“And now that it is firmly placed back in your mind,” she prompted. She watched him out the corner of her eyes, thrilled to see him looking down at her and not turning away. “What do you say? Shall we attend? I would very much like to.”
“You would, would you?”
“Of course. And more than that, it is expected of us.”
He breathed out sharply. “It is, isn’t it?” A beat as he considered. “If that is the case, I suppose we have no choice in the matter. Yes, then. We shall attend.”
Florentia did not beam. She did not smile. She offered her husband a grateful nod and the two continued in their walk. Deep down, however, she chuckled with amusement at her husband’s reasoning. For all his pretense and antipathy toward the event, she suspected that he wished to go as much as she did.
And that tells me everything I need to know about how far this marriage has come.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What are you smiling at?” Hudson asked Florentia.
Florentia shrugged. “Am I smiling? I did not notice.”
“You know how difficult I find it to interpret such things,” Hudson sighed. “Now, are you going to tell me or not?”
“I am not making fun of you, if that is your worry.”
“That would be a first.”
She tittered. “I am just pleased, is all. You and me, here right now, on our way to the Turncott ball as if we do not have a care in the world. It is nice. Normal. If that is not a reason to smile, then I do not know what is.”
“Oh...” Slowly, a smile crept up the sides of her husband’s face. Nothing garish or over the top. Quaint, but also genuine. “Yes, it is rather... normal is it not?”
“So very unlike us,” Florentia chuckled.
She was pleased to see her husband smiling, even if by now it wasn’t quite the surreal oddity that it had once been. Still not a common sight to be fair, it was one of those moments that always brought a flutter to her stomach because she knew that when he smiled, he meant it.
Truth be told, Florentia could probably count on her fingers how often he had smiled and laughed this past week. That wasn’t to say that the week had been a travesty—far from it, in fact. It was simply a reality of who she was married to and his social peculiarities, to which she was quickly becoming accustomed.
The very fact that they were traveling together to the Turncott ball should have been indication enough that the week itself was one to be celebrated.
“Remember, we can leave as soon as you wish it,” she reminded him. Florentia sat across from him in the back of the carriage, hands on her knees, studying her husband, who looked typically uncomfortable. She knew how little he was looking forward to this evening. “All you need do is let me know.”
“I know it,” he said. “And believe me, we will be leaving the moment I desire it.” He scoffed and shook his head, likely at the thought of staying at the ball for longer than he wished. But thenhe seemed to realize something, looking back at Florentia with a curt smile. “And thank you. That is very much appreciated.”
“You are most welcome,” she beamed,
It wasn’t at all easy. And more than once, Florentia had to remind herself that he was trying. So often he would forget the simplest of things that she deemed as normal. Compliments. A thank you. Considerations of how his words might sound to another. But he was coming along, and she felt that she had grown to know him so well this past week that she could tell when he was upset with her and when he was not thinking straight.
Tonight would be the ultimate test. Their first night out as a married couple. Her first chance to see if this marriage had any hope of survival. The first time that she would see Hudson surrounded by his peers and be able to insert herself into the mix, perhaps showing him that a good time could be had so that he would be more inclined to attend such functions again.
There was a lot riding on tonight, so Florentia made sure to be ready.
This was not Florentia’s first ball. It was, however, her first ball as a duchess, and she noticed the difference immediately. No sooner had they entered the ballroom than they were being swarmed by well-wishers, social climbers, and those who by the looks of things had already had too much to drink.
“Your Grace!” Lord Bartholemew was the first to see them, as if he had been waiting by the entrance for their arrival. With him was his wife, Lady Emily Bartholemew, and he dragged her with him as he made for the two without pause. “We were told you would be attending this evening. I dared not believe it!”
“Good evening,” Hudson said stiffly. “And Lady Bartholemew,” he added with a short bow.
“Your Grace.”
“You know my wife,” Hudson offered, introducing Florentia. “Her Grace, Lady Worthington.”
She did not. Not really, anyway. Growing up in the ton as she had, Florentia knew names and faces and rumors and gossip and all sorts of things about most who flittered through high society. But she had never been formally introduced. However, as she was now a duchess, someone worth knowing, that fact was ignored, and overt friendliness and familiarity was pressed.
