“There is no need, but I would appreciate a different sort of favor,” he added in a low voice.
“Anything for a duke!”
He leaned forward and looked Harold in the eye so the man knew he was serious. Maybe too serious judging by the way the host immediately froze and stared with wide eyes up at him.
“I would appreciate your ear on any mention of myself and my wife, and your vote of confidence. After all, we were a love match. A hurried one, yes, but… a love match all the same.” Sebastian spoke slowly. It always seemed to help if he spoke slowly. “Any mention of reputation or scandal is not welcome and will be seen as a personal affront to me. Do you understand?”
At first Sebastian worried he might have gone too far. Men, even titled, could be intimidated extremely easily. And the baron was hardly half his size and twice his age. Harold swayed, tipping his drink lightly over his hands without noticing for a long moment.
“Oh. Yes, erm… I shall endeavor… Yes, of course, Your Grace,” he stammered at last. His nod was so deep it appeared a bow. “Yes, of course!”
Trying to force a smile, Sebastian said, “Thank you. I would appreciate it. Now, shall we go in to see the ladies?”
“What could they be doing without us but sitting around waiting?” Chimed in one of them who had been walking over to them. “What a fine vintage, my lord!”
Leopold Warner, the heir to a viscounty should his uncle ever die, was beaming at them with a wide smile as he played with his cravat.
When he opened his mouth to greet Sebastian, however, it had to be stopped. Sebastian hadn’t heard enough of what the conversation might have been down the line of the table. But it had upset Isabel, and that was enough. He was working off assumptions and wasn’t interested in hearing from the likes of Warner.
“I’ll lead the way,” Sebastian said while carefully slamming his shoulder into the lad who had much to learn. Warner stumbled back, sputtering, but said nothing.
The men followed behind him out the door and back toward the drawing room where the women would be gathered. Although Harold came to walk beside him down the hall, he did nothing but motion for a servant to open the doors for them.
Sebastian spotted his wife at once.
He had seen the drawing room earlier that evening and just as then, hardly paid mind to the dark oak panels and equally dark blue wallpaper. Candles were set everywhere to offer light for the evening, highlighting the corners and shadows around them.
Three assorted sofas around the room and four chairs near the fireplace claimed most of the space, except for a pianoforte set beside the closed window. A cozy room, perhaps, but hardly afocal point when he could again enjoy setting his gaze on his wife.
One of the women were tinkling away on the pianoforte. It wasn’t much of a tune, but he recognized the beat and, upon reaching his wife, put out his hand.
Isabel opened her mouth in confusion.
He beat her to it. “My dear duchess, might I have this dance?”
A hesitant chuckle escaped her lips; her gaze darted away from him only a second to the pianoforte. It could hardly be heard with the men entering and finding their own party members.
“No one else is dancing,” Isabel pointed out to him.
“Not yet. But they don’t matter. Do they?”
She understood him at once, clever lady that she was. Her gloved hand slowly slipped into his before tightening her grip. “I suppose they don’t.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” the vicar’s sister muttered when he swept Isabel past her toward the center of the room. “Whatever is…?”
He set her into position with one hand touching hers. It was awfully limited contact, but it would do. It would be enough.Meeting her gaze, he gave her a short nod and then took his first step.
“Goodness!” Someone whispered and then sighed.
“Dancing!” The baroness gasped. “I never thought of dancing for tonight.”
Her husband shuffled up beside her. “You know I’m not a dancer. I would never have approved. Ah, but look at them. A love match,” he added rather loudly in an exaggerated whisper.
Restraining the urge to roll his eyes, Sebastian refocused on the dance. He knew how to dance. He danced all the time at balls. But never had he cared about it before, getting it right with his dance partner. Usually he only had to focus on not stepping on dainty dancing slippers.
When he looked back up at his wife, he caught Isabel flitting anxious glances around the room.
“Stop worrying about them,” he murmured.
