to stifle a laugh, “You’ve scandalized the ballroom beyond repair by showing any signs of affection to your betrothed.”
Fitz turned Noelle to face him, “Oh, they all no doubt came here expecting a scandal and I’m not one to shirk my duties. I bet you won’t kiss me,” he said, as though willing her to. His brows lifted and his lips were there, so close, calling her to claim them as her own.
“It is our engagement ball,” she said, placing one hand on his chest, her glove against his elegant black jacket. He took her gloved hand in his and brought it to his lips, leaving a kiss as soft as a prayer before replacing it. He looked down at the ring that bejeweled her finger.
“So I hear,” he said. “I also hear it’s tradition for couples to dance the quadrille at a ball celebrating their betrothal.”
She let out a laugh that felt like a release of all the happiness and giddiness bubbling inside of her. “A tradition? In what country, you vexatious man?”
“Kiss me,” he breathed, leaning closer to her, “or dance the quadrille,” his eyes were twinkling with mischief. And something else, something like admiration.
“People will say…things.”
“What people?”
“Your…friends?”
He leaned closer to her; she saw the gleam in his eyes again. “My friends? They are not for me. No one has ever seen me, not like you.”
And so she did what he asked, what she wanted to do.
She curved a hand along his jaw and sealed her lips to his.
She held onto him with her lips, caressing his tongue with little dips of her own.
It was a kiss that felt like claiming and being claimed.
He sealed it further when he wrapped his hands at her waist, and lifted her off her feet.
Noelle felt the tenderness in his obvious showmanship of his mouth sealed with hers, her hands at his shoulders.
A public declaration of co-ownership rather than the usual singular possession.
He wanted her; she could feel it in the sigh he let out against her mouth. She felt it in the way his tongue played against the back of her teeth, the sensitive corner of her lips. And now, the entire ballroom could see that he wanted her too.
His arms clutched her against him as he set her back on even footing. The music and people moved languidly around them. It was a moment so perfect and out of time, that neither knew how long they’d been swept up until a long, swift blow separated the two of them.
“There will be none of that here,” came a crowing voice.
“Grandmother Althea,” Fitz said, grasping the older woman’s jeweled cane before she could get started on her monstrous swing and inflict any damage, “You have eyes; look at her. She’s irresistible,” he said, looking at his bride with pleasure filling his eyes.
The older woman gave a harumph. “Marriages of mutual attraction are so very middle class.”
“As opposed to highly obligatory marital unions for the sake of one’s inheritance. Yes, I know, you old harpy,” even as he said the words, Noelle could see the mirth and affection in his eyes, hear it in his voice.
He loved the older woman. “They all know my situation. You and your gossips made sure of that. They might as well all know I’m rather fond of her too,” he looked at Noelle then, gesturing with the movement of his head toward the dancefloor.
As Lady Moria exited, the Duke of Andover, stepped in front of whoever had come next.
The Duke had pulled rank to get close enough to her to gain an introduction.
When Moria shot Noelle a sly wink, Noelle squashed a laugh.
Of course her sister knew what she was doing.
She’d never deign to overstep and request an audience with a Duke.
She’d made herself impossible not to notice, and so he had.
The Duke bowed over her, extending a kiss to her hand as the Earl of Westmoreland made introductions. The two of them seemed completely out of tune with the world around them. Noelle saw the slow curve of the Duke’s ample lips into a genuine smile as Moria leaned to say something to him.
“I told you she’d never have settled for a viscount,” Fitz whispered near her ear.
“When did you tell me that?” she shot back, raising a brow up at him.
“Maybe I didn’t. But we all thought it.”
The two watched her sister, along with all the other bodies packed into the Pomfrey ballroom, as the Duke of Andover joined his new dance partner for a first dance together.
It didn’t feel like any casual dance between two newly made acquaintances.
It was exactly what Noelle knew her sister had dreamed of, longed for.
A thousand pairs of eyes settled on Moria as she danced a waltz with a highly sought after Nobleman in need of a wife. Moria looked like a lost fairy tale princess in a gown gifted to her specifically by some godmotherly deity, being courted through dance by a spellbound suitor.
Noelle heard Fitz's grandmother comment that she already looked every inch a duchess.
Noelle could search her memory and struggle to find a moment when her sister didn’t look imperious, but she kept the thought to herself.
You ought to be jealous, some shrewd part of her chided, this is your moment, your ball.
“Are you-” Fitz started, taking her hand protectively.
“No,” her eyes smiled back at him, squeezing the hand of his that rested at her side, “Let her have her moment. She deserves it.”
The answering tug of his carved biceps pulling her closer to him, pressing her against him, tugged at what was left of her heart that he hadn’t already claimed, into his keeping.