ten
The cold, judgemental stare of Grandmama never failed to make Anthony feel guilty even when he had no reason to.
The preparations for tonight’s ball had gone smoothly. The guests had been invited ahead of time, and the ballroom was decorated in an elegant but not too excessive fashion as Grandmama wanted. Still, she always found something to complain about.
The chandeliers were too low. The music was too loud. The champagne was too warm.
He suspected the fact Helen and Isabella were present had something to do with Grandmama’s ill humour. He was nervous, too. He was supposed to make a choice tonight and decide whom he wanted to court. Grandmama had invited other possible candidates although Helen was her absolute favourite.
Pity she wasn’t Anthony’s.
Grandmama surveyed the ballroom, slowly fanning herself.
“What is it, Grandmama?” he asked, watching the dancing couples.
“Fashion.” She tilted her chin up, half-hiding her face behind the fan. “This new type of skirt hem is a complete disaster. I wonder who thought reducing the length of the skirt was a good idea.”
“I don’t understand why it’s a disaster.”
“The skirt goes up when the ladies jump or twirl too quickly. Goodness, all those ankles! It’s outrageous.”
He lowered his gaze. Yes, the ladies’ ankles were exposed during the gallop but only for a second or two.
Grandmama huffed. “I can’t look.”
“I can.”
“Now, now, Anthony.” She pointed her fan towards the orchestra. “I’m going to send Rogers to the maestro and ask not to play gallops, polkas, and mazurkas. And no waltz either.”
“That leaves only the minuet.”
She narrowed her eyes, looking exactly like his late father. “I want everyone to believe this is a respectable house and that you’re a respectable duke.”
“I don’t think anyone has doubts.”
“Speaking of doubts.” She cast a scorching glare at a gentleman who was laughing too loudly. Once the fellow realised she was watching him, he almost choked on air in his hurry to stop laughing. She returned her attention to Anthony. “I was saying, this story has been going on for too long.”
“What story?”
She touched his arm with her fan. “I want you to make a decision about Helen and talk to her father tonight.”
Oh, he’d made a decision. Those two weeks without Isabella’s laughter had been awful. If she agreed to marry him, he would do everything to make her happy.
“Perhaps I would give the announcement of your engagement after supper,” she said. “Helen looks lovely tonight, doesn’t she?”
She did, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Isabella in her delicate pink gown and extraordinary smile. Isabella was the one he wanted to marry. End of story. Her laughter was intoxicating. She’d carved her way to his heart, and he didn’t mind.
She took a stroll around the room with Patrick, and he reminded himself that Patrick had told him he wasn’t interested in pursuing Isabella.
“Well,” Grandmama said. “I need to talk to Rogers. The maestro better do as I say.” She headed to the butler on the other side of the room.
Anthony’s heart gave a kick when Isabella walked over to him alone. She made him feel like a normal man and not only a duke, but above all, happy as his spiking pulse reminded him.
“Isabella, you look lovely tonight.”
She bowed her head. “Your Grace. This ballroom is huge. How many guests did you invite?”
“It’ll be quicker to tell you whom I didn’t. Grandmama wanted a memorable event.”
