But her people-watching was halted when Amelia’s mother came up behind her, drawing Eleanor and her to sit with her.
“You caught the eye of His Grace tonight, Amelia,” Eleanor gushed. “Is that not the most wonderful thing!”
“Indeed, it is,” Bernadette agreed on Amelia’s behalf, when she herself was silenced by her own confusion.
She forced her tongue to move, her voice to speak. “I… do not know how it happened. One moment I was seeking fresh air, for the ballroom was rather hot, and the next I was dancing.” She could not deny how exhilaration ran through her, a blush rising to her cheeks at the memory of his gaze.
“Heavens, the dowager duchess approaches, along with her daughter,” Bernadette whispered, brushing back an errant stray hair from her forehead. She rose to her feet, as did Eleanor and Amelia. They curtsied deeply. “Your Grace.”
“Lady Hawthorne, is it not?” The dowager duchess asked, pretty eyes blinking at Bernadette, who looked stricken for a moment. It reminded Amelia that her mother once went through these dances—impressing those higher than herself, dancing with suitors, learning the proper ways to address a duke’s daughter or wife.
“It—it is, Your Grace.”
The dowager duchess looked askance at Amelia. “And this must be Miss Hawthorne, your eldest daughter, I hear?”
“My eldest of three, yes,” Amelia’s mother answered. “And her friend, Lady Eleanor Fairfax, the daughter of the Earl of Fairfax.”
“It is lovely to meet you both.” The dowager duchess held nothing of His Grace’s features, for where he’d had dark hair and eyes, both these women had similar shades of blonde curls and bright, blue eyes. “Miss Hawthorne, your dancing was most beautiful. I saw that you waltzed with my son.”
“I—I did, Your Grace,” she stammered. “He is a fine dancer indeed.”
“He has not danced in five years!” The younger lady next to the dowager duchess bubbled with excitement, her smile wide and happy. “My brother chose you! That iswonderful. You are so very lovely, Miss Hawthorne.”
“Daphne, do not chase the poor lady off with your energy,” the dowager duchess laughed. “Lady Hawthorne, would you care to sit with me over by that lovely painting of the merchant ship?”
Gracefully, the two ladies left, leaving the three of them alone.
Immediately, Daphne took Amelia’s mother’s vacated seat. “You must tell me, is my brother a good dancer? I have often jested that time has stiffened his legs, but he seemed rather capable! Oh, I did believe something incredible would happen tonight, I could just sense it. He did not believe me, he never does, but of course that issovery typical of Graham.”
Graham, Amelia thought, tenderly dancing her mind’s touch over the two syllables.
“I…” she trailed off, her face flushing at the attention. “He danced wonderfully.”
“And did he say anything to you?” Daphne’s eagerness was palpable. Amelia exchanged a startled look with Eleanor before turning back to the duke’s sister.
“He… he was a man of few words.”
“Of course he is!” she laughed. “Graham barely speaks more than ten words at a time, even to his friend, Lord Owen. Lady Eleanor, you danced with him, did you not? What do you think of him?”
Amelia could only blink, grateful for the attention to be off her for a moment. But as she glanced around the room, wondering if anybody noticed that Lady Daphne spoke to her, she met the gaze of Lady Cassandra, who glared at her, malice thick in her gaze. Her head turned to Beatrice and the two whispered, looking right at Amelia. A shiver went down her spine as she quickly turned her gaze away.
How had she gone from the edges of the ballroom to being favored by the duke’s own sister and mother?
***
In the family carriage, Amelia’s thoughts had still not settled. They swirled and fluttered around her, a blizzard of confusion that she couldn’t quite see through. She swore she could feel His Grace’s hand on her waist, his strong arm wrapped around her as he’d steadied her when she stumbled. She could feel how the intensity of his eyes had burned into her, grounding her to the spot in a way nothing ever had before.
“I think we can secure this match.” Her father’s voice cut through the din. “I will be the first to say I did not expect such an outcome but it is not hard to see how advantageous this match would be. Imagine it, my daughter, catching the eye of the Duke of Blackthorn.”
Amelia’s mother smiled at her kindly, yet there was something lingering in her eyes, a worry of sorts. “I spoke with the Dowager Duchess Felicity. She is very happy, and feels rather positive. Did you know her son has not danced in many years? Yet he choseyou, Amelia.” She turned to Amelia’s father. “However… thereisthe matter of his reputation. It concerns me somewhat. I did not dare dishonour Her Grace by bringing up that ill-fated night that is rumoured about, but I imagine she knows I have considered it.”
Amelia remained silent, biting her lip. Her excitement was there, of course, but it suddenly felt as though it was no longer only hers. She felt as though everybody was taking her own excitement for themselves, leaving her with only the confusion.
“Amelia has been lucky,” her father insisted. “We must celebrate that. It may be His Grace’s first dance in years but it is also Amelia’s this Season. If anything, the duke’s attention tonight will make her more appealing to other suitors.”
“It is not luck,” Amelia protested. “I merely fell and he was there. I imagine the dance was one of pity.”
“Dukes do not pity barons’ daughters enough to offer them a dance, Amelia,” her mother reminded her.
