Loving and respecting his father as he did, Caleb had not even considered the potential to back out of the arrangement. He was aware that hecould. It would be relatively effortless. A simple conversation with Lord Haworth to apologise and gracefully bow out. Nobody else need ever know and Caleb could continue his life independently; surrounded by books and learning and with no distraction from his ducal duties. This would be his preference.
However, his father had made a promise and he had been taken from them so suddenly and catastrophically that there was no opportunity to visit these sorts of conversations. Caleb could not comprehend a world where he went against his father’s wishes having never had the chance to request his approval. Caleb’s upcoming nuptials were set in stone, as far as he was aware. Whether or not Lady Hannah Haworth was appealing to him, he would be marrying her.
Anne identified his hesitation and pounced upon it.
‘Lady Lucinda Fairfax is quite the pianist, did I mention? She played beautifully when last we dined together at the Fairfax residence. I daresay she does notpaint…’Anne caustically goaded.
Caleb gestured the ladies toward the Barouche-Landau, in the hope of ending the conversation. Emmeline took his cue and nodded for her Mother to pass through the entrance first, which she did, once she had pointedly raised her eyebrows at her son.
‘Perhaps Lady Lucinda Fairfax lacks the creative imagination…’ Emmeline said under her breath for Caleb’s ears only. He smiled his appreciation at his sister as he allowed her past him.
Caleb paused before exiting the town-house himself, taking one final glance in the mirror. He fixed his eyes determinedly and lifted his chin. Taking a deep breath, he strode toward the coach that awaited him.
CHAPTER TWO
Caleb stood at the double doors to the ballroom with his Mother – who had incessantly complained without pause in the carriage - and his sister, whose pale arms trembled with excitement at the prospect of the evening ahead. In a brief moment of darkness, he closed his eyes and willed himself to be strong in his demeanour and accepting of what he felt unable to change. He had to trust in his Father’s good judgment and allow the evening to play out.
He became aware of the change in light as the doors were pulled open and he flitted his eyes open with them, instantly assaulted by the sounds, smells and visual overwhelm of the Haworth ballroom.
‘His Grace, the Duke of Montwood!’ a baritone voice boomed as Caleb stepped forward.
The sea of bodies in their finest gowns and tailcoats, which had been mingling and moving, immediately stilled at the announcement and all faces turned toward the door. There was an audible collective intake of breath at his presence. Caleb had to fight to keep his eye-line upright when his consciousness willed him to look at the floor. He was not a bashful man but he did not enjoy attention and even less did he appreciate gossip, which was the secondary reaction. Curls bobbed as ladies ducked behind curved palms to whisper into the ears of their friends. Knowing looks passed between mothers and daughters. A hush of low-whispered voices and soft giggles travelled through the vast room in a wave. It was Caleb’s instinct to turn and leave, which he could never and would never do – he had a solid reputation to uphold and he abhorred bad manners. It was just one evening to endure - he could do that, for the memory of his Father.
‘Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Montwood!’ the voice boomed again as Caleb stepped further into the room and his Mother followed behind. He risked a look over his shoulder to see if her posture had improved. Her expression denoted that of a woman who had stepped in something unpleasant. Her sourness was only more pronounced in contrast to the wide-smiling young lady following behind her.
‘Lady Emmeline Exley!’ As his sister was announced, Caleb’s mind flashed forward to next year when it would be Emmeline’s debut season – to Caleb, she was still a tottering cherub and he could not quite envisage her coming out into society so soon, but as he regarded the crowd of faces, he saw many a young gentleman’s eyes glitter as they fell upon Emmeline. Caleb squared his shoulders; he would be his sister’s protector and it would seem next year’s season would not be without its challenges.
He brought himself back into the moment. He had to be present and alert. As a group, his party surged forward into the ballroom and the crowds sunk back in response, making room for them.
Caleb’s expression was one of apathy; his lips a straight line, his eyes disinterested. One could not have guessed at his inner turbulence or conflict of emotions. Internally, he cringed at the attention from the crowd, but he forced his face to betray none of the apprehension he had caught in the mirror that same evening.
He stood very still, assessing the room, searching for familiar faces – there were many, but none that he felt comfortable in approaching. As his eyes alighted on each one, they would greet him with a smile or a little wave – he met their familiarity with a subtle nod of the head. Then his eyes found his oldest friend, Lord Albert Dutton and a wave of relief rushed over him. Albert gestured him over. Caleb turned to his mother and sister.
‘Ladies, are you quite settled? I must converse with Dutton…’
Anne and Emmeline nodded without fuss and Caleb strode purposely across the floor to join his friend.
As Caleb approached, Albert outstretched his arms, a broad smile on his face.
‘Montwood!’ he welcomed, reaching for his hand.
Caleb happily shook his friend’s hand, a rare smile gracing his face ‘Dutton! I trust you are well, good man?’
‘Indeed I am. I daresay you are too, since tonight is pitched to be a memorable one…’ Albert raised one eyebrow suggestively and took his cue to change tack as Caleb dropped his eyes to the floor and huffed awkwardly.
‘You are familiar with Lord Nathaniel Bryant, Viscount of Leyland?’ Albert gestured towards a tall, slender man with a defined, angular face.
‘I do not believe we have had the pleasure…’ Caleb bowed to Nathaniel.
‘I know of you by your honourable reputation of course,’ Nathaniel responded, bowing in return.
‘Ah,’ Albert corrected, realising his presumption; ‘His Grace, the Duke of Montwood…’ Albert introduced to Nathaniel.
‘Montwood and I have been friends since Eton, haven’t we, old boy? We were dormitory neighbours in our first year and there commenced an instant bond, wouldn’t you say?’ Albert’s eyes darted between the two men, addressing them both with the ultimate effort to maintain social pleasantness for both parties.
‘Indeed. My closest confidante,’ Caleb nodded. ‘Though one might question why a boy should trust a friend who placed vegetables in his shoes…’ he added, with a sideways smirk at Albert.
Albert erupted into animated laughter.
