“I was not aware we were attending,” Nancy replied, arching her brow. “You dislike balls. You told me so.”
He shrugged. “We have been invited, and the children wish to go. Clara has been planning her outfit for days.”
Nancy did not know what to say to this. Instead, she held the dress up to herself, examining the effect in the mirror. It was,she had to admit, astonishing. The green brought out her eyes, the silver gleamed against her skin.
Oscar was watching her in the mirror, and for once, there was something warm in his expression—not soft, never that, but warmer than she was used to.
“I do not need a new dress,” Nancy said, quieter. “You did not have to?—”
He interrupted. “I wanted to.”
She looked at him directly, not through the glass. “Since when do you want anything, Oscar? You are not a man of wants. Only obligations.”
His smile was quick, almost self-mocking. “You know me so well.”
She set the dress on the desk, then leaned back against it, arms crossed to match his. “This is very unlike you, Duke. I begin to suspect you have an ulterior motive.”
“Only that you look your best,” Oscar replied. “It is, after all, a matter of family reputation.”
Nancy groaned. “You are insufferable.”
“And you are impossible,” Oscar said.
They stood like that, the air taut between them. Then, abruptly, Oscar changed the subject. “Did Miss Mercer seem—different to you, this morning?”
Nancy frowned. “No. She is perfect, as always.”
Oscar considered. “She reminds me of a chess master.”
“Because she is precise and never wrong?”
“Because you never see the endgame until it is already in motion.”
Nancy studied him. “Are you worried about her?”
He shrugged. “I worry about everything.”
She almost said,You never worry about me, but stopped herself. Instead, she picked up the dress, holding it out like a shield. “Thank you. It is beautiful. I will wear it, and not disgrace you.”
Oscar’s mouth curved, just slightly. “You could never disgrace me, Duchess.”
She looked away. The compliment was unexpected, and it set her nerves jangling.
He opened the door to leave, then turned back, one hand braced against the jamb. “I look forward to seeing you in it, Nancy.”
She nodded, unable to speak.
He left, and the room felt emptier for it.
Nancy sat down again, staring at the dress. She tried to read the ledger, but the numbers swam.
It is only a dress, she told herself.
But she kept touching the fabric, unable to resist.
And, for the first time in weeks, she found herself looking forward to the next ball—not for the gossip, or the spectacle, or the chance to prove herself. But because, for three hours, she would have Oscar’s arm at her side, and she would wear the dress he chose, and maybe, just maybe, she would stop feeling like a visitor in her own life.
CHAPTER 27
