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Chapter Six
“Do cease fidgeting, dear,” Marcella’s stepmother said.
Marcella would’ve been content to be a wallflower, gracing the wall of the ballroom with her beauty and watching the dancers swirl before her. She quite enjoyed watching people and thinking of how she might describe them if she were to put them in text. Of course, this ball was worse than most because she was meant to meet her intended.
Marcella curled her hands into fists to keep from picking at her gown. Instead, she directed her attention to her stepmother. Claudia was extravagantly dressed in a white gown, decorated with delicately embroidered holly leaves with rubies meant to resemble berries. Her cloak, which had been left at the door, was even more extravagant; it was similarly embroidered and lined with rabbit fur. Despite her commoner background, Claudia carried herself as if she were a duchess.
Already, Marcella’s father had abandoned her in favor of his friends. “Do you love him?” Marcella asked softly.
Claudia arched an eyebrow. “Who?”
“My father.”
“Of course I do,” Claudia replied. “Why would you question that?”
“If you do love him, wouldn’t you agree that love is the best foundation upon which to build a marriage?” Marcella asked.
Claudia sighed. “Unfortunately, not everyone has the luxury of marrying for love. You can argue all you like, but the result will inevitably be your marriage to Lord Reginald, the Marquess of Hurrow. You’ll only make the situation worse with your refusal to accept it. Besides, the two of you have been promised to one another for many years. Both your father and the Duke of Mavis would be deeply hurt if you were to refuse.”
Marcella locked eyes with Adeline, as she arrived. Her friend looked bright and cheerful, prepared to enjoy a delightful evening. “Excuse me, Stepmother,” Marcella said.
She hurried away before her stepmother could protest. Adeline grinned and quickly embraced her friend. “You look lovely tonight,” Adeline said.
Marcella let out a small laugh. “My father and stepmother made sure of that. They couldn’t have me meeting my intended in just any old gown.”
“Of course not,” Adeline replied, admiration clear in her eyes. “I do wish you’d give me your seamstress’s name, though. I’d like her to sew something for me.”
Itwasa beautiful garment, pale green with small pearls and red ribbons. The hem was embroidered with roses in full bloom and decorated with small, sparkling beads of glass. In truth, Marcella wouldn’t have minded the gown so much if she hadn’t felt like it was more for her potential intended’s gaze than her own. “I feel as though they’ve dressed me like a Christmas goose, but instead of being consumed, I’m going to be feasted upon by my betrothed’s gaze.”
“You make it sound so utterly dreadful to be a lady engaged to a Marquess with a prestigious lineage, a sizable fortune, and good looks.”
Marcella took her friend’s arm, leading her across the ballroom floor and away from Claudia’s sharp gaze. It was quite clear that Claudia would prefer Marcella to seek outmalecompany, but Adeline was too dear of a friend for that.
“How do you know if Lord Reginald has good looks?” Marcella asked. “You’ve only just arrived, and I’ve not yet seen him. I don’t see how you could’ve.”
“I can imagine well enough,” Adeline replied. “I’ve seen portraits of His Grace when he was young, and he was quite a handsome man. It stands to reason that his son would be likewise a handsome man.”
Marcella hummed. “The Duke of Mavis was, indeed, a handsome man. I won’t contest that.”
Adeline’s grip tightened, and Marcella arched an eyebrow, waiting to see what had captured her friend’s notice, and it became quickly clear what it was that had caught Adeline’s attention—the handsome Henry, Lord Brookshire. With his blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and broad, trim figure, he was the picture of aristocratic beauty. He was also—as Marcella well knew—the longtime object of Adeline’s affections.
“Shall we greet the good Lord Brookshire?” Marcella asked.
“Oh!’ Adeline exclaimed. “I don’t know. He is so terribly handsome and so witty! Have you heard him speak?”
Marcella had, and Lord Brookshire had seemed most unremarkable to her. He was quite like every other gentleman. They all had the same little quips and flirtations. However, none of that mattered because Adeline admired the young lord, and Marcella wasn’t cruel. If Lord Brookshire made her friend happy, she’d never deign to speak an unkind word to or about him.
“You should ask him to dance,” Marcella said, leading the way to Lord Brookshire.
Adeline’s grip tightened. At last, their steps brought them to Lord Brookshire, who stood by his young brother, Lord James. Marcella smiled and curtsied, a gesture which Adeline echoed a beat too late.
“Good evening, Lady Marcella,” Brookshire said. “Lady Adeline.”
“Lord Brookshire,” Marcella greeted him. “A pleasure as always.”
Lord Brookshire nodded. “And of course, you remember my younger brother?” he asked, waving towards the young man who stood with him.
“Of course,” Marcella replied. “How could we forget?”
