Sophia, with a deeper understanding of the complexities at play, jumped in to save Nathaniel from inadvertently shaming Hannah by mentioning her paintings to her misguided Mother.
‘One must be talented to negotiate that staircase in a trailing gown!’ Sophia said too loudly, laughing heartily. Hannah and Nathaniel joined her in her laughter and Evelyn half-smiled, looking among the three of them with an expression of bewilderment.
‘Hannah, I regret to extract you from your fine friends…’ Evelyn reached out to hold her daughter’s arm ‘Your Father would have you meet with His Grace, the Duke of Montwood…’
Evelyn dipped her head and raised her eyebrows, fixing her daughter with eyes that told Hannah this was not a mere request.
Immediately, the relaxed ambience of moments before fell away as Hannah’s chest gripped with anxiety. She had heard of this Duke of Montwood through social circles – a stoic man society said, quite disinterested in most things. If she were to paint a picture of such a man, he should be a very tall tree, blackened from a lightning strike, so high above everybody else that he did not lower himself to consider them and his arrogance constituted pretension that rendered him oblivious to the darkness everybody else saw in him.
Hannah shook her head to banish these thoughts. If her Mother knew she always framed her thoughts about a person or a situation with a method of a ‘how would I paint this?’she would be incredibly angry.
Tonight, Hannah had to extinguish her imagination and creativity – tonight she had to be beautiful, courteous, amiable, and sociable. She swallowed hard on a lump that had formed in her throat as she turned to bid her friends a brief goodbye.
Nathaniel dipped his head with a relaxed smile and Sophia – understanding the weight of the scenario – reached out to squeeze Hannah’s hand and offered a flash of an encouraging grin.
Hannah smiled sadly back and took a deep breath as her Mother linked arms with her to cross the ballroom.
Evelyn spoke in a low voice, her head inclined towards her daughter as they walked.
‘His Grace, Caleb Exley, inherited his estate and fortune from his Father prematurely, after his unfortunate early demise.’
‘Oh,’ Hannah whimpered compassionately, feeling some sympathy for this intimidating Duke she had yet to meet.
‘Your Father did a lot of business with the late Duke of Montwood. They held each other in high regard and were fond confidantes in their youth.’
As they parted crowds on their approach, Evelyn straightened up, plastering a smile upon her face to greet individual faces in the sea of people that she found familiar or notable.
Now her Mother had stopped talking, Hannah knew the moment was upon her. Her parents were not introducing her to this Duke without some intention. She pulled herself to her most elegant height, batted a barrel curl away from her face and – stealing a glance at her Mother’s expression – echoed it. Chin up, eyelids feathery light, wide smiling mouth, graceful neck.
Lord Vincent had been humouring Caleb with fond tales of times spent with the late Duke of Montwood, Caleb’s Father.
‘If it had not been for his interception at that precise point in time, I daresay the scoundrel would have gotten away with it all. Your Father had a sharp intuition and unparalleled perception,’ Vincent assured Caleb.
‘Indeed he did, my Lord, though it is generous of you to say so,’ Caleb nodded sombrely.
‘You certainly follow your Father superficially – and I perceive from mere minutes of speaking with you that you inherited his inimitable wit also, do I presume correctly?’
‘A man who should agree would lack humility. I strive to be the man my father was.’
Vincent nodded his head just once, satisfied with this response.
As they sensed movement through the crowd, they both turned to see the two ladies moving toward them.
‘My wife and daughter…’ Vincent advised under his breath before straightening up.
Caleb felt suddenly unprepared – the nostalgic conversation made him vulnerable. He quickly pulled himself up to his full height, lifted his chin, and set his mouth in a firm line that betrayed nothing.
Then he saw her for the first time up close. He searched out her eyes which had only previously reflected the lanterns – he was intrigued as to what colour he would find in them. She was looking at the floor, but as she raised her eyes, they met his instantly. Hazel-green. She had hazel-green eyes. And her skin was as flawless as it had appeared on the staircase.
Caleb took a sharp intake of breath as he registered a strange sensation in his chest – the same he had felt earlier when he saw this young lady on the balcony above the stairs. He breathed out slowly, willing the feeling away. He was here to fulfil a duty; to honour his Father’s wishes. No other emotions were appropriate in this formal space.
Then she was there, standing right in front of him and – whilst he held his gaze politely upon her face – he felt the urge to smile. He suppressed it. Friendliness was surplus to requirements.
‘Ladies, may I introduce his Grace, Caleb Exley, the Duke of Montwood…’ Vincent’s voice had taken on a stiff formality since his hushed gentle conversation with the Duke.
‘Your Grace, please meet my wife, Lady Evelyn Haworth of Haysendale…’
Caleb bowed to Lady Evelyn as she curtsied, with a smile tickling at the corners of her mouth.
