Page 28

Silence.

Then, with experienced patience, she prompted,

"The first dance. It is customary."

"I am aware of the custom," he snapped.

"Excellent." She patted his sleeve, entirely unbothered, before disappearing back into the crowd.

There was one woman in his life whom he tolerated pushing his boundaries, and that woman had given birth to him. Even then, his definition of tolerance extended little beyond allowing her to keep breathing. He saw her at most three times a year and had no desire to entertain another.

Regardless, he knew he had little choice but to cross the ballroom to his wife. The Dowager was right. Society would expect a dance; it would be a scandal not to. He approached just as Eliza and Laurence exchanged pleasantries with Sir Bran, a local landowner for whom Arthur had no time whatsoever.

The moment Sir Bran noticed Arthur approaching, the landowner's colour visibly drained from his face.

"As I was saying," Sir Bran cleared his throat.

"Wiltshire is simply marvellous during the summer season. You must see it for yourselves."

Almost as if she felt his presence, Eliza instinctively released Laurence's arm before slipping her hand back into Arthur's without even sparing him a glance; her attention never left the landowner who was enjoying posturing to the new Duchess. Laurence offered Arthur a knowing nod before taking his leave and melting back into the crowd.

"Oh, we shall certainly consider it; it was lovely to meet you, Sir Bran", Eliza replied, ending the conversation for them both before her attention quickly moved towards Arthur.

Shifting herself onto her tiptoes, she tilted her chin to his ear and whispered, "I was beginning to think you weren't coming back."

He almost flinched at the unfamiliar warmth of her breath against his neck.

The landowners made their excuses and departed with surprising haste, and Arthur considered her remark. In truth, he wanted to return to his chambers and not look back. But the newspapers would carry the story across the country if the Duke of Buckingham abandoned his new bride before the first day was out.

"I was arranging food." His voice remained matter-of-fact, but he noticed she was no longer watching him; instead, her attention drifted towards the orchestra, and her gloved fingers rose to her lips, concealing the audible gasp that threatened to escape.

"They are incredible," she said in a breath.

"The musicians?" he asked, and she nodded, her expression filled with quiet wonder, as though she had never before heard such music.

"I am glad you are enjoying the music, as we must dance. It is customary, so I'm reliably informed." He did not attempt to disguise the displeasure woven through every word as he slowly steered her away from the orchestra and onto the polished dance floor. He was in no rush but, like water parting around a ship, the guests stepped aside as they moved, leaving an open space in the centre of the ballroom.

The orchestra began a fresh waltz. Arthur rested one gloved hand lightly against her waist, fingers sprawling to her back. The warmth beneath the silk surprised him. It struck him how effortlessly he could lift her from the floor. He was accustomed to overpowering everyone in his path, but it had been years since he had held a woman so close, at least with his clothes on. That, at least, was the explanation he settled upon.

He held his other hand out, and her fingers settled delicately into his own.

She reached a little higher than his shoulder. As they turned, the movement naturally brought her a fraction closer against his chest. The waltz did not demand such physical closeness, yet she was unpractised and, as a result, stood far nearer to him than necessary, to the point that he could feel the gentle press of her torso against his as they moved out of the box step.

Arthur stiffened. She either failed to notice or simply trusted him enough to guide her through it.

What a naïve young woman, he thought.

Every other woman on Winworth's grounds would have possessed the instinct of prey before a predator, keeping as much distance between them as propriety allowed.

He led their waltz with practised confidence, his years of experience at formal balls and military functions returning almost instinctively. Eliza followed beautifully, but for the first time she was not smiling; instead, she held a look of determined concentration.

She stumbled three times, recovering herself quickly after each misstep. Each time, his grip tightened ever so slightly, ensuring she did not fall.

"There are so many people staring," she whispered, her voice barely carrying above the music.

He remained silent. She would have to grow accustomed to being watched.

"Is it normal?" she continued.