The lady in question smiled and batted her eyelashes. By the manner of her expression, some inane sort of flattery would soon leave her lips. He gripped his hands and clenched his jaw in preparation.
“You have been sorely missed from the season thus far, Mr. Darcy,” she said in a honeyed manner. Why did that tone never fail to pain his ears? “Will we see you promenade in Hyde Park sometime this coming week?”
Had she not considered the abundance of rain this past se’nnight? The sun had finally broken through the clouds that day, so the park was muddy and still quite cool, even to promenade. “The weather since we arrived in London has been too wet to venture to Hyde Park.”
She smiled widely, and he restrained the urge to roll his eyes. Lady Sarah, however, had not conceded defeat and tilted her head as she took a step closer.
“Have you met the new Duchess of Leeds?”
He stiffened and began to stutter a response as a hand landed on his back. “Lady Tennant, Lady Sarah.” His father pressed him away. “I must beg your forgiveness. I was taking my son to greet his cousins, Lord Carlisle and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Oh, of course,” Lady Tennant simpered. “Although, I am certain Mr. Darcy will wish to secure a set with my daughter before he departs.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes hurt as they bulged at her forwardness. He required a quick and clever retort—one that would not be considered rude. He had to hurry! A swift glance to his side found his father considering him with an amused expression, his eyebrows raised.
“Well . . .” he stammered, “a . . . a . . . dance with Lady Sarah is an honour best left to someone more deserving than I. Colonel Fitzwilliam, as the son of an earl, would be a worthier candidate. I shall send him post-haste to secure a set.”
He pivoted on his heel and headed towards the card room. His father soon stepped beside him, chuckling. “That was a rather unfeeling thing you just did to your cousin.”
Grimacing, he shrugged. “I happen to think Lady Sarah would be perfect for Richard.”
“Poor man! Will you and Carlisle never cease to bait him? The two of you give him no quarter.” His father motioned towards a table in the far corner where his cousin Nicholas Fitzwilliam, Viscount Carlisle, gestured them over with a wave.
As they approached, Fitzwilliam noticed Carlisle’s younger brother, Richard, betting on the hand of cards he studied intently.
Unlike his brother, who would play in a seedy tavern if the mood struck,—and often did—Carlisle was not much of a card player and preferred smaller games between friends to the tables at a ball or his club. By Richard’s stiff posture and hard expression this evening, he held a losing hand, as was his wont.
Carlisle rose and grasped George Darcy’s hand. “It is good to see you, Uncle,” he said before turning and shaking Fitzwilliam’s. “You too, Fitzwilliam. Mother insisted I remind you to respond to her dinner invitation.”
His father smiled and nodded. “I shall respond to their invitation on the morrow.”
“I would be grateful,” said Carlisle. “I do not appreciate being tasked as her messenger boy.”
“Uncle! Darcy! You must join our game!” called Richard from across the table.
“It appears as though you should join us in the next room.” George Darcy may not have issued a blatant order for his nephew to quit the game, but his tone and expression did not brook argument.
Richard appeared to recognise the indirect command since he set down the cards and rose from the table. “I wish you gents better luck than I possess tonight.” He shook the hand of another officer, seated across from him.
Fitzwilliam grinned broadly and clapped his cousin on his shoulder, hitting his epaulette. “I came across Lady Tennant and her daughter, Lady Sarah, in the ballroom.”
Richard groaned and his brother began chortling.
“I informed Lady Sarah you would be most desirous of a set.”
With a grimace, Richard practically growled, “You are an arse, Darcy.”
“I thought you said Lady Sarah is the perfect companion of your future life,” said Carlisle, goading him.
Richard regarded him with a pinched expression. “No, I prefer someone I do not mind bedding for an heir.”
“An heir?” Why would Richard require an heir? He had nothing a son might inherit.
His cousin smirked. “The earldom will need an heir one day, and since my dear brother seems unwilling to do his duty . . .”
Carlisle barked and slapped his brother on the back. “When I find the correct woman, I shall have no problem doing my duty.”
His brother grinned. “Perchance, that woman might be Lady Sarah. If I happen to see her tonight, I shall ensure she reserves you a set. I think the last will do nicely.” Before Carlisle could retort, Richard disappeared into the crowd.
“He has been insufferable tonight.”
“You could have left him.” Fitzwilliam spoke softly, acknowledging an acquaintance as they passed.
“Do you not remember what happened the last time I abandoned him at the card tables?” Carlisle spoke low so as not to be overheard. “He lost so much to Lord Alconbury’s cousin they tracked me down for his debt. No one will extend him any type of credit these days.”
“So you linger about to prevent him from ruining himself?”
Carlisle stared at the back of his uncle as they made their way towards the grand staircase. “He will lose too much to the wrong man one day, and it will break my mother’s heart.”
A hush descended upon the crowd as by groups they turned to the large oak double doors where the Darcys’ cousin, Thomas Osborne, the Duke of Leeds, stood with his bride.
Having never laid eyes on Thomas’s wife until that moment, Fitzwilliam studied her. Why had his cousin chosen this particular woman as his bride? She appeared to be young—very young, but something about her eyes offset her youthful physicality. Those eyes did not appear out of the ordinary at first glance. They were wide, brown, and doe-shaped; however, upon further study, their brightness hinted at an underlying intelligence. Her mahogany curls sat piled atop her head while an arched eyebrow accompanied a curve to one side of her lips. She found humour in some aspect of this evening’s gathering.
“She is uncommonly pretty,” commented Carlisle near his ear. “What think you, cousin?”
“I agree.” Yes, she was certainly handsome, but handsome young ladies were not exactly a rarity within the ton. What rendered this woman so special? How did she convince Thomas to break his vow to never marry?
The duke led his bride to where Lord and Lady Vranes stood to one side of the room. After their initial greeting, Lady Vranes took the duchess’s hands as they spoke quietly with smiling faces. The two ladies had obviously formed an acquaintance prior to this evening. They even appeared friends. If this young lady hailed from the country as many claimed, what could she have in common with a countess noted for her artistic eye? After a few moments, the duke turned and espied Fitzwilliam and his father. A smile overtook his face as he led his wife to where they stood and offered his hand to Fitzwilliam’s father.
“George,” he exclaimed happily. “It is wonderful to see you so well.”
“One could say the same to you.” His father accepted the duke’s proffered hand.
The duke then gestured towards the young lady on his arm. “I would like to introduce you to my wife, Her Grace, Elizabeth Osborne, Duchess of Leeds. Elizabeth, I would like you to meet my cousin, George Darcy, and his son, Fitzwilliam.” He grinned when he noticed Carlisle standing to Fitzwilliam’s side, offering his hand to him as well. “And this is their cousin, Nicholas Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Carlisle.”
The duchess curtsied primly, a warm smile on her face. “It is a pleasure to meet you. His Grace has told me much of all of you. I anticipate ascertaining if his descriptions are as accurate as he claims.” While she spoke, Fitzwilliam found himself drawn into the glimmering depths of her unusual eyes.
The duke chuckled. “She
would have you believe nothing I say.”
“I simply find the differences between your descriptions and reality interesting.” She released the duke’s arm to clasp her hands in front of her. “For example, you claimed Worthstone to be a modest country home. I believe your exact words were ‘It is truly not so grand as some may claim.’”
George Darcy coughed to disguise a chuckle. “She has you pegged, Thomas.”
“I certainly doubt I understand His Grace so well, Mr. Darcy, but I am learning.”
“Yes, well,” the duke interrupted. “I happen to know Her Grace enjoys dancing, but I do not wish her to be subjected to every gossip’s son or husband. Enough fodder currently exists for the rumour mill. Would you gents object terribly?”
“Since I presume you will be dancing the next with your wife,” George Darcy turned to the duchess, “may I request the dance following your husband’s?”
“I would be pleased to offer you the first set after supper, Mr. Darcy.”
“Thus far Fitzwilliam has avoided dancing, but you will have to dance eventually.” His father levelled a smug expression in his direction.
The duchess arched an eyebrow. “I would not expect Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy to dance if he dislikes the activity.”
“Nonsense.” His father laughed and nudged him in the elbow. “He avoids the ballroom enough.”
Fitzwilliam smiled tightly, the muscles in his shoulders taut. Would he be trapped dancing with a string of tiresome young ladies for the remainder of the evening because he aided his cousin? “I would be honoured if you would join me for a set, Your Grace.”
“I would not wish you forced, sir.”
Her eyes twinkled with humour. There had been rumours she entrapped her husband, and Fitzwilliam’s stiff posture relaxed as he became more certain the gossip was nothing more than falsehoods.
He dipped a slight bow. “I apologise for giving you the impression I was at all displeased. I shall be honoured to dance with you.”
Carlisle gave a sweeping bow. “I would be delighted to claim the set after my surly cousin.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied with a broad grin.
The music for the current set ended, and the duke turned to his wife. “If we are to dance the next, we should take a place in the line. I have no doubt people will ambush us along the way for an introduction.”
Her lips pressed together tightly as she placed her hand on husband’s arm. Was she nervous or displeased?
Fitzwilliam’s father shifted to his side while they observed the couple wending through the revellers to the dance floor. They stopped once or twice, obliged speak to a few people lest they offend them, but soon, joined the line to dance the next.
“What do you think of her?” asked his father.
“She seems a pleasant sort. There is something about her eyes that renders her older than she appears.”
George Darcy nodded. “I agree. She is a handsome young lady to be sure, but I suspect she is more than a pretty face. Thomas has never tolerated idiocy.”
Carlisle elbowed Fitzwilliam in the ribs. “She will definitely liven up these old society families. They are not thrilled His Grace overlooked their daughters but will not snub a duchess, especially one as affluent and influential as Leeds. That alone will be enjoyable to watch.”
“Your mother will be disappointed she missed tonight,” said Fitzwilliam.
“My parents committed to an engagement long before Lady Vranes sent around her invitations. My father has long admired Leeds, and my mother has not been the only one inordinately curious about the new duchess. I am certain they will make her acquaintance soon.”
After supper, Fitzwilliam stood to the side of the ballroom with the duke while his father danced with the new duchess. “You do seem well.”
“I am,” said the duke. “The physician still expresses concerns about my heart, but I have had no further episodes of the sort I had last year.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Her Grace leaned in a little to speak to his father, which caused his father to laugh. The duke smiled. His father appeared to enjoy the duchess’s company.
“I would be pleased if you and Elizabeth could be friends. She is witty and intelligent. I believe the two of you could have much to discuss.”
Fitzwilliam’s hands joined behind his back. “I shall do my best to make her welcome into the family.”
“Thank you, Fitzwilliam.” The duke bestowed a fatherly slap on the back and turned to watch the dance end.
His father led his partner to them, and Fitzwilliam stepped forward. “I believe our set is next?”
Her eyes held his as she nodded. “Mr. Darcy.”
The duchess placed a graceful hand upon his arm, and he glanced down to where she touched him. Her hand gently rested upon his forearm, near the elbow, but despite his topcoat and his fine lawn shirt, the precise location of each finger could be discerned through the layers. He was unaccustomed to such a sensation. Why should her touch be felt so acutely?
Unwilling to offend her or Thomas, he lifted the corners of his lips a tad and proceeded to the dance floor. She watched him steadily. It would not do to show his disturbance of mind.
As the couples began to move to the first strains, the duchess continued to study him and did not cease her examination for the entirety of the first dance. Why did she stare at him so? And why should he care that she did? He had been the subject of scrutiny from a lady before, but still, the quiet observation for that long of a time made the first half of the set drag.
Soon after the second dance commenced, she glanced up and arched that same eyebrow she had earlier. “I enjoy how this dance matches perfectly to the melody of the music.”
He managed a nod before the dance parted them but soon enough her hand joined his once more. He looked at their joined hands, both encased in white gloves as propriety demanded.
“It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy—I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.” Her head tilted a bit to the side, and she waited for his response with that same arch expression. What was she about? Of course, the only way to discover her motives was to oblige her.
“I would be happy to discuss any subject you would like.”
She sighed loudly as she rolled her eyes expressively. “Very well. That reply will do for the present."
The dance parted them. As he turned with another lady, his grin grew larger until the duchess’s hand again joined his. “Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?”
Her head turned to him, a slight curve upon her lips. "Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together."
She was correct. He had never considered the notion since he spent most dances avoiding his particular partner. He smiled, shaking his head. “What think you of books?"
"Oh,” she said with a grin. “I cannot talk of books in a ballroom; my head is always full of something else."
“And what might that be?” A teasing tone had crept into his voice.
She laughed then bit her lower lip with a large smile gracing her face. “Perhaps we should speak of books.” The dance required them to part once more. When they came back together, their eyes met. “Have you read Sir Walter Scott’s Marmion?”
“I have. You are a great reader of poetry then?”
“I enjoy poetry, dramas, comedies, and even a good novel from time to time. I have also been known to read histories, and books on science and nature.”
His eyes flared for but a moment before he allowed one side of his lips to tug upwards. “So, you are a bluestocking.”
“Hardly.” She blushed and bit her lip. “But I do enjoy learning about the world around me.”
“Well, I certainly cannot find fault with that.”
“I should hope not.” Her eyes took stock of those around them. “Too many look to find fault in our world.
A diversion as uplifting and gratifying as reading should not be a fault.”
“I did not mean to imply that it was,” he said. Had he offended her?
Her eyes returned to him with one side of her lips uplifted. “I know you did not. I am merely making an observation. Forgive me if I sounded accusatory.”
“Not at all. Since we have only just met, I did not wish for us to suffer a misunderstanding.”
They turned and her hand rested atop his. “I have no wish for such a circumstance either.”
With only a few moves left in the dance, they stepped back into their original place and the last chord of the music filled the ballroom. He bowed while she curtsied. Offering her his arm, he led her through the throng until Lady Vranes stood in their path.
“Oh, Lizzy,” she said, grasping the duchess’s hands. “I have just heard of a new artist—a woman. I hope to meet with her two days hence. Would you join me? I would dearly love to have your opinion.”
“You hope to sponsor her?”
“Yes, I do. I have searched for a suitable artist—a woman—for some time. The ton will talk and whisper, but I care not. I have longed to give a woman the opportunity to prove herself.”
“Then I shall be pleased to join you.”
Lady Vranes clasped her hands before her. “Excellent. I shall send a note around tomorrow when I know the exact time.”
After Lady Vranes bustled away, Fitzwilliam continued to lead her towards Carlisle for the next set. “You take an interest in art?”
“I enjoy art as I have little talent to show for drawing and painting. I admire the skill and dedication required to produce a painting or even a simple sketch. Lady Vranes has been quite welcoming since our arrival in London and become a valued friend. I enjoy her company, and I have learnt a great deal about art in her company.”
“Lord and Lady Vranes are well-known for their collection.”
“They are,” she said. “My husband informed me of that straight away.”
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