CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“It was not so long ago I was preparing you for Lady Smith’s ball,” Lily mused, adding the last flowered touch to Amelia’s hair. “You look beautiful, Your Grace. You are every inch the Duchess of Blackthorn.”
The ton’s gossip had been in uproar over her red gown, and she had chosen the same color for tonight’s ball, just a much more striking dress with layers and sleeves that capped her shoulder.
There was an overlay of black on the skirt, adding an air of darkness to her dress, as if it had been made from the shadows themselves.
It was a most daring choice, and she knew the ton would speculate about her further, but she did not care.
“They speak about me so poorly,” Amelia said, her stomach fluttering with nerves, even as she looked at the confident facade she wore.
“So tonight I shall let them see that I have lived in the shadows long enough to be formed from them, and now, I choose to emerge. At my husband’s side, we shall be stronger than their words and gossip and scorn. ”
Lily finished placing the last red blossom in her hair, and stepped back. “Indeed, they’ll see, Your Grace. I have prepared a hopeful debutante, a quiet girl still holding onto hope, and now you have let me prepare you as a duchess. For that, I am most grateful.”
In a moment of needing the solace of her former life’s familiarity, Amelia reached out to squeeze Lily’s hand before she turned to the door. She smoothed down her dress, adjusted her black gloves, and went outside to meet her husband whom she had barely spoken to since his outburst in the library.
***
Graham stood in front of his mirror, his valet holding out a selection of cravats.
This is rather reminiscent of the ball where I met Amelia, he thought, looking at the colors. There was no silver, only several shades of red. He raised a brow at Robert.
“I do not understand,” he said drily. “They are all red.”
“Her Grace has requested you wear red tonight, Your Grace,” Robert said, smiling at him with mischief in his eyes. “It seems the Blackthorn ball tonight has a theme, and you are required to adhere.”
Graham scoffed. “Indeed. Then I shall go for the darkest shade.”
“A most complimentary choice, Your Grace.”
“I do not need flattering,” he muttered, allowing Robert to take out the cravat chosen and tie it around his neck before knotting it intricately. He pinned a brooch with the Blackthorn crest on, and stepped back.
“Tonight, you and Her Grace shall rise from the shadows of your pasts.” Robert beamed happily before bowing and leaving Graham confused.
“Rise from the shadows?” he muttered, raising a brow in the wake of his valet.
He turned back to the mirror, assessing his dark hair, styled back from his face, leaving only a few strands to fall over his forehead.
They brushed the scar on his left cheek that spread from his temple to his jaw, making the skin pulled and jagged.
Dark eyes stared at himself, hard with anger, and he tried to forcefully soften them but he could not.
He traced a finger over the scar on his cheek, clenching his hand before lowering it.
The rest of his attire was black, and his boots had been newly polished.
Over the last several days he’d spent so much time riding through the estate in an attempt to clear his head.
To be back in his stiffer tailcoat and best leather boots was a different sort of stifling he was not quite comfortable with.
He thought of Amelia, dressing in her room.
Was she as nervous as he was? Was she scrutinizing herself, knowing they would both be under the careful observation of the ton once again?
He did not know what she had done for their ball—in fact, he had ridden in order to forcibly remove himself from all involvement of the ball itself—so he could only hope she had presented a grand thing, something with armor, something that would protect her from the ton’s gossip when he could not.
Sighing, he finally turned on his heel before exiting his room—only to meet the duchess outside of her own bedroom.
He did not know what he was more stunned by: the beautiful gown she wore that swept the floor, or the striking hairstyle that highlighted every feature that he could not stop drinking in.
Her once-soft face looked harsher beneath the lights of the hallway, and with the darker colors draping her, Amelia looked striking.
Graham swore that his heart stopped dead for a moment.
“Husband,” she murmured, drawing near to him. Her steps were light as she crossed to where he stood, dumbstruck.
“Wife,” he managed back. His chest ached with the force of his thundering heart as he crooked his arm for her to slip her hand into. “You look—” Enchanting. Captivating. Beautiful. I am a man with an ache inside his chest, and the only thing I crave is you. “You look beautiful.”
It was a meager word, one he had told her before, and she deserved a far better vocabulary, but he could not think clearly.
Amelia gave him a small, flushed smile, as she finally came face-to-face with him, only inches separating them.
“And you look very dashing,” she told him, smoothing out the lapels of his tailcoat. “A very handsome duke indeed.”
Like this, I believe you may be a seductress, but not one that has trapped me. One that I have gravitated to willingly, he thought, yet dared not say.
“I noticed how uncomfortable you looked dressing in the clothes that other themes required of you, so I wished for you to have some of your usual comforts tonight,” Amelia continued.
“I have longed to confide in you regarding the arrangements for the ball, yet you have been as elusive as a zephyr from the ocean, perpetually retreating when I have endeavoured to engage you in conversation. Regardless, I know tonight will not be the most enjoyable, and it discomforts you to have so many of the ton in your house, so many things out of your control, but I thought that if I could at least give you this one small comfort then I would feel much better.”
The consideration among what was expected of them as the Duke and Duchess of Blackthorn softened his angry heart, and he felt a spread of shame.
“I should not have avoided you,” he muttered. “I am sorry I have abandoned you since our moment in the library.”
“It is nothing,” she said, waving it off. “I know how it can feel to be scared, Graham. Scared and out of your depth. But I only hope that tonight’s ball shall show you that I understand, and that I am not afraid of the man you are.”
He did not believe her, could not believe her, but he nodded his head regardless.
“We must not keep our guests waiting,” he told her, sighing. “They are likely all lined up to see the beastly duke.”
Amelia stopped them from descending the stairs. Although he towered over her, he stopped immediately. Her eyes met his, the green in them deep and pretty.
“You are no beast,” she whispered. “You are my husband.”
Her confidence and security in such a claim shivered through Graham, and he did not know if it was the fact that her own nerves would be present and she was trying to best them herself, or if the dress helped her confidence, but he rather liked both sides of his wife that he was seeing.
“And you are my wife,” he answered, his voice gentle.
“Does that please you?” she asked, as if she could not bear to move down the stairs without asking.
“I am a very hard man to please,” Graham admitted. “But somehow, you have come into my life, and you are bringing light with you. You are making Daphne happy, and you are making my mother smile again. That is enough for me.”
Her face fell at the slight lack of admittance. Graham could not tell her the truth, not yet, that she was making him feel a whirlwind of emotions that he could not pin down.
Instead, he guided them down the stairs, wanting to ask her if she was happy but was scared of the answer, so it merely became another thing he bit back and let his silence be his resolve.
***
As confident as she tried to feel, Amelia could not deny that her stomach was a mess of fluttering nerves and worry.
In other balls, the worst part was entering and every gaze turning to her.
The whispers were terrible, circulating gossip, but she would only have to face one every time she heard it.
After that initial moment of entry, she did not always have to feel the weight of the ton.
Now, she stood in the entrance hall with Graham, and she knew the onslaught of greeting every guest tonight would fray her confidence.
One by one, the guests arrived, arrayed in their finery.
And one by one, Amelia sensed the keen gaze of the assembled company upon herself and her husband, as they were subjected to a thorough examination.
The guests appraised them from head to toe, casting measured glances towards the ballroom, whilst spirited conversations ensued regarding the chosen theme for the evening.
“Your Graces.” It was the countess who had worn the peacock feathers at Lady Victoria’s ball.
Her voice dripped with enough disdain that showed how she felt about them being the Duke and Duchess—and their hosts.
“How wonderful for you to open the doors of Blackthorn to the ton. I had almost got it into my head that you did not care to share your beautiful home! I do hope it hasn’t been a slight insult that you think we were not good enough to enter such a place. ”
“Of course not, Lady Eastward,” Amelia answered before Graham could. “His Grace has not had a reason to host due to only having a duchess now. I am sure you understand that the Dowager Duchess Felicity was still in mourning, and Daphne could not host her own ball.”
Lady Eastward’s mouth tightened as she hummed. “I see. However, I am sure the Dowager Duchess could have hosted at any moment. Even an afternoon tea, or a soiree, perhaps. After all, the Blackthorns have attended every social event yet not shared the honour of inviting us to anything.”