“Graham,” she called out, her voice pleading. “Do not go. We may dance. Just… do not leave. If it is your own past that scares you then we may leave it in the past.”
Graham swallowed. He had resolved to be better, and this was the moment where he would have to do something towards proving that hewould be. Stiffening, he nodded. With grief rearing its head in his heart, he fought to replace memories of his friend’s face with Amelia’s instead. The happiness he wished to give her, the perfect night of dancing she deserved. Whether she was glad to be outside of the dance floor, not courted or wed, or not, he ought to ask his own wife to dance—so why was it so hard?
She had done all of this—orchestrated a fine evening, and she had greeted their guests with confidence and dignity. For all the ton had ever done to Amelia, she had remained strong. He gazed at her now, their hands clasped from where she had stopped him from retreating.
His eyes met hers.
Heavens, he thought she was beautiful.
“Amelia.” His voice was rough. “Dance with me.”
The request was not quite a question, not quite a command, but coming from a place of struggling to accept that all he truly wanted to do was dance with his wife across a floor of glittering black, as if they might close their eyes and be dancing across the night sky.
Slowly, she nodded, her eyes wide and unsure as he guided her to the floor.
***
Cassandra stood near one of the heavy drapes that blocked out any light from the garden outside, and sneered at the sight surrounding her.
“A ball draped in darkness,” she scoffed. “It is the most absurd thing I have ever heard of.”
“And yet everybody seems to like it,” Beatrice pointed out. Cassandra’s head whipped around to glare at her friend. Beatrice shrunk beneath the glower. “I am merely saying! We were all dubious at the thought of the ball, and especially when we entered, but Her Grace seems to have made a very wonderfully creative thing.”
“Ah,” Cassandra purred, “Isee, and howwonderfully creativedo you think it proves to be when you look upon your treasured Lord Owen dancing with Lady Eleanor? Do you praise this ball tonight, then? It is only bringing them closer. The four of them are friends. They are likely whipping up another scandal to arrange another fortuitous match.”
“They did not arrange the scandal that married Amelia and—”
“Hush,” Cassandra snapped. “Do you think you have a chance, Beatrice, when Lord Owen gazes at Lady Eleanor like that?”
With an accusing finger, she pointed at the dancing couple. It sickened her. Over the last several weeks, she had been attempting to prove herself as the clearly superior choice as Duchess of Blackthorn. Even if the two were married, it did not mean that His Grace could not change his mind. There had been two Lady Kensingtons before Cassandra’s mother, each of the former ladies not lasting very long at all. Tragedy could always happen, and a supportive friend could always be waiting in the wings.
Beatrice was looking at the dancing couple, her face angry with jealousy and forlorn from admiration of the lord, and she turned to Cassandra, her chin raised.
“You are right,” she sniffed.
“I know.” Cassandra smirked. “However, if more rumours are circulating regarding ourgracioushosts, then Lord Owen and Lady Eleanor shall be forced to drop their attention to one another to comfort their friends. Does that now allow you, Beatrice, to swoop in and offer a dance to help him get away from such chaos? Offer him just one dance where he can forget about his troubles or the burden of comforting the ever-brooding Duke of Blackthorn?” Beatrice’s own smile grew wider, her face lighting up, as she nodded. Cassandra raised her voice, ensuring the ladies around them overheard. “What astunningball Her Grace has hosted! One questions how, if she has rarely participated in ton events or been in the center of balls, how she has the capability of hosting such a spectacle! Surely she has had the ability to prove herself worthy this whole time.”
Ladies turned, listening in.
“Lady Cassandra, do you not think it is so strange that Her Grace just sohappenedto be available for His Grace? Shejusthappened to miss out on being courted for two seasons, to be steadily ready to become the Duchess of Blackthorn?”
“It is rather strange indeed,” Cassandra agreed. “But we must recall that our dear gossip column writer speculated such things. And we all know she speaks harsh truths we all must listen to. After all, it was this writer who delivered the news regarding His Grace’s duel, and we all know the truth there.”
Cassandra only laughed under her breath, and Beatrice looked on with a gleam in her eye, as they both watched the ladies nod, agreeing, before they began to discuss it among themselves. More and more whispers scattered through the crowd, and soon the whole ballroom would be abuzz with gossip.
“Fortune seekers are often quiet,” Cassandra announced, as the Duke led his wife to the dance floor, unaware of the gossip circulating. “Let us not forget that.”
***
Amelia could not stop thinking of how Graham had stopped his retreat at her request. It had been the first time she had been able to get him to stop walking away from her.
What made him stop this time? She wondered, as he guided her onto the floor. His hand was large, cupped around hers, and she wished he would never ever let go. Her grip tightened on his as he walked her to the center of the floor. Not the outskirts, as they had once done, but the center, as if he wished for them to be the focal point of the ball. She dared to hope passionately that he meant it as such. Her dress swept the floor as his gaze held hers, and positioned them correctly.
“A waltz, my duchess?” he murmured. “I believe that is where it all started. Perhaps we may quell these writer’s rumours once and for all.”
Amelia dared a look around the ballroom. “As long as it is only the writer this time,” she sighed. “I feel more respected tonight. Is it wrong to hope we have changed their minds about us both?”
“Wrong, no,” he answered as he pulled her near. “Naive, mayhap.”
