Chapter Thirty-One
Andrew felt pathetic. He hadn’t wanted to come to this godforsaken ball in the first place.
He didn’t belong among the rich unless he was working for them, but Della had begged.
Well, perhaps begged was an overstatement.
She’d asked exactly once. Her eyes had softened, and his heart had melted, and that was all it took. Hence the reason he felt pathetic.
As they rode in tense silence toward the Kittredge home, Andrew cursed his own inability to take action where she was concerned.
The more time he spent around her, the more he realized it was entirely possible to be frozen in adoration for someone.
He cared so much for her that he’d never been able to risk it.
Except he had once, and that had ended disastrously.
He could only hope that tonight would be different. For her sake, at least.
The cravat around his neck was impossibly tight, and so was every single one of his muscles.
They had been since he’d touched her. Scarcely an hour ago, he’d lived out the beginnings of all of his wildest dreams. Alone with Della, standing so close.
Feeling her warmth and her skin. In his mind, it went in reverse.
She let him peel the clothes off of her, though he had more than enjoyed helping her dress.
The sensation of that almost-liquid silk would linger on the pads of his fingers for days.
He would always remember the soul-deep peace he felt when his skin touched hers.
“I will be lingering about the lemonade table,” he heard his mother say. “I am a chaperone in name only. I have no plans to hinder your evening.”
Andrew’s stomach churned while Della laughed. This was why he hadn’t wanted to come. Of course, he wanted to witness her big moment and her triumphant return to society, but he didn’t think he could bear to watch her charm every man in the room the way she’d so thoroughly charmed him.
She hadn’t even tried, all those years ago, just as she wasn’t trying now.
She’d done nothing but be herself, a gem of a person everyone in London was going to get to behold in just moments.
There would be someone there bolder than himself.
Stronger. With more courage. Someone who was not frozen in their enchantment with her, someone who was set aflame by it.
Not a coward like him who had her in his arms and let her drift away.
“I’m not sure what kind of evening I’ll have anyway.” Della sighed, looking out the window at the fading light. “I have this terrible fear that no one will want to speak to me. It seems childish to be so scared of silence, but I truly am.”
Andrew heard her voice break, and he would give anything to give her her confidence back.
“Well, that is why we’re here.” His mother grabbed one of Della’s hands, sending her a warm, maternal smile.
It made the tight strings around Andrew’s heart loosen.
He didn’t think Della had ever received enough smiles like that.
No one could ever have enough gestures of familial tenderness, but Della had felt so few.
“I appreciate that—” Della continued, then her words halted on a gasp.
Andrew followed her gaze out the carriage’s small window.
It was another carriage, the one marked with the Morley crest. Her parents.
They hadn’t been sure they’d be here, not entirely.
They’d assumed, they’d prepared, but all of that anxious forethought paled in comparison to knowing they were but a few paces ahead of them approaching the crowd of revelers filing into Kittredge House.
They sat, trapped in the heavy traffic. Andrew couldn’t look out the window any longer.
The sight of carriages and people and horses going every which way made him nauseous.
If there was going to be an accident, he couldn’t watch.
Horses unsettled him to begin with, but this crush of activity in so small a space was a recipe for disaster.
Some part of him feared this whole night was, actually.
His mother and Della made small talk as they spied on other partygoers. They discussed gowns and gloves and his mother gasped as she swore she saw a dowager countess’s ankle as she descended from her curricle. They seemed to be having fun, at least.
They slowly neared the top of the Kittredge’s drive, and Andrew began to hear the music and the voices and the laughter.
It crept up on him, rising slowly until his senses were almost overwhelmed.
He heard the noise, he saw flashes of people moving through the candlelight, he smelled Della’s delicate perfume.
He felt her skirts brush against the tops of his new, over-shined shoes.
As the voices began to blur together, he wondered if any of them would be the one to win Della’s heart.
He wondered if tonight would be his last night with her like this, tucked in close enough to feel her.
He thought of how many more opportunities he might have left to experience the exquisite peace he felt when he touched her.
The carriage door opened before Andrew could prepare himself.
He climbed out first, thanking the formally dressed footman.
He helped his mother take the stairs, and she did so with an excitement in her step that Andrew hadn’t seen in years.
Then he reached for Della. Always, it felt like, he was reaching for Della.
She tucked her walking stick under one arm and rested her palms on his shoulders.
It was such a privilege to have her trust, to have her lean into him and allow herself to be swept through the air in his arms.
All too soon, she was safely on the ground. She gripped her walking stick in her left hand. Her right hand lingered on his shoulder, sliding down his arm with a certain devastating slowness.
“Thank you, Andrew,” she breathed, and her face transformed into a wide, open smile.
It was heartbreaking.
They’d discussed this part. It was better for Della to have her moment alone, to walk in and receive the entrance she deserved.
Andrew and Alice would stay behind and remain unannounced.
He knew this. He’d been anticipating it, but he still wanted to chase after her the second she took that first step.
Della didn’t turn back. As the dazzling lights reflected off of her beaded gown, she walked forward. Her lingering hand fell away, and Andrew let her go.