“The Kensingtons have arrived already,” Amelia confirmed. “You are our last guest to arrive.”
“Excellent—then I believe I must enter the ballroom and prepare for our illustrious, scandalous hosts.”
Percival winked at Amelia as he passed, and Graham tensed beside her but did not verbally berate his cousin. Instead, as Percival left, Graham turned to her, offering his arm once again. “Let us get tonight over with.”
Amelia nodded, suddenly wondering why she now regretted her agreeing to hosting a ball.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Blackthorn ballroom had been draped in furniture sheets and covered in a thin layer of dust after being minimally maintained, but Graham could not believe the transformation he witnessed as he entered.
For a moment, he did not care that every guest turned to stare at him and his wife.
For a moment, he did not care about strangers being in his home, for he could not stop looking at the glittering sight before him. Heavy drapes blocked out the natural moonlight, allowing only for one small window to offer a glimpse of the dark evening pressing down outside the manor. The floor had been altered in ways he could not comprehend with a shimmering black effect, making it look as though everybody stood on a surface of glittering obsidian stone.
The room was hard and beautiful like an onyx, and the starkly white painted Blackthorn crest on the floor was the main source of color. The chandelier above was dimly lit, but mostly dramatic candles flickered light over the dark ballroom. Swathes of red fabric wound around columns and decorated the curtain rails.
The tablecloths were red, matching the wine that was being poured into every crystal glass.
It both terrified and pleased Graham. He fought the urge to turn to Amelia, surprised at what she had done with this free reign. He understood her striking gown now, and his own black and red attire.
Tightening his hold on her, the two descended into the dark ballroom, and he realized how the decoration allowed for low visibility. Idly, he recalled Daphne wanting a masked ball. Slowly, he figured out that this was his wife’s way of offering him a place to hide even as he was forced into society. A place to move without being seen too harshly. The attention was on them but there was no beam of light forcing them into the center.
His heart thudded, relieved and impressed at his wife’s thoughtfulness.
The Blackthorn ball would be the talk of the ton tomorrow. He could only imagine the speculation that the gossip column would write about. As they descended into the confused-looking mass of guests, most of them already muttering about the theme of the ball, Graham moved closer to Amelia.
“You have outdone yourself,” he murmured. “I believe I understandwhat you have done for us tonight.”
Amelia looked at him, her eyes bright with hope. “You do?”
He nodded. “We can remain in the shadows even as we are forced to entertain.”
Amelia’s smile was the most rewarding thing he had ever seen. “That, but I also wished for the ton to know how they have forced us to live, too. You retreated after the duel incident, and I am aware that I do not know what happened fully, nor am I asking you to explain before you are ready to tell me. However, the ton’s gossip-mongers forced you to not feel welcome, to feel as a villain, but you are not. I believe I have seen through your darkness, as you have seen through mine. We were both forced to the outside of society against our will. Now, they shall know the shadows that have forged us.”
Graham could only laugh and wished to kiss her cheek in an unexpected moment of tenderness. “You sound like you are quoting from a fairy-tale.”
“Daphne advised me to be rather dramatic about my plans,” Amelia giggled.
As they walked further into the center of the ballroom, Graham could not help but straighten up, feeling taller. He was proud to have his wife at his side, and her intelligence had created something memorable tonight. He could not express how impressed he was.
“Do you wish to dance?” he asked her, eyeing the dance floor that nobody was daring to go on, as if they thought that by dancing, they agreed with the strange set-up of the evening, and nobody wanted to be the first.
“Not yet,” Amelia answered. “I am half tempted to know who shall be the first to begin the dancing.”
“I think we have found that couple.”
Graham nodded as Owen spoke with Lady Eleanor, and led her onto the dance floor. There was a swelling in his chest at the sight of their friends supporting them. Graham wished to laugh, and realized he had not felt so utterly on-edge yet eased in a long time. Moments later, the Hawthornes descended upon the dance floor, closely followed by Lord Ambrose with his own dance partner. A little further away. In a pale red dress, Lady Eleanor was every inch a perfect counterpart to his friend, who wore a jacket of a deep, respectable red and a black cravat.
In the center of the far wall, on a raised dais of silver, the musicians began a quadrille, and the couples began to dance. Graham and Amelia stood together, watching the dance floor become more and more tentatively filled. He was tense at her side, and he could not help it. He silenced the voices in his head and forced himself not to look at any guestwho looked at him.
“It is strange,” Amelia murmured, “every single Season I have attended balls, and all I have ever wished for was to be part of it all. The spectacle, the admiration, the choice of suitor. Yet now that I have surpassed it all, I am glad to have not been involved. Is that strange?”
Graham shook his head. “It is not. When I was younger, I felt the same. I would speak to Henry—” He stopped short, and cleared his throat, a beat of grief pulsing through him.
Amelia turned, her brow raised. “Henry?”
“He was an old friend,” Graham managed to say. “I—excuse me. I am sorry.”
