Chapter 21 #3
“I am sure that is not true,” Beatrice said. “My brother is angry at himself. And me. And the duke. But not at you!”
“I do not know…” Vivienne looked wistfully away. “He could not look at me last night…”
Beatrice did not remember it like that, but no amount of arguing with her friend could change her mind.
In the end, they decided to delay dinner until after the ball, as there were many preparations to make.
Instead, the two women spent the afternoon and into the evening discussing plans for the ball and agreed to work together to help make it one of the best nights of the Season.
All throughout the conversation, however, Beatrice kept getting distracted every time she looked down at her hand and saw the ring glinting up at her.
Each time it caught her eye, she felt a rush of heat through her whole body, and lines of poetry kept popping into her head which she hoped to add to her poems.
And when at last she bid farewell to her friend and returned home, she finished off the most tender of the ones she had written and slipped it into a small frame that used to carry a picture of her brother. After wrapping it tenderly in one of her handkerchiefs, she gave it to a footman to post.
“Send it to the Duke of St. James,” she said, and then, to test out the words and see how they might feel, “my fiancé.”
They felt very good indeed.
The rest of the week was occupied with preparations for the ball, and, much to Beatrice’s dismay, she did not see the duke again. She had thought he would call, but she supposed he wanted to give her space to come to terms with the arrangement and to plan the ball.
Instead, she threw herself into making all the arrangements, ordering flowers, securing the musicians, and going to fitting after fitting at the modiste to make sure that her gown was absolutely perfect.
In fact, everything was arranged with precision by the time the night of the ball arrived, and as guests began streaming in through the front doors of Ashford Manor, she was astounded by how many people were in attendance.
“Everyone is here,” her brother murmured to her, who stood with her at the head of the receiving line. “I am… amazed.”
She glanced up at him. He really did look surprised, his eyes following the Earl and Countess of Kilmonder with interest and awe.
“I had thought that the scandal around your relationship with the duke and subsequent hasty engagement would ensure no one of good reputation would come tonight.”
“You do not put enough stock in people’s curiosity,” Beatrice said dryly. “This scandal and engagement are the talk of the Season. Everyone wants to see how it will play out.”
Theodore frowned. “I do not want these people to come simply to gawk. I want them to hold our family name in high esteem.”
“And they shall,” Beatrice said determinedly. “When we behave with perfection. But we cannot fool ourselves into thinking they are not drawn here even a little bit in order to witness the spectacle.”
“Well…” Theodore glanced at her. “I know you shall impress them and show them that there is no reason for them to expect scandal or spectacle.”
She blinked, a bit taken aback. “Do you really mean that?”
He nodded slowly. “You did very well with the dowager duchess when you met. She was… very lovely, I thought. Much more so than her son. It did make me feel a touch regretful that she will have to learn the engagement is called off. But I thought you were very respectful and… elegant.”
Beatrice said nothing. It was the first compliment her brother had given her in some days, and while she wasn’t exactly grateful, she did hope this meant that the ice that had grown between them might soon begin to thaw.
For another hour, guests continued to arrive, including the dowager duchess and her brother-in-law, Lord Reginald Sinclair, until the number of new arrivals began to dwindle to a trickle. And then at last, it seemed, everyone had arrived.
Everyone except the duke himself.
Beatrice was no longer in the reception line but in the ballroom, where she, Theodore, Vivienne, and the dowager duchess waited near the windows.
Theodore, she noticed, was beginning to sweat, and his face was turning red again.
The dowager duchess also looked very worried.
Her eyes kept darting to the door, then to Beatrice, before forcing a wooden smile.
Where was the duke?
His mother had said he was arriving separately, that he had some business to attend to, but this was becoming preposterous.
Beatrice glanced at the grandfather clock on the far side of the ballroom. He was supposed to have been here more than two hours ago. They were supposed to open the dancing, as the affianced couple the ball was being held to celebrate!
“Where is he?” her brother muttered at her out of the corner of his mouth.
“I know as much as you,” she said, but her throat felt very dry. She looked at Vivienne, whose brow was also creased with worry. Beatrice’s heart beat wildly in her chest.
Surely it wasn’t possible that the duke had abandoned her? That he had, as Nathaniel predicted, failed her at the first opportunity?