“It is no longer tonight, Mama. It is tomorrow. Let her sit out a few dances to regain her strength.”
“When I was your age, I could dance all night without stopping. I used to wear out dancing slippers in no time.”
Lavinia sighed. “Yes, Mama, but Gillian isn’t used to that. You know she isn’t strong. Let her rest.”
“Oh, very well, very well! Her next set is empty, anyway.”
Lavinia allowed herself to relax a little, flashing a smile at her sister. Gillian smiled gratefully back.
She was breathless, Lavinia noticed. As a child, Gillian had always had a weak chest, and the unforgiving dancing and the stifling heat of the ballroom was certainly not helping.
Suddenly, Lady Brennon perked up. “Ah, here comes the Dowager and the Duke! Sit up straight, Gillian. Hadn’t you better stand up?”
“Mama, she’s resting!”
“Oh, alright, alright! I was justsaying. Here they come.”
The Dowager appeared, face flushed with the heat and the triumph of a successful party. Her son followed, looking distinctly less enthusiastic.
The Duke was suffering more from the heat, his olive skin dappled with sweat in places. His hair, immaculately styled and pomaded, was beginning to slip free. He pushed back a lock of chestnut hair from his forehead, cool eyes raking over them all, and Lavinia hastily looked away.
“Sitting down already, Miss Gillian?” the Dowager laughed. “Good heavens, do not tell me you are fatigued!”
“My sister is tired, your Grace,” Lavinia spoke up, before anyone else could say anything. “She is indulging in a well-deserved respite. I cannot speak for you, your Grace, but I have not partaken in every dance this evening, and thus I can scarcely fathom the extent of her fatigue by this hour. Those thin dance slippers don’t provide much support, I think.”
The Dowager barely seemed to be looking at Lavinia, and no doubt did not listen to a word she had said. She was looking at Gillian with a speculative look, and then at her son.
Lavinia’s heart sank. Of course, the Dowager was thinking that Gillian would make a pretty bride for her son, and become a nice, malleable Duchess.
She certainly would, but Lavinia was sure that her sister was not particularly drawn to the duke at all, besides admiring his admittedly good looks.
“If you are not dancing with anyone this set,” the Dowager said, shooting a pointed look at her son, “perhaps William and you ought to stand up together.”
This,Lavinia thought clearly,is not fair.
She could see her mother brightening, and no doubt images of Gillian, Duchess of Dunleigh, were flashing before her eyes. The Duke himself glanced at Gillian, sitting breathless and pale on the chair, and his brow flickered. Perhaps he thought she was too tired to dance, but a proper gentleman would not do anything to imply that he didnotwant to dance with a lady.
Already, Lavinia could see Gillian trying to catch her breath, to straighten up in her chair, ready for a dance that she was too tired for. The duke would ask at any moment, and then it would be too late.
Lavinia was speaking before she knew it.
“I quite envy my sister,” she said, earning herself a surprised glance from the Dowager – who had doubtless forgotten that she even existed – and a warning stare from her mother. “She has danced every set so far, while I am left to sit alone with the matrons and chaperones.”
It was the most pointed thing she could imagine saying, without flatly asking the duke if he would dance with her instead of Gillian.
The duke smiled politely. “Then perhaps you would like to stand up with me for this set, Miss Brookford.”
Ignoring her mother’s furious glare, Lavinia smiled weakly.
“I should love to, your Grace.”
There was no time for anything else, as the music was already starting up. The duke offered her his hand, and she took it, twisting to look back over her shoulder at Gillian. Her sister was sinking back into her seat, blinking tiredly.
The duke walked quickly, obliging her to scurry along at his side, and he kept his gaze fixed on the couples milling around the floor ahead of them. It was, to Lavinia’s chagrin, a waltz.
That meant that not only would she have to stand uncomfortably close to the duke, but she would also have to talk to him.
“I hope you don’t mind what I said,” she blurted out, as they turned to face each other. “My sister is not strong. Mama would have her dance herself to death, I think.”
