CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
“You are here now,” Amelia said, forcefully polite. “I believe that is an honour, is it not? And as the Duchess of Blackthorn, rest assured I shall be hosting more celebrations in the future.”
At that, Lady Eastward brightened. After she passed with the earl, who nodded to them both, Graham leaned in. “They are so easily pleased when one offers something shiny and of worth to them.”
“The ton is a terrible mass,” Amelia whispered back, “but I know a little about how to appease a situation. Lingering on the outskirts of ballrooms taught me a great deal.”
“You are clever,” he stated, allowing a small smirk. “I already knew that, of course, but you know the ton’s politics well. I admire how you use them for good use, to put people in their place rather than down.”
Amelia could not fight her shyness at the compliment before another couple waited to be greeted.
They continued arriving, and she found herself more and more desperate to see a friendlier face.
Her family, Eleanor, perhaps even Lord Owen.
But those who had scorned and shunned both of them only kept arriving, and Amelia hated that she had even been required to invite them at all.
Graham leaned in again. “It is absurd that my mother told us to invite the very people who have fuelled gossip about us. Are we sure this ball is a good idea?”
Amelia bit back her laughter, surprised by the joined forces of them already.
Although she had envisioned the ball to be deeply dark and intriguing, the light way he jested made her break that composure, but she was not afraid to.
Let the ton see that they could smile, and laugh, and that if their circumstance was how the ton gossiped it was then those things might not happen so easy.
“It is the most terrible idea,” Amelia answered. “And yet we must.”
“As long as they do not eat all the cake, for Owen will cause a riot.”
Amelia snorted into her glove, only to be faced with the Kensingtons. She stiffened and straightened at Lady Cassandra’s bemused expression, who lingered behind even after Lord and Lady Kensington had moved towards the ballroom.
“How ladylike,” Cassandra commented lightly. “You have many eager guests, Your Grace. Do you not wish to greet them, or are we interrupting you?”
The slight punctured Amelia’s happiness, but it was Graham who spoke up that time.
“Lady Cassandra, I am glad to see you here,” he said, and her face brightened.
“After all that heinous gossip started at your garden party, it is a relief to know you have no ill feelings towards us. After all, we did accidentally take the attention from the grandness of the Kensington party for our own marriage, did we not? That is what the ton says.” He smiled humorlessly. “Terribly sorry.”
Cassandra’s placed, forced smile fell spectacularly.
There was something in her gaze that Amelia could not quite work out but did not deign to, for thankfully Cassandra moved on.
Behind her were the Ashworths, Beatrice quietly watching her friend storm off.
A flutter of nerves passed through her, and Amelia could not help but wonder why Beatrice continued their friendship if she was in fear of Cassandra’s moods.
“Heavens, by the time this line finishes, I shall be exhausted and ready to retire,” Amelia muttered.
She felt sticky with the eyes lingering on her dress, the judgement weighing heavily.
But the guests continued, a never-ending flow of people to greet, until finally, the familiar face of her mother and father appeared.
Happiness bloomed through her as her mother approached, and her father immediately went to shake the duke’s hand.
“My darling,” Bernadette said, her eyes bright, as though Amelia’s secured future, despite the hasty marriage, had taken a weight off her. “You look stunning. A true duchess. Edward, do you not agree?”
“I do indeed,” he answered, grinning. “My Amelia, the Duchess of Blackthorn. The role suits you, dearest. We are both so proud of you, I do hope you know that. Although, my good friend Lord Lukestone is rather disappointed.”
Even though he jested, Amelia knew Lord Lukestone was a man well into his sixtieth year, an old baron on the outskirts of London, and she recognized that her father had already begun to make plans for that unfortunate arrangement had her Season proven fruitless.
Shame flickered in her father’s eyes but Amelia understood, as unfair as it was, that they would have been forced to do something.
She only nodded, hugging her parents briefly. “Thank you both—for everything. For supporting me, and believing in me. I am only sorry for the trouble I caused, even though it was incidental.”
“Do not apologise,” Bernadette said quickly, stepping back. “Only do your duties as a duchess, and I am sure we shall talk soon enough.”
Amelia nodded, and her parents retreated into the ballroom. Next to her, Graham’s face was tightening with each person. Most of his lighter comments had faded, replaced by tense shoulders and a smile that appeared to ache.
She wished to give him a reprieve—but it came in the form of Lord Owen, who strolled in with his mother.
“Graham!” he greeted. “What a fine occurrence tonight is. Blackthorn shall once again bask in its splendor. I am rather glad you have opened the doors to it again. It would be a shame if I could not ask Lady Eleanor for a dance across the very impressive Blackthorn ballroom.”
“You may dance away, Owen,” Graham answered tersely. “And you of all people know how difficult this is for me.”
“Indeed, I only jest. It is good for me to see you actively fulfilling your duties with a beautiful wife at your side.”
At that, Lord Owen bowed and kissed Amelia’s knuckles. She smiled indulgently, only for Lord Owen to move onwards, saying he would see them in the ballroom, seeking out Daphne, who was likely already holding court in there.
The Fairfax family followed quickly behind, their faces caught in awe as they looked around.
“I do recall attending the very last ball the late Duke of Blackthorn hosted here,” Lord Fairfax commented. “It is most delightful to be back.”
“I hope you enjoy your night, in that case, and that tonight’s ball shall live up to the reputation,” Amelia said, smiling brightly. She embraced Eleanor quickly, moving her mouth near her friend’s ear to murmur, “Lord Owen awaits you in the ballroom.”
Eleanor’s face both lit up and flushed pink all at once, as she and her parents moved on, leaving the last guest to arrive.
Lord Percival Randall. His eyes shined with a glint that Amelia had not recognized at first but did now.
“Your Graces! Oh, what splendor! What beauty!” His arms gestured widely. “Blackthorn reins in its former glory once more with tonight’s celebration. Duchess, I look forward to seeing what you have created with the help of my cousin and aunt.”
“And I look forward to seeing you behaving, Percival,” Graham said sharply. “Pray, cease this trifling with your amusing tales.”
“I am an honourable gentleman tonight, cousin. I have seen the error of my immature ways, and have actually set my sights on a much better goal.” His smile flashed. “Lady Cassandra Kensington is present tonight, is she not?”
Amelia thought that if there was ever a more perfect and more terrible match all at once, it would be Percival and Cassandra. They would wreak havoc, sickeningly charming and arrogant, a poised couple to rule over the ton even if they were not of the highest rank.
“The Kensingtons have arrived already,” Amelia confirmed. “You are our last guest to arrive.”
“Excellent—then I believe I must enter the ballroom and prepare for our illustrious, scandalous hosts.”
Percival winked at Amelia as he passed, and Graham tensed beside her but did not verbally berate his cousin. Instead, as Percival left, Graham turned to her, offering his arm once again. “Let us get tonight over with.”
Amelia nodded, suddenly wondering why she now regretted her agreeing to hosting a ball.