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Chapter One
Chastity paused in the shadows between the lanterns strung about the garden, gaze searching. Inviting amber light flickered into the dark night and illuminated late spring flowers. But it did not reveal her sister. She scowled. Eleanor had been in the ballroom at the top of the hour, clinging to the wall to avoid their eccentric Aunt Sarah’s demands that they dance together.
Of course, Aunt Sarah, who never embarrassed, was oblivious to the humiliation it would cause Eleanor. But Chastity hadn’t missed the flash of hurt crossing Eleanor’s face at those muttering about her lineage or eligibility.
She would have said something but she could not bear to cause a scene. She may not think much of the institution of marriage, but she would not ruin her sister’s happiness for anything.
Now if only she could find Eleanor. The toasts were about to begin, and her absence would be noted.
She hastened down the path, the gravel crunching underfoot. A welcome breeze lightly scented with lilacs brushed her bare arms and ruffled her coiled hair, reminding her how tight the pins were and how painfully they pressed into her scalp. Still, it did not matter if she wound up with a headache at the end of the night. So long as everything went perfectly for Cassie.
A hand to her silken skirts, she dashed up the stone steps toward the building. Their father’s townhouse offered the ideal setting for a wedding ball, she had to admit. The grand building had never looked more handsome, the lower windows glowing and dancing with the shadows of guests and the fragrance of hundreds of flower arrangements sifting sweetly into the air.
Even Demeter had looked forward to the ball after seeing the house dressed in her endless decorations.
Perhaps Eleanor really had retreated to the library. Or the boot room. She could often be found tinkering with a new contraption down there. But Eleanor would not be so thoughtless as to miss Cassie’s wedding ball surely? They were not only the closest in age but the closest of friends too.
Her sisters were no different to her. They would do anything for one another. Therefore, she had to conclude Eleanor was somewhere in the ballroom and Chastity had simply missed her in amongst the crush of excited guests. She hurried back to the ballroom.
A cluster of elderly women, their bright, jewel-toned colors and voluminous feathers ensuring no one missed them, offered their congratulations as she hastened inside. She paused, smiled politely, and dipped her head briefly.
Now was not the time for conversation. Cassie needed her. She turned, hastened forward, and slammed, chest first, into a wall.
“Oof.”
She staggered back a few steps and eyed the offending wall.
And found it to be decidedly un-wall like.
Peering down at her from quite a height, the gentleman’s lips were pursed tightly. His long nose seemed made to stare down at people. Which was precisely what he was doing now. She backed up a step and felt a rip, almost toppling backward when her foot caught. She flailed for a second and straightened herself when no considerate grab of her wrist or arm saved her.
Brow furrowed, she glanced down. The man had only gone and trodden on her toes—his large, polished shoes defeating the fragile fabric of her brand-new slippers, tearing them.
“If you’ll excuse me,” the man said, his voice edged with irritation.
She opened her mouth. He was annoyed with her? He had trodden on her toes—toes that now throbbed thanks to the ill protection of the pale satin fabric.
She narrowed her gaze at him. Black hair tinged with silver at the temples carefully tamed into submission touched his collar, as though he had not had time for a haircut. His eyes were almost as dark in the dim lamplight, great black holes of annoyance. Lines lingered between his brows, like a permanent sign of displeasure.
She suspected they were always there as though this man disliked the world so much he wanted to ensure everyone knew it. Despite that, he was handsome enough that she could not fathom why she could not place him. He was vaguely familiar.
It did not mean much, though, she supposed. There were plenty of guests here with whom she only had a passing acquaintance and her brother Anton had invited plenty of friends from the gentlemen’s clubs and his business dealings.
“Do I not even get an apology, sir?” She gestured to her shoe. “These were new.”
“Pardon?” His scowl deepened and he spared the briefest look at her wounded shoes. “I see. Forgive me.” He addressed her shoes with a little bow, his lips pulled into a smirk.
Good Lord, the gall of the man. She could not claim to adore the bowing and scraping that came with her being the duke’s eldest daughter, but she expected a little more graciousness from whoever this hard-chested, strong-shouldered man was.
She sucked in a deep breath. And froze.
Floris’s Lime. She would recognize the smell anywhere.
She hated that scent. Loathed it. With every fiber of her being. But of course this man would be wearing the cologne favored by her late husband. It was most fitting really. Only rude, arrogant, horrible bastards wore it.
Very well, that was not wholly true. But John had worn it and now this man did. Enough evidence in her mind that it was the scent of choice for men wishing to make her feel small and useless.
Well, no matter how much this man towered over her, she would not be cowed.
