Chapter Three
Nathaniel adjusted the cuff of his evening jacket as he stepped into the aggressively bright ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers caught the light of every candle and lantern, flooding the room in a golden glow.
It clung to the silk and satin, and gleamed off of diamonds and pearls, reflecting the brilliance back tenfold.
It was too bright and far too warm—stifling, really—even though somewhere near the back of the room, the cold January wind bled in through a pair of open doors.
The heat in his chest didn’t come from the temperature of the room, but from the press of bodies pushing too close, eyes assessing him from every angle, and whispers that clung to him like a second skin he could not shed.
His grip on his sister’s arm tightened as she tried to surge ahead for a better view. Her eyes were wide, sparkling brighter than every diamond in the room combined.
Every head had turned the moment they entered.
Perhaps it was because Nathaniel stood a full head taller than nearly every other man present.
Or because this was the first time he had shown his face in Society, beyond the House of Lords, since Sarah Elizabeth Weston had broken their engagement—and his heart.
Or perhaps it was the young woman practically bouncing with anticipation on his arm. Whatever the reason, Charlotte soaked up every whispered glance like air.
Nathaniel led her to the refreshment table, successfully navigating through the crowd without being stopped for feigned pleasantries and introductions he was not yet ready to make.
He forced a glass of lemonade into his sister’s hand, just as she reached out for the champagne.
Her eyes rose in challenge, but she accepted the drink with a dainty sip.
Nathaniel bowed his head towards her, lowering his voice. “Do I need to remind you of the rules?”
“No.” Charlotte gave a shake of her head, her black curls bouncing against her neck. “I will be on my best behavior.”
“That is what worries me,” Nathaniel murmured into his own drink. “I need you to be on my best behavior.”
Charlotte gave him a wicked smile, but before she could object, their attention was stolen by a moderately decent young man whom Nathaniel vaguely recognized from the last time he had graced London Society.
“Your Grace.” The tall, lanky fellow bowed, his mop of blonde hair falling forward into his eyes as he did.
Charlotte giggled behind her glass, and Nathaniel had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all.
“It is an honor to see you in London again. I hope you are enjoying yourself so far.” The young man continued to address Nathaniel, but his eyes were firmly locked on Charlotte.
Nathaniel hummed, “I wish I could say I was.”
If the young man was taken aback by Nathaniel’s reply, he did not show it. He merely nodded, his overly bright smile fixed firmly in place.
Nathaniel drew a slow breath before turning to Charlotte. She looked up at him, her smile full of expectation. He knew he would have to present her to eligible gentlemen eventually. He had simply hoped to delay the headache a little longer.
Nathaniel turned back to the young man. “Mr Huxley, I believe?” Relief filled his chest when he nodded.
“Yes, Your Grace. Eustace Huxley.” He bowed again.
“Allow me to introduce my sister,” Nathaniel gestured to Charlotte, who was already dipping into a perfectly elegant curtsy. “Lady Charlotte Eaton.”
Mr. Huxley beamed as he offered his arm. “It would be an honor to escort you for the first set, Lady Charlotte.”
Charlotte turned her hopeful glance to Nathaniel. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat before offering a small smile and a nod.
She slipped her hand beneath Mr. Huxley’s arm, and he led her toward the center of the ballroom just as the first notes of music filled the air. Nathaniel felt his chest tighten at the sound.
It wasn’t that he disliked balls—not truly.
Everyone wore their finest clothes and jewels, dusted off their best manners and most impressive stories.
The rooms glittered and glowed, and laughter and elegant music floated through the air.
If he were honest with himself, it was all rather magical.
But that was all it was. Magic. An illusion.
He had fallen in love with Sarah Weston in a ballroom like this—her lovely green eyes, outspoken opinions, and quick wit.
In a room like this, he had been able to envision her falling in love with him as well.
Everyone had. They were the perfect couple, in a perfect courtship, moving steadily towards marriage
But outside the ballroom, Sarah had been falling in love with someone else—and no number of evenings spent dancing and sipping on champagne could have changed that.
Nathaniel watched as Charlotte and Mr. Huxley spun across the floor, her light and airy laughter blending with the music, and the pain in his chest intensified.
Regardless of how entertaining one found Society, Nathaniel couldn’t shake the feeling that his time would be better spent doing just about anything else. As soon as Charlotte was settled and married, he would have no need to grace the doorway of a London ballroom again.
He lifted his glass and took another sip when another familiar laugh caught his attention.
“Blackburn!” He called, unable to hide the smile from his voice as he spotted his friend from across the room.
Oliver looked up and broke into a grin. “Kenswick!” He returned, already weaving through the crowd toward him. Nathaniel felt the tightness in his chest ease as his friend came closer.
Over two years had passed since they had last seen each other, but no part of Oliver had changed—except for the fact that his smile was even brighter with his new bride on his arm.
“Well,” Oliver said, coming to a stop in front of him, eyes dancing. “Tell me, Your Grace, is that frown your new permanent expression, or are we simply getting a preview of the speech you are going to bore the House with at our next session?”
“Ollie!” Grace discreetly jabbed her elbow into her husband’s ribs.
Nathaniel laughed. He forgot how easy it was to be himself with Oliver, or at least the person he was whenever his old friend was around. Even if just for a moment, he was able to stand a little taller because he knew his title held less weight with Oliver than it did with the rest of the world.
He was the one person who saw him simply as Nathaniel Eaton; the only one who truly understood what the title of Duke of Kenswick cost him. But when Sarah had broken his heart, Nathaniel couldn’t bear the thought of even his closest friend seeing him crumble.
He told himself he needed a few weeks to mend his wounded pride, and then a few months, and then a year—and then the invitation to the wedding arrived.
If Oliver had married anyone else, Nathaniel would have been the first to offer his congratulations, but Grace Rockwell was Sarah’s dearest friend. He simply had not been ready to face them.
So one year became two, and now Nathaniel realized that the pain he felt from seeing Oliver and Grace was not from old heartbreak being unearthed, but the realization that there was none, and he had stayed away so long for nothing.
Grace cleared her throat. “Do not let him rile you, Your Grace. He has been perfectly intolerable all evening.”
She threw Oliver a look that was more amused than exasperated.
“I would expect nothing less.” Nathaniel smiled, turning to Grace. She looked older than she had the last time he had seen her, just weeks before she was to marry Sarah’s brother.
It wasn’t the sullen aging that most people would have expected from a young woman who had lost both the man she loved and her future without warning—but a wisdom, maturity, and grace that came from picking up broken pieces and creating something new.
Her eyes sparkled a little brighter, and her smile held a little longer than most people’s in the room as her hand rested in the crook of Oliver’s arm.
Life had taught her and Oliver a lesson that everyone else seemed to overlook—a heart once broken is not an excuse to hide away and never love again, but reason to hold on to the love you have even tighter.
“Lady Blackburn.” Nathaniel offered her his most sincere smile. “You are as radiant as ever.”
“You are far too kind,” she replied warmly before turning back to her husband, with an almost mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Ollie was hoping to see you this Season.”
Nathaniel understood the tone in her voice, as well as the softening of Oliver’s gaze as he looked into her eyes with appreciation. He knew what her words meant—his friend missed him.
Nathaniel cleared the lump in his throat, shoving down the emotions that were threatening to rise up.
The middle of a ballroom was not the place to be getting emotional, especially not for a duke who had spent years building a reputation of being generally uninterested in society.
If word got out that he was going soft, people might find him approachable, and then he would have to converse instead of being left alone to quietly observe.
“I nearly did not come,” Nathaniel admitted truthfully. “But my youngest sister made her desires very clear.”
“Charlotte is here?” Oliver’s eyes widened in surprise.
Oliver had known Charlotte since the day she was born. Nathaniel was sure his friend thought him completely mad for allowing her loose on Society before it was absolutely necessary.
Before Nathaniel could defend his decision, his heart sank at the sight of a flurry of pale peach skirts disappearing through the open doors that led out to the dark terrace.
“If you will excuse me,” Nathaniel grumbled as he offered the Blackburns a quick bow. “I believe the hellion in question has just escaped.”
Before they could respond, Nathaniel pushed his way through the crowded ballroom and out into the cold night air. It had rained earlier, and a mist still clung and settled onto his evening coat and skin.
Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t anyone else out on the terrace. With the weather as disagreeable as it was, there was no reason to be outside unless, of course, you were up to no good.
“Charlotte!” Nathaniel whispered into the dark. The music from the ballroom still carried on behind him. The twinkling lights cast a warm glow onto the cold gray stones of the balustrade and the path that led into the gardens.
Nathaniel took another quick glance around before stepping down off the terrace and striding slowly towards the gardens.
Surely Charlotte would not be so foolish as to venture off alone in the dark. But his stomach tightened again as a flash of pink silk appeared, weaving between the green hedges.
While most people in Mayfair kept the gardens of their townhomes clean-cut and well-manicured, preferring to impress with brightly colored roses and a variety of exotic plants, the Beckleys boasted a maze in the center of the garden at their London home.
One that Nathaniel cursed under his breath as he stepped off the stone path, the anger in his chest rising with every step.
If Charlotte were alone, he could salvage that. He would drag her back to the countryside and keep her locked up until her eighteenth birthday, but her reputation would be safe.
If she were not alone, that would be a different story. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Hopefully, the lad would be a reasonable sort of man, one who relished the feeling of air entering and exiting his body more than the idea of boasting of his achievements with a duke’s sister.
“Charlotte!” Nathaniel called again, a little louder this time, as he chased her through the maze, following the sound of slippers pounding on the soft grass.
Was she running away from him?
Nathaniel turned another corner, and the footsteps grew louder.
Was she running towards him?
Before he could call for her again, he was pushed back by the force of another body colliding with his. Nathaniel reached out to steady her, his hands wrapping solidly around her arms.
The maze was dark, lit only by the light of the full moon and the lanterns from the terrace in their weak attempt to shine through the mist and illuminate the path from the other side of the garden. But in the dim light, Nathaniel could see two things quite clearly:
Firstly, this woman was not his sister.
Secondly, she had shockingly familiar red curls piled high on top of her head.
Nathaniel’s heart stopped beating completely as his eyes dropped to her face. His grasp on her arms tightened to keep her from disappearing again.
“It is you.”