“I have been content at most balls to speak with my friend. You would think that many would jump at the chance to dance with a duke’s sister, but they do not always.” Daphne shrugged. “It is not upsetting to me, for most of the men are only asking because of who my father was, and who my brother is, so I would rather wait for a man who does not seek only those things.” She sighed heavily. “I think that is why I so like the idea of Romeoand Juliet’s masked ball, for they chose one another not from name alone, butlove, genuine attraction to one another.”
“Indeed, but they also end in tragedy,” Amelia pointed out, her dour mood likely due to the absence of her husband. Daphne only waved her of.
“Does everything not end in such ways? What matters is how bright their love burned while it lasted.”
Amelia smiled at her sister-in-law, for it was a viewpoint not many people focused on. Everybody always spoke of the lovers’ deaths, and how their love had been foolish and rushed. But there was Daphne, romantic over them.
“You know, Clara thought Graham and I were a very romantic connection,” Amelia told her. “I think you two would get along very well. I hope the next time you both meet it shall be under less awkward circumstances.”
“I spoke with her briefly at your wedding breakfast.” Daphne nodded. “And Elizabeth, too. I fear you shall have some very fierce events during their Seasons. They are both very passionate and opinionated.” She laughed, pulling Amelia through the garden, further pointing out elements of the ball. She was contemplating fireworks, now.
“They are indeed,” Amelia agreed. “I can only pray for the suitors that hope to catch their eye, for they shall not have an easy task. Clara expects great, romantic things—as I believe she ought to, and Elizabeth is rare too cynical to be easily wooed. I look forward to it.”
“I am sure Graham can be a very protective brother-in-law and assist the process,” Daphne said, grinning. At the mention of her husband again, Amelia wistfully glanced towards the house, wondering where her husband was, and what he was thinking.
In a window, movement caught her eye. She looked for a moment longer, seeing the duke’s figure before he moved quickly away, the curtain fluttering behind him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“If you will stop your incessant fretting and actuallysit down,Graham, I might be able to help.”
Owen’s voice was tense and frustrated.
“I do not need help,” Graham snapped. He had retreated from the study window after seeing his sister and wife outside, both of them discussing the ball, judging from the way they had each pointed at different parts of the garden. He couldn’t stop replaying in his head the moment that Amelia had begun to dance, spinning around in a circle, as though they danced together.
Was she thinking of their night at the first ball, when the gossip claimed her whole plan had begun?
“What is wrong?” Owen asked. “We have been friends since our Eton days. I have watched you go through a lot of things, Graham, so why will you not speak your mind now? I will not judge you.”
“It is not me I am afraid of you judging,” Graham sighed. “It is my wife that would receive the judgement, and I do not know if it is fair for her. I assume you read the scandal sheet this morning?”
Owen stiffened. “I skimmed through it, I admit. I only really looked for Lady Eleanor’s name, and I spotted yours. I cleared my day to come over here.”
“Do not pretend like your days are full to the brim that you could not find a spare hour,” Graham muttered.
“Stop scowling at me and actually tell me what is wrong.”
Graham finally sat down in the chair at his desk and poured two glasses of brandy. He pushed one towards Owen, who snatched it up immediately. Around him, the study was open and bright, not at all how he usually had it. He often worked in dim lighting, the curtains closed, and only a candle to see by. He had done that in the earlier days of his father’s death, when grief had gripped him like a vise, and he had not wanted to see anything at all in his own space. Not the portrait of his father on the wall, nor the brandy tumblers his father had bestowed upon him, or the space that he had sat in with his father so many times learning the ways of the dukedom.
Over time he had exposed himself to those things but still did not adjust the lighting. Not until Amelia had arrived, and it was as though she had possessed a light within herself, brightening everything around himeven when he tried to darken it.
So why do I doubt her? He thought. And he knew it was because most men did not realize they were being played until all was said and done, and broken.
“I have barely noticed your face,” Owen said, frowning. “Whatever happened?”
“I was attacked coming out of the Fairfax estate. It is nothing. I am well.”
“You are bruised and cut!”
“My most wounded part is my ego for being taken by surprise.” Graham drank deeply. “Regardless. The gossip column.”
“Speak to me,” Owen encouraged. He leaned forward, brushing blonde curls out of his face.
Graham sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “The scandal sheet has made me doubt in Amelia’s motives. It questioned, as it has done before, whether she has trapped me into a marriage. At first, I did not believe it, and was merely angry, blaming myself for being careless. Until I began to think harder about it.
“A lot of things make sense. At the ball where we met, she collided into me and fell, not knowing I would ask her to dance, but she caught my attention nonetheless. After that, she justhappenedto be at Hyde Park at the same time as us, and did not say a lot, letting her quiet, timid image come through. Again, I blamed myself for not speaking with her more.
“And then at Kensington House she was not placed next to me but Lord Ambrose, and there have been rumours that she kept looking at me, as I admittedly did her.”
