William moved through the ballroom to check that all was in order, on his way to the dining room. Already, Miss Bainbridge had dropped hints about dancing with him. He would have to ask her. There was no sense in offending the Bainbridges, and one dance couldn’t hurt, surely?
Famous last words,he thought, hiding a smile. Miss Bainbridge was growing desperate. The fault was entirely his. He ought to be plain with her and decisive with himself. He shoulddecide, and allow Miss Bainbridge or Miss Brookford to seek other husbands, and forget all about him.
I don’t deserve either of them,he thought miserably.
The preparations were all well in hand, and so he was obliged to exit the ballroom and head towards the dining room, where the rest of the guests were gathering. He could hear the laughter and chatter from all the way down the hall. Sighing, he put down his head and broke into a light jog. It wouldn’t do for him to be late, after all.
Then a woman in a pale lavender gown stepped out in front of him, head turned away. She was still fixing pins into her hair, a handful of pearl-topped decorative pins sticking out of her mouth. He narrowly avoided bumping into her.
It was, of course, Miss Brookford.
She turned around, an apology – and the pins – lingering on her lips, and the colour drained from her face when she saw him.
“Oh, your Grace,” she managed at last. “I do apologise. I didn’t see you there.”
“The fault is mine.”
She gave a brief nod, rapidly shoving the last of the pins into her hair and turned to leave.
“Stay a moment,” he blurted out, before he could stop himself.
She glanced back at him, expression guarded. “Is something amiss, your Grace?”
He drew in a breath. “Yes, there is something wrong. I… I was unaccountably rude to you at the picnic. I snubbed you, and you were nothing but friendly to me. I apologise.”
She bit her lip, searching his face for something. “It is quite acceptable. I harbour no ill feelings. I am not angry. You should not feel obliged…”
“I don’t feel obliged to do anything. I am sorry, Miss Brookford. I don’t know what possessed me. I… In fact, I planned to ask you whether you would dance with me tonight.”
She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Oh. I did not expect… that is to say… I would be honoured to dance with you.”
He smiled, a little shaken by the strength of his relief. “I’m glad. Which sets do you have free?”
She inspected her dance card and let out a huff of laughter. “At the moment? All of them.”
Chapter Eighteen
Miss Bainbridge was positively seething, that much was for sure. The duke had danced with her, alright, but only a sedate, matronly sort of jig. It was a slow, dull dance, full of partners who were dancing together out of duty or obligation.
The duke had asked Lavinia to dance the waltz with him.
She hadn’t realized it at the time, not until the music started up and he came to claim her.
It was odd, dancing the waltz. This would be the second time she’d danced the waltz with the Duke of Dunleigh, and that would be noticed. Eyes were all set on Lavinia as she swirled around the room with him, the skirts of her gown swinging out and glittering.
Miss Bainbridge had chosen a deep red velvet gown, cut in the latest style. It was a pretty enough dress, and suited her, but the colour – which she had doubtless intended to be striking and mature among a seat of pastel-coloured gowns – simply made her seem dark and dull. She did not stand out, and a handful of serious old matrons had chosen the same shade of dark red. Velvet was also a popular material amongst the widows.
Lavinia bit back a giggle at this thought. She didn’t mean Miss Bainbridge any harm. Under different circumstances, they might even have been friends. But it was pretty clear that Miss Bainbridge wanted the duke – or, more to the point, she wanted to be a duchess – and since she considered Lavinia as a rival, they could not possibly be friends. She’d taken every opportunity to make Lavinia feel silly and small, and so it was hard not to feel alittletriumph.
“You seem distracted,” the duke remarked, when Lavinia nearly trod on his foot.
Serves me right,she thought wryly,for being too triumphant over Miss Bainbridge. He’s probably still going to marryher, at the end of the day.
“I’m tired,” she said, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you dance.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that. I…” she paused, biting her lip, and forced herself to meet his eye. “I’m enjoying myself. Truly, I am. I’m glad we’re friends again.”
